Paradise Cursed – Snippet 16
For the first time in many weeks, Ayanna felt clean in her mind, happy in her heart. In the shower, singing. Then she rolled all her bloodstained clothing into two tight bundles, pressing the air out, to make a final offering, yeah, to Oricha Babalu Aye and Oricha Oya Mimo.
On the floor at the foot of her bed, on a scarf serving as an altar cloth, she had placed two bowls, each with a stone and three cowries shells. She tucked the bundles inside the bowls. Earlier, in the galley, she had found ears of roasted corn, a basket of purple grapes. Babalu Aye preferred the grain, so she added a corn ear to his bowl. After breaking off a stem of grapes for Oya Mimo, she set the remainder aside for her own snack.
With pride, she admired the offerings. They were good.
She ate a few grapes then shared a few more with Oya Mimo. Now she lighted one small candle for each saint and murmured the prayer written on the paper Shaman Demarae had given her. Rising, she clapped her hands to the rhythm of the words and slowly danced in the small space of her quarters. Around and back she danced, watching the candles waver and murmuring her prayer. Her heart was full up with the joy this evening had brought and grateful to Babalu Aye for taking her sickness, Oya Mimo for taking the evil put on her by the Bokor. So she danced, praying her thankfulness, until her eyes grew heavy.
Lying down beside the altar, she pinched out the candles. In the near darkness, she could see thin wisps of smoke rising from the cooling wicks. She placed her head on her arm and let a most peaceful sleep take her.
Within the blackness, a fire burned yellow and red, casting harsh light and shadow on a figure dancing nearby. The figure was familiar, but not Shaman Demarae. Ayanna felt certain it was a woman, but just as certain it was the Bokor. She never had heard of a female Bokor, nah, and never had seen this person in her dark dreams except from the backside, yeah. No hair at all. Skin ashy-black, not brown like Ayanna’s. The only clothing a string around the waist and a skinny thong between the meaty behind cheeks. Maybe a man.
Each time the Bokor appeared in her mind, Ayanna saw a bit more but not enough, and never the person who paid for the curse. Bokors only conjure for a fee. Ayanna did not understand who would hate her enough to pay a Bokor for obeah magic and a curse so terrible.
Dancing beside the blazing fire, and black-up with smoking the weed, the Bokor threw a handful of something into the flames. They burned high and yellow, emitting a cloud of smoke, a stifling odor like banana leaves and fresh-turned earth. Cha! She wanted away, but bound by sleep her arms and legs refused to move.
A man-size crocodile hung from a tree limb, thick rope binding its throat and jaws. Grinning and singing in the thick smoke, the Bokor sliced open the beast’s belly, neck to tail, and scooped out its innards. Then two side slits cut with the same sharp, curved knife, and the Bokor slid his body into the croc’s skin, wearing it like a coat—
… and was Creation Stepper, struttin tru Babylon witout fear, livin on da struttin edge, fearin no foe. Da Bokor was Control. Da Bokor was Taker.
The Bokor’s fire burned higher.
Into the smoke walked a second person, spiky rastas glowing red in the firelight. Scaly green croc skin turned soft, smooth, white. Croc jaws flapping around the Bokor’s neck turned to soft, springy dark curls.
And the Bokor laughed and laughed and laughed.
*
Watching the Kohl sisters tonight had given me the tip of an idea. On any voyage, passengers arrived with such a variety of interests that entertaining them for days at sea was a challenge.
As a group, the islands offered shopping and water sports, but except for history lovers there was often little difference from one to the next. Had it not been for bringing Ayanna to Grand Cayman, we would’ve sailed to the Leeward Antilles, where Dutch, French and British cultures provide a rich assortment of dalliances. Among the Caymans, diving enthusiasts could find miles of ever-changing landscape to explore undersea, but those who preferred to remain on ship were not as thoroughly amused. Crab races. Toga parties. Shove out the diving plank so the young and courageous can jump and splash around. The more adventurous would climb the jib boom to dive, like going off a six-meter platform, or clamber across the widows’ net to jump.
