Oppressed (5 page)

Everybody say she got a
mojo

now, she's been usin' that
stuff

Mmm mmm mmm, 'verybody says
she got a mojo

'cause she been usin' that
stuff

But she got a way trimmin'
down

hoo, fair brown, and I mean
it's most too tough

Now little girl, since I am
the King

baby, and you is a
Q
ueen

Ooo hoo eee, since I am the
King

baby, and you is a
Queen

Le's us put our heads
together

hoo, fair brown, then we
can make our money green

The voice was utterly
spellbinding as it wailed its tune into the night. I could sense
that it was coming from the direction of the main gate. I made a
mad dash out of the forest and onto the main path. When I reached
the main path I saw that although the main house was covered in a
thick fog
,
the gate was perfectly visible. How odd. By the time I reached the
gate my legs were wobbling from sheer exhaustion and I was out of
breath. I thought back to when Lucus and I had jogged to the gate
and ugly-ass Sousson Pannan had showed up. I really hoped that this
wasn’t anther one of his nasty tricks.

“
Hello!” I cried out, as
respectfully as I could.

Nobody answered, but the music continued
to play and that earthy voice continued to sing its haunting
tune.

Everybody say she got a
mojo

now, she's been usin' that
stuff

Mmm mmm mmm, 'verybody says
she got a mojo

Think, Arelia. Guitar. Gateway.
Power. Could it really be Papa Legba? He was basically one of the
most powerful and popular loas around. He wasn’t only respected in
New Orleans but in various other countries around the world. In
Trinidad and Tobago he was referred to as Elegua and in Brazil he
was known as Exu. He was so widely revered because he had the power
to remove any obstacles that stood in your path and he could bestow
you with the gift of clarity
, therefore making it easier to reach your final
destination or goal.

The only problem was I had no idea who or
what stood in my way, nor did I fully understand what my final goal
or destination was. How was he supposed to help me when I wasn’t
even sure what I needed to ask for? But above all, was I willing to
accept whatever had to tell me? Was I willing to face the scariest
thing of all? The truth? I wasn’t sure. What if Lucus wasn’t who he
appeared to be? Would I be willing to accept that fact?

Is this who Marie had wanted me to meet?
Had she arranged for me to meet Legba, and if so, why? If memory
served me correctly, according to the many, many rumors swirling
around the curse Papa Legba was the spirit who had control over
Lucus and Louis’ souls. If this rumor was in fact true, I had to
meet him and beg for his help.

Obviously, meeting Papa Legba and getting
his help was a big deal. However, like all spirits, he was known to
be pretty tricky and picky and I didn’t have any candy, rum, or
cigars on me; aside from your very soul, those were his favorite
offerings.

“
Hello!” I cried out again
in vain.

The music continued to play but I heard no
voice reply to my greeting. Given the fact that I was empty-handed
I wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t even willing to acknowledge my
presence. I thought back to all my study sessions and tried to
think of something, anything, that would help me with this spirit.
After a few minutes of racking my very confused brain I remembered
a chant that was supposed to appeal to him:

Papa Legba, please help
your children at the gateway

Papa Legba, open the
door

Your children
await

Open the door Papa
Legba

So that I may
pass

When I return, I will thank
the loa.

The music
stopped
,
along with the humming of the swamp animals. Not a single leaf
rustled nor did a single cricket chirp. It seemed as if the entire
world had died, with the exception of me. Above, the moon slowly
changed color from a bright yellow into a rich shade of blood red.
Against the pitch black sky it was a sight so striking that I had
to stop and momentarily admire its radiance. The moon and sky told
me Papa Legba had to be near. Red and black were his signature
colors. But where was he? Was he spying on me and deciding if I was
good enough to help? That thought made me a little paranoid and
promoted me to stand up straight. I really needed to work on my
posture.

“
Hello? Papa Legba? Are
you there?”

My question was met with silence and I
felt myself becoming increasingly nervous as it hit me that I was
attempting to meet the rock star of the spirit world. According to
legend, Papa Legba was the messenger of destiny; after all, he had
been the one who had tuned the legendary Tommy Johnson’s guitar and
had steered him towards fame and fortune. Johnson had openly
admitted that it had been Legba who had helped him out. Clearly I
wasn’t destined to be a rock star given my tragic singing skills,
but where would my destiny lead me, and who was Papa Legba going to
introduce me to? But most importantly, how would this crazy ride
help me help Lucus and Louis?

