Color Blind (14 page)

Lost in the beauty of the swamp, I had forgotten about the impending storm. Out here, there were no big gusts of wind or threatening clouds, only the quiet passing from day to evening.
Is the storm moving back out into the Gulf?

As we motored past, lights came on inside a ramshackle cabin. Weathered shanties and abandoned shacks lined the shore, nestled alongside brand new double-wide trailers balanced on stilts high above the water line. Some places were well kept, others not so much. I was surprised to see there was a community of sorts out here. People living in a swamp was something I hadn't ever thought about. Then again, why would I? This was all so foreign to me.

Old wringer wash tubs and ice boxes decorated yards, adding the flair of a junkyard sculpture garden to the neighborhood. Flat boats and the occasional fishing boat rocked idly at weathered docks. Some of the oldest buildings looked like they had been here since the Civil War. No matter how old or ugly their appearance was, none of the homes was without a satellite dish. It was amazing to me that the tentacles of technology had reached this remote place. My mind flashed on a bizarre new reality show,
Real Housewives of the Bayou
. Not a pretty picture.

We passed a weathered general store at Prosper's Fish Camp, where an old blue sign with icicle letters advertised
Refrigerated Air Inside
. A barrel of live bait and two sparkling vending machines crowded the sagging porch. I wondered how long it would be before everything fell in on itself and was swallowed up by the marsh, disappearing as if it had never existed in the first place. Daylight slowly faded as we motored on, deeper into the gloom.

“Not much farther, ladies,” said Marguerite, cutting the motor and pulling it out of the water.

“Help me,” she said, reaching for a paddle. “The roots from the cypress trees and the water plants, they grow too thick to motor in. We paddle from here.”

The night was alive with insect song. Wildlife moved unseen through the trees; at least I hoped it was wildlife. I heard drums in the distance and saw a reddish glow above the tree tops. We were almost there.

We paddled to the shore, where Marguerite tied our boat to a low-lying dock in desperate need of repair. She hefted the old wooden cage full of protesting chickens, as if she had done this many times before.

Marguerite turned to us. “Follow me.”

Angel gasped, held back, whispered to me, “April, this don't feel right. Even the chickens know this isn't right. How come you don't know this isn't right? Let her go ahead. We can take the boat and skedaddle on outta here.”

“Angel, I need to do this. It won't be long now. Then we can go, I promise,” I whispered back. “When the ceremony is over my father's spirit will rest easy for all eternity. Mine, too. I need this.”

Angel bowed her head, muttered something I couldn't hear, and kissed the cross around her neck before we scampered after Marguerite up the overgrown path. The beauty of the swamp escaped me now. Branches slapped at my bare skin, tearing at my flesh. Countless insects buzzed and bit. Angel tripped over a root and cried out. I helped her up, looked her over, and found nothing broken, only skinned knees and elbows. Clearing our way through a tangle of vines, we neared the end of the rugged path. The drums grew louder; the bonfire crackled and popped as the dry wood ignited, turning the sky blood red. My heart raced as adrenaline pumped into my system. I hadn't known what to expect of a spiritual cleansing ceremony, but it certainly wasn't this.
Spiritual cleansing
sounded so gentle, almost baptismal.

Marguerite stopped. Angel and I watched as, with her head held high, Marguerite appeared to grow taller. With her regal silhouette illuminated by the glow of the bonfire, her entrance to the clearing was made that much more dramatic. We followed, but kept our distance. My heart felt like it would burst as I absorbed the spine-chilling tableau.

Three dreadlocked drummers (two of whom I recognized from the Voodoo shop) and more than two dozen devotees dressed in white encircled the clearing where an intense bonfire burned. Angel and I stayed on the sidelines while Marguerite made her way to the center. A painfully thin young man about Angel's age came forward; he wore no shirt or shoes. He bowed to Marguerite, took the cage and placed it near a tethered baby goat. The goat bleated at the squawking chickens. A greeting? Or plotting their escape? On the far side of the clearing was an older man, again without shoes or shirt, dancing, grinning, and twirling two gleaming machetes like some sort of maniacal drum major.

