CHAPTER X A VOODOO PRIESTESS
When Florence and June Travis arrived at the home of Marianna Christophe,the voodoo priestess, next afternoon, they met with a surprise. Thesurprise was not in the building--it was unpretentious enough, a long,low building with a pink front. The surprise came when they found severallarge and shiny automobiles parked along the curb before the door.
"Our visit is off," Florence sighed. "Must be a funeral or something."
"But I have an appointment at four o'clock!" June protested.
"Oh, well, we'll see." Florence lifted an ancient brass knocker and letit fall.
Instantly the door flew open and a brownish young lady with white androlling eyes peered out.
"I have an appointment," June Travis said timidly.
"I'll look." The brown one vanished, to return almost at once.
"Yass'm! Jest step right in!" She bowed low. "The priestess will see you,'zactly at four."
The reception room which the girls entered was large. Along one side wasa row of comfortable chairs. All but two of the chairs were filled. Ifone were to judge by their rich attire, these people were the owners ofthe cars parked outside. They were all women. One was old and one quiteyoung. The others, four in all, were middle-aged.
"She's marvelous!" one of the waiting ones said in a half whisper. "Thefirst time I saw her she told me I had a boy who was not yet sixteen andwho was more than six feet tall. She said I had been married twice, butthat I have no husband now. She said my principal jewels were a necklaceof pearls coming down from my grandmother, a diamond bracelet and threediamond rings. All of this is exactly right. And think of it! She hadnever seen me before! I had not so much as given her my name. Wasn't thatmost astonishing?"
Florence listened in vast surprise. This woman was speaking, beyonddoubt, of the voodoo priestess. Could she indeed tell you all aboutyourself, your innermost secrets? She shuddered. Who could want anystranger to know all that? She looked at June. She, too, had heard. Herface was all alight. "All these people believe in her," she whispered."They are much older than I, and must be wiser, and they are rich. Surelyshe will tell me where my father is, and when he will come back. It--it'sso very little to ask." There was an appealing note in the girl's lowvoice that went straight to Florence's heart.
"I have ten dollars left," June whispered. "Next week I'll have a littlemore, and soon a very great deal."
"Yes," Florence thought, "and therein lies your great peril! In suchtimes as these much money is a menace to any innocent and unprotectedperson. We must find her father, we must indeed! But how? There's thetrouble."
Her thoughts were broken in upon by the brown girl of the rolling eyes."The priestess will see you all now," she whispered.
"June," Florence asked in a low tone, "have you been here before?"
"Never." The girl shuddered.
"And yet," Florence thought, "they are passing her in ahead of thoseothers! Can it be that this priestess has already heard of this child'smoney?" For the first time in her life she began to believe that at leastsome of these fortune tellers knew everything, even the innermost secretsof one's heart. The feeling made her uncomfortable.
The room they entered was weirdly fantastic. Its walls were covered withpaper so blue that it seemed black. Over this paper flew a thousand tinyimaginary birds of every hue. The floor was jet black. On a sort ofraised platform, in a highly ornamental chair that seemed a throne, sat avery large black woman with deep-set dark eyes. She was dressed in a robeof dark red. As the two girls entered, she was swinging her arms slowlyup and down as if to drive away an imaginary swarm of flies, or perhapsghosts.
"I am--" June began.
"No, child. Don't tell me." The woman's tone was melodiously southern."I's a priestess, a voodoo priestess. I's the great, great granddaughterof Cristophe, the Emperor of Haiti.
"Listen, child!" Her voice dropped. It seemed to Florence that the lightsgrew dim. "At midnight in the dark of de moon, on de highest mountain inHaiti, dey took me an' a big black goat, all black. Dey sacrificed degoat in de dark of de moon. But me, honey, me dey made a priestess. To meit is given to ask and to know all things. As I look at you now, I seemto see no father near you, no mother near you, but girls, one, two,three, oh, mebby a dozen. That right?"
"Yes, I--"
"Don't speak, honey. You come to ask where your Daddy is, and I--I amhere to tell you. Only--"
"I--I've got ten--"
"Don't speak of money, not yet. I--"
The priestess broke off suddenly. Florence had entered silently, but hadfallen back at once into a dark corner. For the first time the priestessbecame conscious of her presence.
