Homemade Sin (7 page)

“You'll outlive everybody in Cassandra,” said Hussey.

Bella, a thin black girl in her mid-twenties, entered the room carrying sangria in an old cut glass pitcher and a platter of cookies shaped like little voodoo dolls. Bella carefully placed the platter of cookies and two glasses on the table. She proceeded to pour the sangria, holding her finger barely inside the rim of each glass so as not to overfill the glasses. While Bella poured, Hussey noticed a small cloth doll sitting on the side table. Mama caught Bella looking at the doll and with one fluid motion swept up the doll and stuffed it into the chair beside her. Before Mama whisked it away, Hussey noticed the face was painted brown and a scrap of fabric was pinned to a hank of nappy black hair that topped its head.

Hussey picked up a cookie and held it in front of her face admiring it. The cookie, with its little chocolate chips for eyes and little chocolate stitch mouth, brought back memories; it was just the same as those Mama had served the first time Hussey had visited.

“How you making out, Bella?” Hussey directed the question to Bella, as she bit off the head off her cookie.

“It's a struggle but I'm making do.” Bella looked about a foot to the right of Hussey's face. “Being blind is a pain in the ass, but I'm getting used to it.”

Ignoring Bella, Mama flipped another card from the deck and placed it on the table. With a sad smile she said; “I see trouble waiting for you in Saint Pete girl; that Cutter is about as worthless as tits on a boar hog. He'll get you in a tight spot sooner or later. I don't trust him as far as I could toss a 'gator; he's a natural born fuck-up.”

“Well, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed but he's cute and he loves me.”

“Granted he's a pretty boy,” said Mama, “But he ain't even a tool in that shed, he's more like a leaky bag of compost. Hussey honey, the man is almost retarded.”

“You don't have to be a genius to deal cards, and that's what he wants to do,” Hussey said. “Be a dealer in a casino, while I go to medical school.”

“Why do you want to be a doctor anyway? Wasn't going to college for four years enough for you? You got a degree in mixing up potions didn't you?”

“Organic Chemistry,” Hussey said. “My degree is in Organic Chemistry, and now I'll go on to medical school and become a neurologist, a physiological neurologist. I'll work with drugs to fix mental problems. I'm tired of the dark side,” Hussey continued. “Medical science is … well … science … not just smoke and mirrors like voodoo.”

“Smoke and mirrors!” Mama Wati went on the attack. “You know voodoo is more than smoke and mirrors. And don't be so sure there's all that much difference between the dark side and the light side. What do you think medical science was before there were all these highfaluting doctors? It was voodoo, that's what. Back before there were doctors, barbers did the surgery, everything from cutting hair to pulling teeth to tonsillectomies and slapping leeches on folks to balance their bodily humors. Pharmacology was done by old women who mixed herbs and roots and bits of this and that to make potions, poultices and elixirs. It wasn't until the men decided they wanted a piece of the action that the old healer ladies started to be called witches. The doctors decided that when they rolled a pill it was science and when some little old lady living in a thatch cottage did it, it was witchery. So the doctors sicced the Church on the poor old woman and their profession went up in smoke, literally.”

“What do witches have to do with voodoo?”

“The suppression of witchcraft was actually a suppression of biological knowledge,” Mama continued. “Christian destruction of paganism suppressed the human psyche; it was like the clergy rang a church bell and sent the flora and fauna to their corners and told them to come out fighting. Witchcraft, voodoo, holistic medicine, it's all the same thing,” said Mama. “Somebody simply using what nature provides to heal the sick, mixed in with a little positive thinking. At least with voodoo you get paid in cash,” said Mama. “You ain't gotta mess with the insurance companies to get paid. Nobody ever sued a voodoorine for malpractice and you get to sleep late in the morning. You already know more about how folk's bodies work than most of the doctors out there, you been mixing potions and powders for years, you're a natural chemist. That last batch of zombie potion you mixed up is promising, better than anything I ever mixed, or any other voodoorine I'll bet. What did you say you call it?”

“Mambo powder,” Hussey said.

“Mambo. Good name for it. How is that stuff working out?”

“It works all right on animals,” said Hussey. “I tried it on a couple of animals and it worked better than Borko, the old zombie powder.”

“That old Borko powder paralyzes the whole brain.” Mama shook her head. “I never used the stuff if I could help it. When you make a zombie with Borko you take away the essence of who the person is, deadens the part of the brain where the personality lives. You say your Mambo powder works without wiping out the personality?”

“Like I said, it works well on animals. I used the Mambo powder on Miz Zoller's Aussie Shepherd and he came out if it just fine. It cured him of his fear of sheep after that ram butted him. Borko would have cured him of his fear of sheep too, but it would have left him brain-blank, erased his personality. He'd just sit and stare until he was given a command. The Mambo powder took away the dog's fear and left his personality intact. He still wags his tail and runs to the door when Miz Zoller comes home. He's as sweet and affectionate as he ever was and now he's back to pulling his weight herding her sheep.”

“That was a good piece they did on you and the dog in the Cassandra Oracle,” said Mama, “but the picture didn't do you justice. The reporter talked up that powder of yours real good.”

“I got calls for a month after that article came out from people wanting me to fix everything wrong with their dogs from heart worm to halitosis. It's a good thing it was only a community newspaper.”

“Have you tried the Mambo on humans yet? Human brains are different. People have a higher level of consciousness than animals, more complex. Well,” Mama paused, “at least some of them do. But it just might work on humans too.”

“I'm scared of what it might do to a human. The only potion I'm going to mix up from now on is going to be FDA approved. From now on I'm studying medicine, not magic.”

