Paradise Cursed – Snippet 22

CHAPTER 19

Demarae brought his orichas aboard first. The women and the goat came by successive launches. I wondered why no other men were included in his ceremony, but that wasn’t my concern.

“Will this room suit the occasion?” I asked, and before he could answer, “Should we lower the window shades or keep them open?”

He must have sensed my agitation. His brown eyes sought mine.

“My friend,” he said, “calm yourself.”

“More easily said than done,” I countered. “We failed once. We must prevent another failure.”

“Yes. And your anxiety will only hinder our fortune. Lower the shades, please. We will have candles to help us focus our energies within the room.”

No matter how often I had seen or even engaged in such rituals, never before had I considered bringing one aboard my ship. My nerves were stretched like piano wires. Taking Demarae’s cue, I shut the sunlight from the room. Meanwhile, he and Marisha shoved two dining tables together against a wall. Over the clean white tablecloths already in place,  Marisha placed a heavier cloth from the supplies she had brought. Then she set a fat red candle on each table.

“To cleanse the room of negative energies,” she explained when she saw me watching. “When the ceremony starts, we will burn these.”

She set two dark candles beside the red ones.

“Black tobacco,” she said. “For protection.”

One by one, she brought the oricha bowls from their baskets, removed the plastic wrapping that covered them, and set them on the table. Around the bowls she placed platters of various fruits, vegetables and grains, in preparation, I assumed, for the offerings each saint preferred.

Hearing a clamor at the door, I turned to find two women bringing in a caged goat. A golden tan color with nicely curved horns, it did indeed appear healthy and well nourished. An animal to be sacrificed, I knew from times past, should be the best specimen available.

Marisha handed me a folded white garment and a pair of white paper booties.

“If you would, please, ask Ayanna to wear these and nothing else.” She handed me another folded garment, this one dark red. They both felt to be made of cotton. “The red is for our guest.”

I had explained by phone that Erin Kohl would be joining us, and why. Now, I took the hint and left them to finish preparing. When I knocked on Ayanna’s cabin, I found both women, gave them the clothing, and decided a walk would do wonders to calm my anxious stomach. I would also welcome a pipe. Even unlit the tobacco-scented candles had awakened my appetite.

The sea lay calm today. As I strolled toward the aft deck, where the remainder of Demarae’s helpers had gathered to quiet their own minds, I allowed the cool turquoise sea and sweet air to work their own brand of magic. The women, each clad in a white smock as before, lounged on our blue cushions. Having paid little attention to these ladies as individuals on our previous encounter, I recognized only three—a quite elderly woman with snow white hair and skin like old silk, a girl who couldn’t be more than fifteen, and a strikingly tall woman who could pass for Ayanna’s sister.

In response to my “Good morning, ladies,” I received a collectively murmured greeting and continued my stroll wondering if I should have requested Demarae bring more participants, a bigger pool of positive energy to battle the Bokor’s black magic. But if Demarae thought we needed more warm bodies, I felt sure he would not have needed my coaxing. He wanted this to succeed every bit as much as I did.

Strolling back to the dining room, I automatically checked the sky for thunderclouds. Of all days when we did not need to deal with the horrors of a rainstorm, this was it. Only clear blue as far as I could see.

I’ve watched many men die in my lifetime. Women, too. Many have died on my ship, some by my own gun, my own sword, some trying to save my worthless life. I’ve seen men hanged, gutted, beheaded, limbs hacked off, eyes gouged, tongues ripped out. Hundreds of men have bled out on my ship’s decks. I have tossed a few overboard to drown or be eaten by sharks or electrocuted in the murky eel-infested waters near Trinidad. In most cases, dying takes only minutes.

Today I wanted no dying.

Clear blue skies overhead was a good omen. I took a draw on my second-best pipe and felt the remainder of any tension leave my body.

We could do this.

*

The dining hall I’d left bore no resemblance to the one I entered. Flames from dozens of candles flickered on tables, glittered upon glassware at the bar, shimmered over white, brown and black faces, and rippled among shadows across the floor. The rich, sensuous aroma of tobacco saturated the air. The plinking of a stringed instrument, the rattle of beads, and a staccato drumbeat shivered up through the soles of my feet.

The sensation was so captivating I had difficulty breathing.

