“Well, if you change your mind—”
Henrietta closed the door on Dr. Caldwell’s words. She made her way to the stairwell and walked down. As she descended, the pain in her lower belly erupted again. It felt as if it had its own heartbeat that matched hers. What an obscene thing it was to have her life controlled by this evil mass, sent by God knew what demons to test her. She would not give it the satisfaction. It had already taken her good health. It would not take her soul, too.
• • •
When Henrietta was thirteen, her mother went to an obeah woman.
Her mother worked at the post office on Main Street until five. This meant Henrietta had to stay at All Saints Cathedral School until her mother got off.
Henrietta usually passed the time reading from her little blue Bible or doing her homework. On this day, she sat on the shaded steps in front of the cathedral. She was reading Revelation. She loved that book in particular because it had the best stories.
This time, she read Revelation 12:
And another sign appeared in heaven: behold, a great, fiery red dragon having seven heads and ten horns…His tail drew a third of the stars of heaven and threw them to the earth. And the dragon stood before the woman who was ready to give birth, to devour her Child as soon as it was born.
Three other students were waiting for their parents as well. It was 1963, so most parents didn’t have their own cars. Many of the students caught the school bus, and the older kids walked up or down Garden Street with their friends to get to their homes in the area. Not Henrietta. She wasn’t allowed to leave school until her mother came for her. Her mother didn’t want her getting into trouble with any of the other kids. Her mother never specified what kind of trouble that might be.
The teachers stuck around until all the students left or got picked up. By five, only four kids remained at the small private school. Two younger girls ran around in the courtyard. They always stuck around after school, annoying Henrietta with their yelling and laughter.
And then there was Jared from her class, sitting across the courtyard, near the school gates, doodling in his notebook. Jared usually saw Henrietta’s mother first and would yell across the courtyard to inform Henrietta of her mother’s arrival.
“Your mom here!” he yelled as usual, and Henrietta looked up to see her mother standing at the gate in her brown postal uniform.
Henrietta got up and stuffed her Bible in her school bag. She ran across the courtyard. Jared watched her stupidly the entire time.
“Bye, Henri,” he said with a chuckle.
“Bye,” Henrietta said, not really paying him any mind.
“I don’t like that boy,” her mother said once she was outside the gate.
“He just childish,” said Henrietta.
Her mother didn’t respond to that. “What did I tell you about running like that in your uniform? You are wearing a skirt. It is unbecoming.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Henrietta said with a nervous smile.
“Stop smiling at me.”
Henrietta stopped, lowering her head to stare at her worn brown oxfords.
She didn’t look much like her mother. She took more after her father. She was lanky and a little bowlegged, five inches taller than her mother and taller than all the other girls her age. She was filling out, too. She had to be more aggressive than she would like with boys so that they wouldn’t take liberties.
“Sorry, Mom,” she said again, careful not to smile.
Her mother reached into her bag and pulled out a Long John. “Here,” she said, handing Henrietta the coconut taffy candy. “I got two more in my bag. I’ll give them to you later.”
“Okay,” Henrietta said between chews. She loved the sweet caramel-coconut taste of Long Johns. It was her favorite candy, and her mother knew it. Henrietta eyed her mother suspiciously. She could sometimes sense her mother’s moods, and right now her senses told her to be on the alert.
“I need you to come with me on an errand,” her mother said.
“Okay.”
“It might make you feel a little uncomfortable, but I need you to be a witness to something.”
“Okay.” Henrietta tried to read her mother’s face. As usual, it was unreadable.
She reached out and held her mother’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Her mother responded to her forthrightness with more malleability than usual. She started walking without a word.
Henrietta lived on Rosen Gade. They had to walk down Garden Street, turn down Back Street, and walk for fifteen minutes before reaching Ninety-Nine Steps. Then they had to climb to the very top and trek up the thin winding street to their house. By then, the sun would be near setting and the journey wouldn’t be so unbearable.
They didn’t do any of that this time. Instead, they walked up Garden Street. It was steep but wider than the streets near her house. Two massive tamarind trees lined one side of the street, and Henrietta could see an iguana perched lazily on one of the big branches as she passed. When they neared the top, they turned into a narrow alleyway. It smelled wet, and Henrietta could hear crickets and bird calls as she walked with her mother. Big trees towered overhead, making the area several degrees cooler. It was darker than out on the street, and something about it pulled at Henrietta’s nerves. She held her mom’s hand tighter.
The alleyway was cramped by unwieldy bush on one side and two-story houses on the other, with nothing more than a thin winding dirt path between the starkly different worlds. Henrietta and her mother made their way to the very end of the alley, to a two-story house with red gating and a white exterior. It was wider than the other houses and well kept. The trees parted there, allowing the house to catch more sunlight than anywhere else. Henrietta relaxed.
Her mother knocked on the door, and after about a minute, a young woman answered. She had darker skin than Henrietta and her mother but had piercing light brown eyes that caught the sun. Henrietta was taken aback by such beauty. The woman’s hair fell to her shoulders in tidy dreadlocks. Henrietta usually disapproved of the hairstyle, but on this woman it looked lovely.