“What a waste,” said Mama Wati, “that mambo stuff could be a miracle; you could win the Nobel Prize for voodoo with it. Do you remember what I asked you the first day we met? I asked if you wanted to know if you were going to grow up to be rich and famous and discover some miracle to heal the afflicted or wind up waiting tables in a fish house.”

“I remember. You never did tell me which was to be my destiny.”

“Your choice,” said Mama. “If I were you, I'd think about trying out your Mambo powder on people.”

“Too risky.” Hussey shook her head. “I'd never try it on a human.”

“Never say never.” Mama wagged her finger at Hussey. You could be a great voodoorine.” Mama Wati shifted in her chair and the cap came off the top of the fountain pen in the pocket of her housedress. She shifted again, and the pen perforated her dress and stabbed the cloth doll hidden in the chair cushion.

In the kitchen Bella screamed bloody murder and dropped the pitcher. The pitcher shattered on the tile floor spraying sangria across the wall and shards of cut glass all over the floor.

“Bella! What the hell did you do this time?” Mama called to the kitchen.

“I just got a sudden shooting pain in my ass,” Bella screeched, “and I broke the pitcher to bits.”

Mama looked down at the voodoo doll beside her. She saw the black ink spreading across the rear of the doll and realized what had happened.

“Is that Cutter coming up the drive?” Mama pointed at the window.

When Hussey turned to look, Mama plucked the doll from the chair cushion and examined it quickly. The bit of cloth that matched Bella's dress was still pinned to its hair and its eyes were still stitched shut. Satisfied, she tossed it under her chair before Hussey turned back to face her.

“I don't see anybody coming up the drive.”

“Sorry honey, my eyes ain't what they used to be.” Mama Wati bit the head off a cookie. “Now where were we? Oh, I know … the gift. You could be a ring-tailed wonder of a voodoorine. You couldn't be any better if you were my own daughter.”

“I told you I'm done with voodoo,” Hussey said.

“So you said.” Mama Wati smiled. “So you gonna get yourself an MD behind your name? Just don't forget your voodoo training; it'll come in handy someday.”

The women heard the soft crunch of gravel as a vehicle pulled into Mama's driveway. Hussey looked through the window and saw Cutters' big white van.

Mama scowled, closed her eyes and shook her head. She reached under her chair and retrieved the large leather-bound book of conjures and handed it to Hussey. Mama scooped up Hussy's backpack and crossed to her bedroom. She began pulling bottles and vials off the shelves and stuffing them in.

“I'm going to Saint Petersburg and be a doctor.”

Mama continued to stuff bottles into the knapsack.

“I don't need that stuff. Besides, I have all the voodoo powders and stuff I need in my grandfather's old medicine bag.” When Mama returned with the overstuffed backpack Hussey passed the book back to Mama Wati.

“This is just some odds and ends I mixed up for you, girl,” Mama said and handed Hussey the heavy backpack. “Some of them might come in handy, who knows? Humor an old woman and take it anyway.” Mama shoved the book back into Hussey's hands. “Take the book too, it's meant to be yours anyway. Besides, I don't want it in the house anymore.”

“I'll take this stuff to humor you,” Hussey said. She tucked the book under her arm.

Mama happened to catch movement at the kitchen door when she stood. The door was open a crack and Bella's face was visible through the gap. She barely heard Bella mutter, “That should be my book. “It ain't right!”

Hussey slipped her backpack over her shoulders and grimaced at the added weight. She adjusted the book under her arm and moved toward the front door.

Mama turned away from the kitchen door and followed.

Bella heard the two women cross to the door and crept through the living room to listen. As Mama stepped out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam behind her, Bella moved in so close the door almost slammed on her head.

When Hussey stepped off the porch Obadiah put down his hammer and came to give Hussey a hug goodbye. He gave her a broad smile displaying his gold teeth, hugged Hussey tightly and whispered in her ear, “Don't show your ass over there in Saint Petersburg.” Then he climbed the stairs to the porch to stand beside Mama.

Hussey turned back to wave at the old couple and noticed Bella's face in the screen door, a pained expression on her face.

“I'm telling you one last time,” shouted Mama to Hussey. “Don't go!”

Hussey waved goodbye and turned toward Cutter's van.

“I thought you told me it was the girl's destiny to go to St. Petersburg,” Obadiah whispered to Mama.

“That's right,” Mama whispered back.

“Then why are you telling her not to go?”

“You got to understand that girl. The best way to make sure she went to St. Pete was to tell her not to go.” Mama smiled, pleased with herself.

“Did you tell her about her grandfather?” said Obadiah.

“I was all set to but when it came down to it I didn't have the heart,” Mama said through the side of her mouth, still waving. “She'll know when the time comes.”

Bella Donna, her head pressed to the screen, was hanging on every word. “You gave that girl the book. It should have been mine. And I think I figured out what you made that doll for too. Your time is coming, you old witch.”

The next morning Hussey was bent over collecting mushrooms and stuffing them in a plastic, zipper bag when Cutter pulled his van around the lake and across the grassy bank toward her. He rolled down the driver's window and said, “What are you going to do with all those mushrooms? I thought you were through with voodoo.”

Hussey pulled the little plastic zipper across the full bag and stuffed it in her backpack among the powders and potions. “You never know when magic mushrooms may come in handy.” Hussey smiled as she climbed into the passenger side of the van and tossed her backpack into the back. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out her long, tanned legs, her feet out of the window. “Did you find us a hotel on the beach? I want to get in some beach time before I have to start school.”

“Uh … not yet.” Cutter avoided meeting her eyes, “I guess we can drive around and find something when we get there.”

“God, you are such a fuck-up,” sighed Hussey “I have to fill out a bunch of papers at the admissions office when we get there. While I'm doing that, you can drive around and find us a nice hotel.”