"Who's that?" she demanded.
"Only my friend," June replied timidly.
"Well, she can sit over there." The priestess pointed to the farthestcorner.
When Florence was seated the woman began again her monotonous monologue,but she spoke in such low tones that Florence could catch only a wordhere and there.
"Darkness," she heard then--"Spirit of Cristophe--darkness--the blackgoat--gold, gold, gold--spirit of darkness."
Even as these last words were spoken, the lights began slowly to fade.Then it was that for the first time Florence became conscious of someliving creature in the corner opposite her own. As she looked, she saw itwas a black goat with golden horns. Strangely enough, as the lightcontinued to fade, she felt herself imagining that the goat was a spirit,the spirit of that black goat sacrificed on the highest mountain atmidnight in the dark of the moon. This, she knew, was pure nonsense.
But why all this failing light? Was this some trick? She was about toleap to her feet and demand that the thing be stopped. Then she thoughtof the ones who waited in the room beyond the plastered wall. "Nothingserious can happen." She settled back.
But what was this? The room was now almost completely dark. Along the farside of the room she seemed to catch sight of something moving. It roseand fell, like some filmy shadow or trace of light.
"Like a ghost!" She shuddered. "Yet it is not white. It shines likeebony. It--"
She could not really think the notion that formed in her mind which was,"This is Cristophe's ghost, a black ghost."
As the thing moved slowly, oh so slowly across the wall, there came thesound of whispers--whispered words that could be heard but notunderstood.
Florence was ready to flee. But what of June? She must not leave her.This thing was horrible. Yet it was fascinating.
And then, close beside her, there was a movement. Looking down quickly,she caught two golden gleams. "The goat's horns. He has moved, he is nearme!" She was filled with fresh terror.
And then the light began returning. Slowly as it had faded, so slowly didit return.
Once again Florence looked at that spot close by her side. The goat wasnot there. Her eyes sought the opposite corner. There lay the goat,apparently fast asleep.
"I have asked the spirit of Cristophe." The priestess spoke in her usualmelodious drawl. "He says dere must be gold, much gold. A statue to hismemory must be built. There must be gold, much gold. He will tell allthings--all--all things for gold.
"There now!" she ended abruptly. "Some other time, you shall know all.There must be gold, much gold--"
And then, for the second time, Florence saw it, the shadow on the wall.It was the same, the very same as that she had seen on Madame Zaran'smidnight blue drapes. There was the sharp nose, the curved chin, all thatmade up a perfect Satan's face. One second it was there, the next it wasgone. But in that second Florence saw the large black woman half rise asa look of surprise not unmixed with fear overspread her face. Then, asthe shadow faded, she dropped heavily back into the arms of the chairthat might have been a throne.
A bell tinkled. The brown girl appeared. They were led out into the lightof day.
"She--she didn't even take my ten dollars," June whispered.
"No, but she will in the end, and much, v
ery much more!" These words wereon the tip of Florence's tongue, but she did not say them. This surelywas a strange world.
"June," said Florence after they had left the home of the voodoopriestess--her voice was low and serious--"you must be very careful! Suchthings as these might get you into a great deal of trouble; yes, and realperil."
"Peril?" The younger girl's voice trembled.
"Just that," Florence replied. "Most of these fortune tellers, I'mconvinced, are rather simple-minded people who earn a living by tellingpeople the things they want to hear. They read your palm, study the bumpson your head, tell you what the stars you were born under mean to you, orgaze into a crystal. After that they make you happy by saying they seethat you are to inherit money, have new clothes, go on a journey, marry arich man and live happily ever after." Florence laughed low.
"They charge you half a dollar," she went on. "You go away happily and noreal harm is done.
"But some of these people, I think--mind you, I don't know for sure--someof them may be sharpers, grafters in a big way. And when a dishonestperson is prevented from reaping a rich but unearned reward, he is likelyto become truly dangerous. S--so, watch your step!
"Anyway," she added after a time, "your problem may perhaps be solved insimpler ways. Remember the suggestion of Frances Ward? She said youshould be able to recall more than you have told thus far. If you couldremember the place where you lived with your father, perhaps we couldfind that place. Then, it is possible someone living near there wouldremember your father. That would help. In time perhaps we could untanglethe twisted skein that is your mysterious past."