Her mother didn’t look so impressed by the woman’s appearance.
“I’m here for the treatment,” her mother said plainly.
Henrietta wanted to say something then but knew that her mother would hush her before she could get the full question out. She wanted to know what was wrong, wanted to know the purpose of the treatment. But her mother was secretive. She wouldn’t talk about it so openly here—possibly at all. Henrietta would likely have to figure it out on her own.
“Octavia,” said the woman. “Yes, my friend told me you would be coming. I’m Maria. Please come in.” The woman spoke formally, but there was a hint of an accent that Henrietta couldn’t place. It sounded old-fashioned, somehow.
Maria led Henrietta and her mother to her living room. It was beautifully decorated. Covering most of the floor was a large blue, red, and green woven rug. Mahogany statue heads sat on a large dark wood table at the center of the room, surrounded by four varnished handcrafted straw chairs. They all sat around the table. Henrietta looked around. On the walls, wooden African masks stared back at her from hollow eyes.
“What are those?” Henrietta asked, pointing at the masks.
“Don’t bother the woman with questions,” said her mother.
“No, it’s fine,” Maria said. “I don’t mind.”
Maria went over to the wall and lifted a mask down from its place. She walked back over and sat down.
“This one is Olorun, a sky orisha.” Maria smiled at Henrietta’s confused expression. “A sky god. He is the ruler of endless space, and creator of the other orishas you see here,” she said, waving her hand over the other masks to illustrate. “People are very careful when they worship Olorun. They call on him only in the gravest circumstances.”
Maria handed th
e mask to Henrietta. She stared at it in bewilderment. She had no idea what the woman was talking about.
Her mother grabbed the mask from Henrietta and placed it on the table in front of her. “So how much will the treatment cost?”
“Do not worry. No payment is necessary.” Maria smiled.
Henrietta took in a quick breath. Something about the smile gave her a chill.
Maria seemed to notice this. She adjusted herself in her chair, looking more relaxed, more casual. “We can start right away if you like.”
“Yes, please,” her mother said. “My husband will be expecting us home very soon.”
“Yes, of course.”
Maria got up and went to a black chest in the corner of the living room, directly under the wall of masks. She pulled out a long thin box and returned to her chair, setting the box on the table before opening it. In the box were a small vial, a metal syringe, and a small, gleaming metal ball. Maria took out the vial first. She opened it and poured two small black capsules into her hand.
“Take this, Octavia,” Maria said, handing her the capsules. “You should be able to swallow it just fine without water.”
Her mother nodded. Henrietta could see the small ovate capsules in her mother’s hand. They seemed so inconsequential. What could something so small possibly do? Her mother stared for a long time at the little things.
“Don’t worry,” Maria said. “It is perfectly safe.”
Her mother didn’t seem calmed by the suggestion. She watched the capsules carefully as if she were waiting for some revelation. When she finally brought them to her mouth, it was slow and careful. Henrietta watched her mother intently as she did this. All the while, her mother’s eyes were on Maria, looking for some sign of danger. Maria just smiled and waited, her hands resting on her lap. Henrietta felt another chill as she watched the woman. She was too still, not seeming to breathe at all.
After swallowing the capsules, her mother placed her hands on the table, resting one on top of the other. She looked stiff, uneasy. Henrietta had never seen her mother act this way.
“Tell me about the ailment.”
Her mother’s eyes darted across the table to Henrietta before returning to Maria. “I’ve been feeling sick to my stomach and very weak. My left breast is swollen. And there’s bleeding.”
“From the breast?” Maria asked.
Her mother nodded. “It is very painful.”
Henrietta was not aware of any of this. She had noticed her mother going to bed early more often but didn’t think much of it. Now she was here, in a stranger’s house, learning that her mother was sick and that it had something to do with her breasts. Henrietta looked down at her own breasts. She wondered what could cause your own body to betray you.
“Take off your shirt,” Maria said.
Her mother stared, taken aback by this. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again.
“I need to get the cancer out,” Maria added.
Cancer? Henrietta snapped her head toward her mother. She wasn’t looking at Henrietta, didn’t seem to be aware that she was even in the room anymore. Henrietta looked down at her green pleated skirt, part of her white-and-green school uniform. She played with the creases, running her fingers down the length of them. She felt her eyes burning. She felt her cheeks grow hot.
Her mother took off her shirt and bra quickly, wincing as she removed the bra. A white cloth lay nestled inside it, stained dark brown. Tears collected in her mother’s eyes. Was it the pain, or something else? Henrietta couldn’t tell.
She could see it now: her mother’s swollen left breast. Hard with large pores, it looked like the skin of a grapefruit. The nipple dripped blood.
Maria held the metal ball between her thumb and forefinger and brought it close to her mother’s breast. Her mother made a soft whimper when the cold metal touched her plump flesh. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She bit her lip in an effort to suppress her pain.