Then the door opened. Ayanna entered, followed by Erin. The single red garment suited her, set her apart from the women in white and strummed a note or two on my heartstrings. Seeing Demarae in his gaudy red tunic, however, pulled me back firmly into our reason for this event.

Marisha took Ayanna’s hand. Demarae took Erin’s. All four stepped aside for a whispered briefing while I found a place to stand and tried to blend into the wall.

Apparently, the shaman had a different role for me to play. He waved me over.

“Captain, you are the heart of this vessel. You must help us access the energy that permeates its hull.”

Before I could object, Marisha handed me a dipper and guided my hand to a deep bowl filled to the brim with a clear amber liquid.

“Bitter herbs Abre Camino, which opens blockages, and Apazote, which helps remove unwanted spirits, have been steeped in purified water and allowed to cool.” Marisha’s voice was low but clear, even against the music.

I saw Demarae remove one of his many necklaces and place it around Erin’s neck. Ayanna removed her slippers and stepped into a shallow plastic tub.

“Dip the herbal infusion and pour it over Ayanna’s body,” Marisha said. “Continue until the bowl is empty and every inch of her body has been cleansed.”

Okay. I could do that. She nodded for me to start.

I lifted the dipper from the pot to above Ayanna’s shoulder. Women who were not playing instruments rose from their chairs and began to dance around us, chanting. As I dipped and poured, they danced and chanted, often touching me or Ayanna in passing. I felt a cool hand on my cheek, then it was gone, and another touched my arm. The sensations of touch, scent, and sound so enveloped me that I became somewhat disoriented, swept up into a shared passion. The feeling was pleasantly intoxicating, yet not at all like drunkenness.

*

Ayanna inhaled the herbal scent into her nose and deep into her lungs as the water soaked her cotton shift. The water caressed her breasts, her back, her belly, yeah. It cooled her hot skin, sliding over her behind cheeks then down and between her legs to pool around her ankles. She expected, as before, to feel soothed of the sickness.

Instead, she felt invaded. Darkness invaded her mind, her skin. The dark was a cold place, vast and lonely, filled with rocks and sharp edges. A strange lightning flashed through the darkness, burning her, scalding her ears with its shrill brilliance. Then it was gone and she floated in murky green fog. Evilous thoughts came into her head…

They make bad smell on her tongue. She let go her legs, let dem go rubber, go slinky-down in da water pool, and she sat…listen to da evil bang around, fill her brain.

Da Bokor’s fire fill her eyes, da smoke clog her mouth, her nose holes, choke down her throat. Screaming in her mind but make no sound. Da Bokor slide da croc suit over his nakedness, big angry smile fill with ugly croc teeth, open wide to eat da dove.

Through her burning yellow eyes Ayanna saw da dove dress up in scarlet. Ayanna’s heart thumped with need. She need da dove. She need eat da dove. She need swallow da dove in her belly, yeah.

As I laid the dipper into the empty bowl, still oddly dazed from the heady atmosphere, Ayanna sank into the shallow water. Sitting limply but with wide-open eyes, she seemed to stare at some inner vision. I hoped this was good.

Shaman Demarae touched my shoulder. His chant had reached a fervent beat, his beads clicking musically as he dance-stepped lightly ahead of me. Erin followed, hands onDemarae’s waist, and he motioned for me to take a similar position behind Erin.

This wasn’t at all what I had expected when he said I should be involved in the ceremony. Dipping water was one thing. Dancing in his footsteps was something wholly different. It seemed a bit silly, even, like a Conga line at a party.

But I assumed our shaman had a serious reason for wanting the three of us to touch one another. As he and Erin danced past, I took my place behind her, hands somewhere near her waist, and did my best to match their rhythm. Around us, the women in white clapped and swayed to the steady staccato drumbeat.

The shaman’s chant repeated its way into my head. Though I had no idea what it meant, nor whether what I heard was precisely what Demarae was chanting, I found myself murmuring along.

“Oya dey, eeba, eeba, te-tey-ay, oya dey, eeba, eeba, te-tey-ay, la ro-yae, la ro-yae, oya…”

After a few minutes, the shaman danced to one side of the tub, where Ayanna appeared wilted and entranced. Marisha led the goat from behind the galley counter to a clear plastic sheet that had been laid out on the floor. Another woman stepped forward and helped Marisha turn the animal onto its side. From the leather loop on his belt, Demarae removed a machete.