The drummers stopped. Marguerite circled around, her arms open wide, as if to embrace the dozens of devotees.

“Welcome my friends! We have gathered this evening to bring peace to those without peace. Tonight we come together to give safe passage to all wandering, restless souls.” She held me with her gaze. “And, tonight we shall provide peace to another soul without anchor.”

Angel gripped my hand tighter, moaned softly and shrunk into herself. The first drummer started a slow beat on his drum, then the second one started, and finally the third drummer joined the rhythmic thumping. Marguerite pulled a small muslin bag from her pocket. She opened it and began to place pinches of white corn meal in a circle around a tall cross-topped pole. She created an astral design (a
Veve
, she called it) used to invoke the spirits, the
Loa
. She circled again, added more white powder symbols to her design. She chanted quietly as she designed her way around the pole, like a sorceress working her black magic.

One by one, the crowd began to sway, chanting with Marguerite until they were in full chorus and writhing as one. The drum beat intensified. If the dead were not already restless, they soon would be. Angel stood quaking at my side.

I felt overwhelmed by the heat, the humidity, the noise, and the stunning realization that I had made a terrible mistake by coming here, especially by bringing Angel with me.
What have I done?

I looked around the circle at the twisting, keening devotees. I looked at the twirling man, his chest now glistening with sweat, his machetes gleaming in the firelight. I looked at the little black and white goat and the chickens. Finally, I understood.

Sacrifice.

Before I could faint, I heard or felt from deep within, my father, as if he were standing right beside me,
“Get out of here now, April!”

Feeling like I'd been punched in the gut was the jolt I needed.
Dad is still here for me! His spirit will always be with me, guiding me, protecting me.
And now, it was up to me to protect Angel before she became even more traumatized. But I had to get her out of the clearing first.

I tapped Angel's trembling shoulder. She looked up at me. Her bottom lip was quivering, her eyes as dilated as a drug addict's. She was more frightened than anyone I had ever seen. I felt horrible for what I had done to her. I held a finger to my lips and nodded towards the path. The devotees were so entranced, I doubted anyone would notice if we left. I drew Angel close to me and we began to slink away, one step backwards at a time. Abruptly, the drumming and chanting stopped. The shirtless man ceremoniously approached the blazing bonfire, crossed the glimmering machetes over his head and grinned like Batman's Joker.

Marguerite whirled around, pointed to me, and commanded, “Bring me the cage.”

Everyone turned towards me, their eyes glowing red in the firelight, ratcheting up the fear factor. If ever there was a time to make a run for it, it would be now.

But my feet wouldn't move.

Louder this time, Marguerite bellowed, “Bring me the cage.”

Angel cried, “April, noooooo!” and tightened her grip on my shirt.

I looked around, realizing we were just as trapped as the animals. Seeing no other way out of this, I slowly moved forward. Angel pulled at my shirt, tried to bring me back.

“April, we gotta get out,” Angel whispered. Desperately afraid, she began to cry.

I had no plan, but knew it was time to act. What could I possibly do to get this sorted out? I'd made such a mess of everything. I couldn't think about it now. Regrets could wait. I had to focus on the here and now, on Angel.

“Angel, I don't have a choice. Come with me, you can stand by the goat. Here, take my hand,” I said, moving towards the chickens, my mind racing.

Angel gripped my hand and followed, sobbing as we worked our way closer to the animals. I looked back and saw that the man with the machetes had a fixed, menacing smile as he flashed his killing tools in anticipation.

“Angel, look. Look at that baby goat. She's frightened, just like you and me. Please stay with her, pet her, hug her. You can help her. She needs you,” I said with as much calm as I could muster. I reached for the cage.

“April, I ca-can't. I ju-just can't do this,” Angel stuttered, crying inconsolably.

Her agony broke my heart. I took Angel by the shoulders and lightly shook her. I looked deep into her eyes, “Angel, please stop crying! I need your help. The goat needs your help. I need you to take care of her. Do you understand me? Do you?”