Her mother had been having trouble getting food out of cabinets, Henrietta remembered then. This must have been the reason. But this was the first time she had seen her mother in visible pain. It seemed unnatural, frightening. Henrietta wanted to reach out and comfort her mother, but she knew this was not something her mother would allow.
When Maria moved the ball away from her mother’s breast, a large red spot glowed where the ball had been. The breast was still swollen, but the pores and skin had softened. Except for the area of red flesh, the rest of the breast returned to the light-brown color of her mother’s skin. The purple bruising disappeared. The red spot had an otherworldly glow to it, the radiance changing intensity at regular intervals, growing and shrinking, brightening and fading. It looked as if it were breathing.
Maria then gently picked up the large metal syringe.
“This will hurt just a little,” she said before sinking the needle into her mother’s left breast, right at the center of the glowing area. She pulled back on the plunger, and Henrietta could see a bright red fluid fill the barrel of the syringe. Once the barrel filled, Maria removed the needle. Her mother winced as this happened, and then the muscles in her face relaxed. She looked completely at ease for just a moment. Then her eyes widened in astonishment.
Her mother touched her left breast, and Henrietta could see the joy on her face. She was not in pain. The breast looked healthy. No bruising. No glowing red blotch. Her mother was cured.
Henrietta watched as Maria returned the syringe to the box, the glowing liquid still inside. She put back the ball and the vial.
Her mother put her bra back on and buttoned her uniform shirt. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can give?” she asked.
“No,” Maria said. “I just wanted to help.”
Henrietta watched the woman carefully. Maria smiled, but there were moments when Henrietta could see the facade slide away to reveal something disturbing underneath. The woman was beautiful, but there was something manufactured about it, another version of Maria buried deep beneath this one.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice. She thanked the woman over and over. Again tears welled in her eyes, but this time she smiled wider than Henrietta had ever seen.
Henrietta looked out the window. It was getting dark. They would have to leave soon or arouse too much suspicion from her father. He worked as a manager at a small shoe store on Main Street and would be home a little after six. Her mother followed her eyes to the window before reaching the same conclusion.
“We have to go,” she said. “But I must repay you for this.”
“Oh, no,” said Maria. “I can’t—”
“I insist,” her mother said, handing the woman all the money in her purse. It amounted to nine dollars. Maria smiled graciously.
On the way out, her mother thanked Maria another six times, each time emphatically. Maria smiled and received the praise.
Once outside, they walked quickly down the alley. It was now much darker than before, and the cricket chorus filled Henrietta’s ears. They speed-walked down Garden Street and up Back Street. On Ninety-Nine Steps, Henrietta asked her mother if she noticed something wrong about Maria.
“What you mean?”
“Don’t know. Something bad inside her.”
“No,” her mother said. “Maria is a good woman. She helped me.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“I think she’s a demon.”
Her mother laughed. “Don’t be silly, girl. She just got special gifts.”
“Didn’t God say to be mindful of witches?” Henrietta asked earnestly.
“Stop that, Henrietta.”
Henrietta stared, confused, but she didn’t say anything. Her mother was the most religious person she knew. That devoutness had rubbed off on Henrietta, had molded her sense of the world. She deeply feared the Lord and trusted in his wor
d. Her mother was behaving strangely. Any other day, she would be quoting passages from the Bible or thanking God for her good health. This version of her mother did not do these things. Perhaps, Maria had changed her somehow. On the inside.
“You should have prayed to God to get better,” Henrietta said.
Her mother snatched her by the arm. Henrietta could hear a dog barking a way off, and the sound of laughter from one of the houses bordering the steps. She looked away from her mother’s now angry face to the cobbled steps, still wet from the afternoon’s rain.
“Listen,” her mother said. “Sometimes, you got to do for yourself. God doesn’t always answer prayers.”
Henrietta didn’t like the look in her mother’s eyes. She tried to pull away, but her mother held tighter.
“Don’t waste your time waiting for help that won’t come. God gives you the strength to help yourself.”
Henrietta tried again and failed.
“Do you understand me?” her mother yelled, maintaining her gaze. “Do you understand me, girl?” The laughter in the nearby house died down. The dogs, too, fell silent. A man came out to see the source of the commotion. Henrietta saw only his silhouette, a shadow peering down at them.
Her mother grabbed her by the face so that she would look her in the eye. “Do you understand?” she asked a third time.
“Yes,” Henrietta said. “I understand.”
• • •
When Henrietta got home from the hospital, she went to sit on the couch. She turned on the television to her favorite soap: All My Children. She had long stopped paying attention to the convoluted plot. Now she just watched the scenes, trying to piece together enough of the story to amuse herself.
After she had sat there for a few minutes, her granddaughter walked out of the bathroom.
“Hey, Grandma,” Lee said, sitting next to her on the couch. “How the checkup went?”
“How you get home?” Henrietta asked.
“Jessica.”
Henrietta nodded, relieved it was one of her girlfriends and not some stupid boy. “It went fine. Fix me some bush tea, no?”
The Lesson Page 17