“La ro-aye, oya dey, eeba, eeba…”

The drumbeat intensified. The music grew louder. The dancers became more animated. Demarae stepped onto the plastic sheeting, raised his weapon and brought it down at an angle to neatly cut off the goat’s head with one blow. I was impressed. Having beheaded a few men in my pirating days, I knew it was no easy feat.

As the animal collapsed, Demarae grabbed the severed head. Marisha placed a small bowl under the neck to catch the goat’s blood. When her bowl was full, she handed it to Demarae and began filling another.

The shaman dipped his hand into the blood and flung it at Ayanna. He danced around the shallow tub flinging more blood, and more.

I stood with my hands on Erin’s waist, still copying the shaman’s steps and murmuring his chant as we watched the blood spatter Ayanna’s sodden white shift that now clung to her curves, so sheer in its wetness that the tight buds of her nipples were clearly visible. The shaman danced while blood dripped and ran down Ayanna’s face, her arms—

A welcome sight silenced me and stilled my feet. The green scaly skin on Ayanna’s arms was vanishing, replaced by her own smooth golden tones.

“Do you see it?” I said to Erin. “It’s working.”

“Yes.”

She smiled at me over her shoulder. I grinned back, and both of us resumed our roles at once. This was no time to lay back on the job.

Demarae chose a stick rattle from items on his belt and waved it over Ayanna’s head. The voices and music quieted, although the drumbeat continued steady and soft. In a strong and deeper timber than I’d known him to use, the shaman recited words from the previous ceremony. “Huuuuuul, cleanse this good woman, Babalu Aye, hear our prayer…”

Ayanna remained unmoved since she’d first dropped into the water. Her skin was beautifully clear, and I hoped the internal illness was vanishing, as well. All in all, I felt quite satisfied with this healing ritual and proud of my ship’s involvement. Demarae had stepped up his part, providing a more intense ceremony, yet in his own words it would not have worked as well without the Sarah Jane‘s magic.

Tonight, I decided, a celebration would mark this good day. Although our passengers wouldn’t know why they were being treated so royally, any day that evil is thwarted on the Sarah Jane, her captain breaks out the free rum.

Abruptly, Erin stopped moving. Her body went rigid beneath my fingers.

I turned from watching Demarae and Ayanna. My heart missed a beat.

A serpent as big as a Volkswagen was coming through the wall, sliding directly at us.

Impossible. Not many snakes inhabit the islands, and none as dangerous, say, as a poisonous Jamaican centipede, which moves fast, eats tarantulas and can grow a foot long.

I have no particular fear of slithering reptiles. Nevertheless…

This thing was the stuff of nightmares.

Long, sharp, saliva-dripping teeth, yellow eyes hypnotizing in their intensity, it flowed toward us in quick, slithering motions. Its true length was impossible to judge, because part of it remained outside, yet it kept coming, growing longer and more massive in its serpentine path across the floor.

Incredibly, everything it touched passed right through. Tables, chairs, women, all were impervious, yet the snake appeared real and solid.

Only Erin and I seemed aware of its presence. Instinctively, I tried to push her behind me. She stood firm, lifting the amulet from inside her robe.

Demarae’s bloody machete lay on the plastic sheet. I reached for it before realizing that if tables and chairs passed right through the thing, so would a blade.

Did that mean it couldn’t hurt us? As real as it might look, it was only a vision.

Erin repeated the incantation I’d heard her use the night before, “Your sword shall enter into your own heart, your arrow shall be broken.”

The serpent kept coming, so close now that I could smell its fetid breath. Its tongue darted out and licked Erin’s face. Repulsed, I tried again to move in front of her.

She shook me off, brandished the amulet, and recited the incantation again.

Around us, though the music continued, everyone had ceased chanting and stood staring at us.

“What is it?” Demarae asked. “What do you see?”

“Are you telling me you don‘t see it?”

Slowly, his eyes wide with alarm, he shook his head, and I realized what must be happening. The vision manifested only to Erin and to anyone physically in contact with her.

I removed my hand from her waist. The snake vanished.

In the instant before it vanished, though, something had changed.

“Come here and touch me,” I told the shaman.

I laid a hand on Erin’s shoulder. Demarae placed his hand on mine.

“Oh, dear God,” he said.

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