"Oh, do you think we could?" June's tone was eager. "But how can Iremember a thing I don't recall?"
"There are people, great psychologists, who have ways of making peoplethink back, back, back into the remotest corners of their past."
"Do you know one of them?" June asked excitedly.
"Not at this moment, but I could find one, I think."
"Will you try?"
"Yes, I'll try.
"And now--" Florence's tone changed. "I'll have to leave you here. I--Ihave an appointment."
Florence was, in the end, to find a psychologist, and that in thestrangest possible manner. Meanwhile, her appointment was with MadameZaran and her crystal ball. There was just time to make it.
She arrived, rather out of breath, to find the place much the same, yetsomehow different. The crystal ball was in its place at the center of theroom. The chair, the rug, the midnight blue draperies were the same.Madame Zaran came out with a smile to greet her. All was as before, andyet--the big girl shuddered--there seemed to be an air of hostility aboutthe place.
"Yes, you may gaze into the crystal." Madame's claw-like hands folded andunfolded. "You may see much today. I have read it in a book, the book ofthe stars. You were born under a remarkable constellation. Yes, I dohoroscopes as well. But now you shall gaze into the crystal ball."
She withdrew. Florence was left alone with her thoughts and the crystalball.
There followed a half hour's battle between her thoughts and the magicball. Her thoughts won. No beautiful island came to her in the ball, nostately trees, no still waters, nothing. Only the sordid little worldwhich, it seemed, pressed in about her, stifling all beauty, all romance,filled her mind. With all her heart she wished that she was to fly awaywith Sandy and Jeanne to the magic of Isle Royale in winter.
"But I will not go." She set her will hard. "I must not!"
And then there, standing before her, was Madame Zaran.
There was a strange light in the fortune teller's eyes. She said but oneword:
"Well?"
In that one word Florence seemed to feel a dark challenge.
"No vision today," she replied simply.
"No!" Madame's voice was harsh. "And there will be no visions for you.Never again. You have betrayed the sacred symbol!" Her voice rose shrilland high. Her short fingers formed themselves into claw-like curves. Hertiger-like hair appeared to stand on end.
"You--" her eyes burned fire. "You are a traitor. You--"
She broke short off. Her weak mouth fell open. Her pupils dilated, shestared at the midnight blue drapes. Then, for a third time, Florence sawit--the shadow, the long, thin face, the narrow nose, the curved chin,the shadow of Satan, all but the horns and the forked tail.
While Madame still stared speechless, Florence slipped from her chair,glided from the room, caught the teetering elevator, then found herselfonce more upon the noisy city street.
"Ah!" she breathed. "There was a time when I thought this street adangerous place. Now it is a haven, a place of refuge."
She walked three blocks. Her blood cooled. Her heart resumed its normalbeat. She was in a mood for thought. What did Madame Zaran know? Did sheknow all? There had been a little in her column that day, the column"Looking Into The Future," that was about Madame Zaran's place and hermethods. No names were mentioned, no address given. It was written onlyas an amusing incident.
"And of course my name was not signed. It never is," Florence thought toherself. "How could she know that I conduct that column? And yet--" Heretruly was food for thought.
"Jeanne," she said as, two hours later, they sat reading beside a studiolight, "these fortune tellers have an uncanny way of finding out allabout you. That black priestess today told June all about herself. Andyet, she had never seen her before. Jeanne had made an appointment overthe phone, that was all. I don't believe in black magic, though I did seesomething very like a black ghost. But how do they do it?"
"How can they do it?" Jeanne echoed.
"I've got a notion!" Florence exclaimed. "We'll try it out on one of thefortune tellers of the simpler sort, you and I. What do you say?"
"Anything for a little happy adventure," Jeanne laughed.
"All right, it's a go! We'll start it tomorrow. And finish it, perhaps,the next day."
"My dear, I am intrigued!" Jeanne threw back her head to indulge a merrylaugh.
Florence was glad that someone in the world could laugh. As for herself,she felt that things were getting rather too thick for comfort. She feltthat somehow she was approaching an hour of testing, perhaps a crisis.When would the testing come? Tomorrow? Next day? In a week? A month? Whocould say? Meanwhile, she could but carry on.