Angel raised her head, looked at me, looked back at the goat. Her eyes grew wide.

“You understand me now, right, Angel?”

Angel nodded, wiped away the tears with the back of her hand and moved closer to the bleating baby goat. As Angel patted her, the little goat quieted. I picked up the cage, turned towards my audience, held my head high.

All eyes were on me now. I affected an air of great aplomb, as I'd seen the famous actresses, like Vivien Leigh, do in the classic movies I watched with my dad. I walked with grand ceremony into the arena. It was difficult to manage, as the cage was rocking with flapping, frightened chickens. I used that to my advantage, appearing to struggle mightily. As I approached the center of the circle, I stared intently at Marguerite, one unsteady step at a time.

Marguerite, arms stretched out towards the heavens, was bathed in an aura of firelight, her golden eyes burning as intensely as the bonfire.

She called out, “Now is the time to bring peace to the restless spirits. Oh, beautiful descendant of the great Queen Marie Laveau, come to me. Together we shall raise her
Loa
.”

The drums began their beat once more, this time in sync; slowly at first, then faster and faster, driving the devotees into a whirling frenzy. One by one they fell to the ground moaning and writhing, as if possessed by angry demons. Lightning ripped across the starless night, thunder crashed in the distance.

“Bring me the cage, my child!” ordered Marguerite.

I stopped, looked squarely into her glowing, golden eyes. Inch by inch, I raised the cage as high as I could over my head.

“Not in this lifetime! And, Madame,
I am not your child!
”

When I let go, the cage hit the hard packed dirt with a loud crack, the old wooden sides split open and the chickens exploded into the night. Taking her cue, Angel unhitched the baby goat, wrapped her arms around its tiny belly and ran towards the edge of the clearing.

Machete Man dropped his gleaming instruments near the fire and began to chase the chickens. The devotees sprang into action, joining the chase. Everyone trampled the intricate Voodoo designs Marguerite had carefully crafted. The white powder dispersed, clouding the air. It was awesome chaos! The scene was totally like something out of an incredibly dark Marx Brothers movie. I would have laughed out loud if I could have.

I gave Marguerite one long, last parting look. She smiled briefly, nodded her head and turned her back on me.

Unsure exactly what she meant, but unwilling to stick around to find out, I swiftly crossed the clearing and ran to catch up with Angel. The nearly invisible path to the clearing was now completely invisible. I had no clue where we were or how to get back to the boat. Away from the bonfire light, I was cloaked by the inky black night. Disoriented and way out of my element, I had difficulty finding Angel.

I hissed, “Angel, where are you?”

“Here.”

“Where?”

“By the tree.”

What tree? There are thousands out here!
I wanted to scream at her, but didn't.

“Hang on a second, Angel. There's a flashlight on the keychain.”

I grabbed the keys from my pocket and, thank God, it was there. I shined the flashlight around until its narrow beam settled on two frightened figures crouched by a tree just ahead. As I got closer, I saw that a large spider's web had separated from the tree and wrapped Angel's shoulders like a delicate lace shawl. The web's gargantuan architect crawled cautiously down a branch towards Angel. I hated spiders—in fact, I loathed spiders. Spiders always scared the heck out of me, but Dad was always there to get rid of them. Now, it was my turn.

“Angel, don't move, honey. Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you,” I said, looking around for something to use.

“
Bleat! Bleat!
”

“Was that you or the goat?” I laughed, trying to bring a little levity to the situation, keep Angel calm.

I dropped the light, grabbed a fallen branch, rushed full speed towards the tree and smacked the seemingly softball-sized arachnid into the air before it could do Angel any harm.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a little spider, that's all. It's gone now, not to worry,” I said, doing a little victory dance.

I dropped the branch, retrieved the flashlight, reached down and wiped away the nasty web. I took the goat from Angel, held out my hand and helped her up.

“Time to go home, Angel. I think we've overstayed our welcome.”

Angel grinned and rolled her eyes. We both jumped at the sound of someone or something crashing through the trees. I turned off the light and heard Angel gasp.

“You know this place is full of wild boars, right?”