Spellbound: a Tale of Magic, Mystery & Murder

CHAPTER 21 - THE CURSE

  Wracked with worry, desperate with grief, the young, Haitian woman waited for nightfall. When the full moon rose, she left her sleeping pallet and took up her baby. The child started to fret, then became still. The woman moved silently across the clearing and made her way into the woods, beyond the cane field.

  She went as quickly as she dared with the burden in her arms. There was still a way to go, she knew, so her bare feet kept up a steady patter. When she reached a part of the forest that wasn't familiar to her, she stopped, panting.

  Desperate! And foolish! she thought. "Now I am lost in these woods. What have I come to?" she mourned aloud.

  "You have come to me, daughter," said a voice behind her.

  It was such a strong voice. So sure of itself. Perhaps she'd found the right place after all. She turned to face the speaker, hugging the baby in her arms. There stood a wrinkled, old woman in a bright-yellow, boldly patterned shift with a matching scarf wound around her head. The young mother wondered how long the older woman had been watching.

  "Are you . . .," she began.

  "I am the one you seek, Sheree," and the old woman shook her feathered, gourd rattle as if to punctuate the statement. The younger woman started in surprise, clutching the baby tighter.

  "You know my name!"

  "I know many things, my daughter. I know why you have come to visit Old Mamman."

  She shook the gourd again.

  "My husband," Sheree stammered. "My man. He's gone. Disappeared! I am sick with worry. Is he alive or dead? Lying somewhere, surely, too ill to return home. Praying I'll find him." Her voice trailed off.

  Old Mamman pointed the feathered rattle in the direction of the baby. "And your child is starving. Lack of money. Lack of food."

  "Please, please, Mamman, tell me where he is."

  "Old Mamman can do her magic. Powerful magic! We could learn where your man is. If he is alive. But you have no coin to give Mamman. You cannot pay for what you seek. My magic must be paid for or it will not work."

  "Please, Mamman! I have no coin, it is true. But I am willing to perform any service. I could cook for you. I am a good cook. I could keep things clean. I am good at that! I could sweep. I could haul water. I could do all these things for you as long as you wish, and," Sheree's voice began to trail off, "and never say what I see."

  "How long would you do these things for me?" mused Mamman.

  "For as long as you wish," repeated Sheree, lowering her eyes obediently beneath thick, dark lashes.

  "Old Mamman is powerful, but Old Mamman is often kind. Sit here, daughter," Mamman said, indicating the ground, "and we will find the answers you seek." The old Voodoo priestess prepared a bowl of water. Then she gathered her bones, gourds, shells, feathers, powders, and small bottles about her. She spread candles on the forest floor, encircling the trees, and lit them.

  The ceremony had begun.

  Mamman chanted, then she dipped her fingers into the water and began to see answers swirling in the liquid. Finally, Old Mamman began to speak in a strange voice. "Your man, Joseph is his name. He is tall. He is well." At this news, Sheree brightened. Mamman continued. "He is far from home. He left the cane field in a car."

  Sheree started. "Kidnapped?"

  Mamman continued speaking in a low voice as if, in her mind's eye, she was able to view Joseph from a great distance. "I see him going with another man. Of his own will. He is happy to leave the cane field. He does not think of you."

  Sheree was dumbstruck. Her beloved Joseph not think of her! Not of her or their baby! She stared in amazement at the priestess.

  Mamman fixed Sheree with piercing, dark eyes. "He traded you, and his life here in Haiti, for a cold beer. He traded you and your baby for soft beds and good food." Mamman continued in a lowered voice, "Do not waste your life waiting for him. He will not be back."

  Sheree tried to jump up, protesting, but Mamman pushed her back down.

  The priestess hissed, "You must understand. Your man has abandoned you. And this child, his daughter, will not be spared. Her condition is already too grave."

  "No! No!" Sheree was too deeply in denial to face her only child’s imminent fate.

  The old priestess sighed. "Look at your baby," she commanded. "When was the last time she cried? A good, loud, healthy cry?"

  Sheree looked down at her daughter’s gaunt, strangely pale face and shook her head. "She frets from time to time. Tiny, soft whimpers. But most of the time she is asleep."

  "See her through my eyes," commanded Mamman. "Already she had missed much of what she needed to make her live. She is not sleeping. She is nearly dead."

  Sheree's eyes welled with tears. "I will give you anything! Please, please, make her live!"

  "You would give me anything?" Old Mamman shook her head sadly. "If you had come sooner, perhaps, but now it is past even my power." The old woman reached out one finger and tenderly stroked the child’s cheek. "I can make her passing gentle. I can make it so she will not suffer in leaving this world."

  Sheree backed away, and, as if she could protect her baby from death, clutched the child even tighter. Old Mamman held out her arms and nodded. This was necessary, Sheree knew. She bit her lip and passed her baby to those waiting arms. The Voodoo priestess kept her word. The child's life departed swiftly and painlessly.

  All the while, tears of despair flowed down Sheree’s cheeks. She spit out her words. "He does not care! Did not care enough to . . ."

  "You have been greatly wronged. Do you not wish me to help you?" Mamman let the offer hang in the air. Sheree started to agree, but her great love for Joseph stopped her. Mamman spoke softly, insistently. "He abandoned you without a word. Left you not knowing if he lived or died. Left your only child to perish. And still you do not understand. He has found other women to comfort him."

  At those words, Sheree felt rage build up inside her until she thought she’d explode. She jumped up and tore at her hair, her ragged dress, and the leaves around her. She clawed at her own cheeks and fell on all fours, howling in rage at her husband and in grief for her baby. Finally, after Sheree’s madness had run its course, she rolled into a fetal position and was quiet. She was ready to place herself in the old Voodoo woman’s hands.