Compared to an ocean liner, which was much like a city with its swimming pool, theater, casino, and numerous dining areas, the Sarah Jane had little to offer guests during long sails— which typically were done at night— or to offer guests who remained aboard after dinner rather than go ashore and take in the nightlife. Tarot readings might spice things up a bit.
Ola certainly seemed to enjoy hers. Seeing the sisters exit the dining room, I finished my conversation with a couple from Wyoming, one of those American territories I find immensely fascinating because I can never hope to go there, and followed the girls to the main deck hoping to pitch my idea.
Unfortunately, on this a clear and balmy night, I met such a number of strolling passengers who wanted a moment of my time that my objective remained out of reach.
*
Lying on the cool cabin floor beside the altar, Ayanna floated in yellow, in the divine spiral of a reptilian eye, yellow yet not like sunshine yellow or lemon yellow but the color of her urine when she was full-up with rum. The yellow took her slide-along up the companionway and across the ship.
Spying two women, toucan and dove, Ayanna felt evilous bad thoughts invade. Her mind filled with craven for the dove. She thought to rip open the pretty little dove head and discover her secrets.
Though sickened by the evilous thoughts, Ayanna could not tear herself from the spiraling, slip-sliding yellow.
“Great fracking hell!” the toucan screeched, clutching her sister. “Erin, what is that?”
“You see it, too?” Backing away, the dove groped busily in her handbag.
“See it? We’re going to be its next meal, run!”
*
“Run!” Dayna screeched again, but she was frozen in heart-hammering panic at her sister’s side, scarcely believing what she saw, the snaky thing materializing in mid air as big as an elephant but longer, squirmier, scalier, coming at them—fierce yellow eyes, ugly slash of a mouth with fangs, dripping, coming at them—coming at them, and they were smack against the ship’s rail, and Dayna’s feet were ice, heart threatening to burst, tongue so thick and dry she couldn’t say it again, run!
Erin calmly continued searching through her bag.
Run! Yet the word stuck to Dayna’s tongue, filling her mouth that tiny word, refusing to budge past her teeth. Fingers clenched around Erin’s arm, she tried to pull her away from the hideous, scaly, yellow-eyed reptile, willing her sister to come on, Erin, move. Run!
Erin pushed things around in her bag…
What are you doing? Let’s go. Run! The words shouted in Dayna’s brain but came out only in squeaks from her stubborn mouth.
The reptile rippled closer, bigger, it’s glaring eyes bathing them in yellow—not just light, it was thicker than air, thick like smoke with a smell like rotten eggs. It oozed around them, filling Dayna’s nose, burning, choking…Please, Erin! Unless you’ve got a gun hidden...the squeaks in her throat became a racking cough but still she tugged at her sister’s arm. Please run!
Finally, Erin stopped rummaging and removed a small object from her bag. It caught the moonlight and gleamed. Ayanna’s amulet?
She lifted it toward the beast.
“Your sword shall enter into your own heart…” Erin murmured. Holding the charm in front of her, she stepped toward the beast, slipping Dayna’s grasp.
The beast faded.
“…and your arrow shall be broken.” Erin thrust the amulet high.
But the beast was already gone.
You did it. Dayna stared, unwilling to blink. How did you make it vanish?
“Your sword shall…” Erin murmured again, still moving forward.
Moving toward it, like it was still there, but it was gone, wasn’t it? Amazement melting her fear, Dayna scanned the ship’s deck for any sign that the thing had been real.
*
On the cool floor, floating in yellow twilight sleep, Ayanna moaned and writhed. Words like fiery stones falling from the dove’s lips as she thrust her puny bauble ahead of her. Ayanna floated forward.
“Your sword shall enter into your own heart and your arrow shall be broken, your sword shall enter into your own heart…”
Bauble catching the moon’s light, reflected a cold beam. Dissolving within the yellow… Ayanna gasped and woke fully. Terrified. Sick in her stomach. Unable to breath.
Shaman Demarae’s cleansing had not worked.
His blessing had fallen on closed ears, the orichas not hearing.
Or worse… the orichas had failed.
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