  "I never punish anyone," Mamman explained. "I simply let them know how much hurt they have caused others. I turn the pain around and send it back to its source," she intoned as she prepared for this, most important, ceremony.

  Sheree lay on the ground as if in a dream, barely aware of what the priestess was doing. Yes! she thought. I will be very pleased and grateful if this pain can be turned back to Joseph. She was convinced this was right and the thought gave her peace. Then she winced, thinking of Joseph’s other women.

  As Old Mamman began chanting again, Sheree opened her eyes and gasped in fright. A large snake was being called down from a tree behind Mamman. The priestess was whirling about in her brightly colored shift, arms raised, head thrown back, calling out in that strange voice.

  Sheree could feel the power!

  It was too late to escape. And so, she huddled in terror, enduring the ceremony. She could not know that, when morning came, she would find herself bound to serve Mamman. She did not realize that, if her mind had been clearer when she'd made her bargain, it was not the life she would have chosen.

  Back at Ramon’s little hut, Joseph slept fitfully. He kept seeing a face in his dreams. It was the face of an old Voodoo priestess. She was blaming him for his daughter’s death!

  Chanting! Whirling! Colors!

  He awoke with a start, in pain, and cried out. Ramon rolled over, snapping in annoyance. "Why are you so restless this night?"

  "My daughter! My daughter is dead!" Joseph insisted.

  "Only a dream. Go back to sleep, my friend."

  Joseph lay back down, staring into the darkness for a long time before sleep returned.

  The next morning, when he attempted to stand, his right knee pained greatly. He fell back
before making a second attempt. Although he finally achieved a standing position, he howled with pain at the effort.

  Joseph went about his morning tasks, dragging himself with difficulty. When he was nearly finished, he woke Ramon. The little sorcerer rubbed sleep from his eyes, glanced at Joseph, and jumped up in surprise.

  "Joseph! What has happened to you? You have changed overnight!" Ramon pointed at Joseph’s head where gray patches of hair had appeared. He indicated Joseph’s face, now traced with wrinkles. He pointed to Joseph’s hands. Joseph, confused, looked down at his hands in the growing morning light and started in surprise! His hands, his arms, looked like that of a much older man.

  There was no mirror in the hut, so Joseph ran down to the water as fast as his painful body would take him. He gazed at his reflection. It was his own face and form, but his water image appeared to be that of an old man. An old man with gray hair and wrinkles, and twisted with arthritis.

  "This cannot be!" he whispered, running his hands over his face and hair. He stumbled back to the hut, shouting for Ramon. "Help me! Help me, sir," he begged. Ramon stared at Joseph in horror. "Why has your Baka permitted this?" Joseph asked in an accusing tone.

  Ramon's mind raced as he desperately tried to fathom what had gone wrong. Slowly, it dawned on him. The answer was in the wording of the individual bargains each man had struck. The Baka only gave a petitioner exactly what was named. Not one wit more. And much less whenever possible.

  This revelation was very disturbing since Ramon recalled hearing of others who had bargained with the Baka. At some point, the bargains always went bad. Sooner or later, it was said, the bargain ended with the death of the petitioner.

  Ramon brought Joseph inside the hut and attempted to calm him. Then he tried to explain, but Joseph sensed Ramon's fear and would have none of his excuses.

  "We didn't understand when we bargained," Ramon insisted. "I asked for magical power, a good life, money, and protection. I thought the women would just follow along. And that's why women turn from me in fear. I forgot to ask for the women," he said mournfully. "Too late to change things now."

  "Yes! I agree," cried Joseph. "I asked for real beds with soft pillows, plenty of food and drink, and many women." The Haitian threw up his arms, indicating his changed appearance, and shouted, "But I did not ask for this!"

  "But you did not ask for youth and health as part of your bargain," Ramon insisted, "so the Baka did not need to spare you this." He took his talisman, the black stone, from his pants pocket and stroked it sadly. Too late now, he thought.

  "There was great magic under this roof last night!" Joseph shouted, waving his arms. "I saw my daughter die! I saw a powerful Voodoo priestess! It was Old Mamman! She cursed me! I saw this in my dreams!" He turned to Ramon and demanded, "Tell me, sir, if the Baka protects you, how could this have happened to me?"

  Ramon sighed. There was no way Joseph would accept the truth, but he had to try. "I see now that every promise the Baka makes is a trick. The legend says the Baka ends up destroying everyone who summons him. I thought I was smarter. I had planned it so carefully." Admitting his mistake made the little man uncomfortable, but he forged ahead.

  "As you can see, Joseph, I was not harmed last night because I had bargained for protection. This means your Haitian priestess' magic cannot harm me. And it means your life will be spared as long as you serve me." Joseph began to protest, but Ramon held up a hand to silence him.

  "Oh, yes, the Baka sent you to serve me, but the Baka played a trick on us. The Baka felt you could serve me whether you were a robust, young man or aging and arthritic. Is it not true," Ramon continued, "that you can still bring me my preparations and carry out my errands in this limping, aging body?"

  Joseph finally grasped the truth of his circumstances. He stared in open-mouthed horror at Ramon. "But I have been robbed of my youth! My laughter!"

  "We have both been tricked, my friend," Ramon whispered, "and I'm afraid there is no help for it. At least, Joseph," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, "at least, you will still have the women." Then Ramon turned away so his face would not reveal his thoughts.

  Is this, perhaps, he wondered, the beginning of the end? The first step in our fall from the Baka's grace. In the morning's growing heat, he shivered as a sudden chill passed through his body. "What a strange feeling," he whispered, recalling one of Goldie's sayings. "It's as if someone has walked on my grave!"