I gripped the metal gate
and tried to peer
beyond it, but to my disappointment I only saw a pool of black
emptiness which seemed so vast and never-ending that I was sure I
would never see the light of day again.

Since I didn’t have any other options
I backed away from the gate and tried the chant once
more.

Papa Legba, open the
door

Your children
await

Open the door Papa
Legba

So that I may
pass

When I return, I will thank
the loa.

“
Please,” I added for good
measure, as I stared at the gate rather impatiently.

Still. Nothing.

To my relief, after a few moments, the
guitar started to play again and the low, gravelly voice started to
sing. Cigar smoke seeped through the gate and into the keyhole. The
lock rattled and shook violently until it finally popped open. I
watched in fascination as the gate slowly swung wide for me.
Cautiously, I took a step towards the gate, closed my eyes, and
without hesitation followed the music.

Chapter Six

At the Crossroads

I wasn’t exactly thrilled with where the
music had taken me. When my eyes opened I found myself standing in
the middle of a shabby bar with rotting walls, a half-collapsed
ceiling and a floor so filthy I swore I was about to contract some
kind of rare life-threatening infection. The smell of stale cigar
smoke, cheap rum sprinkled with a dash of vomit, and body odor was
so disgusting that I had to hold my breath. Puffs of cigar smoke,
conversation and blues music lingered in the air, giving the place
an oddly lively quality despite its obvious poverty.

There were no tables; only one long wooden
bar, which was tended by an old man with dark wrinkled skin and a
closely-cropped beard peppered with gray hairs. He walked with a
cane and a slight limp. With his straw hat and red flannel shirt he
looked like a farmer rather than a bartender. Despite his shabby
appearance his smile was exceptionally radiant, and his voice was
so incredibly low and smooth that it gave me an immediate craving
for a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich.

Around me, depressed bar patrons slumped
on their stools, smoked fat cigars, slurped their drinks, and most
disturbingly of all spoke to themselves in harsh, venomous
tones.

“
No don’t say that. Don’t say
that. No don’t say that. Don’t say that. Don’t say that. Don’t say
that,” repeated one patron with a too-big head and freakishly hairy
arms.

“
You shouldn’t talk about
such things. You shouldn’t talk about such things. You shouldn’t
talk about such things,” said a young woman with strikingly pretty
face offset by a nasty scowl. Her voice got lower and lower. “You
shouldn’t talk about such things because they make others
uncomfortable… Shhhh. If you don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist.
If you don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist. If you don’t talk
about it, it doesn’t exist. If you don’t think about it, it doesn’t
exist. Shhhhhh. Don’t think about it… Don’t think… Don’t think…
Don’t think…”

“
I don’t have anything positive
to say about you! Nothing at all! Nothing ! Nothing! Nothing
positive! Horrible! Nothing positive! Horrible! Nothing good at
all!” screeched a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and icy
blue eyes. I tried to suppress my laughter and horror. Watching a
grown man whine like a spoiled school girl was simultaneously
amusing and downright frightening. What a Dumpty.

“
Meh! I don’t know why I put up
with you! I don’t know why I put up with you! I don’t know why I
put up with you! You! You! And you!” screamed a girl with a mop of
dark curls and bloodshot eyes.

“
Get over it. Get over it.
Get over it. I’m over it. I’m over it. Really I am. You get over
it,” repeated a teenaged boy with a large neck tattoo and lip
piercing.

“
You’re not
super-
great
or wonderful, I am! You’re not super-great or wonderful, I am!”
repeated a thin man with long red hair and a tear-streaked face.
“I’m super-wonderful not you!”

Their energy depressed me to the point
where I felt I had to immediately sit down, otherwise I would
collapse. What an utterly terrifying and odd group of people they
were. I went unnoticed by them as I made my way through the room
and towards the bar, where I pulled out a stool. I sat beside the
redheaded man and tried to avoid eye contact. Why was Papa Legba
hanging out in such a miserable place? Where was he,
anyways?

I focused my attention on the thick layer
of dirt that had accumulated under my finger nails and tried to
think of what my next move would be.

The red
headed man poked me with his bony
finger and even though I kept my head down he insisted on speaking
to me anyways. “You left him. You left him! You left! You left him!
You hurt people, don’t you? Don’t you?”

“
I don’t know what you’re
talking about,” I said, as I continued to avoid eye
contact.

“
He he he. You hurt
people! You hurt people! You hurt people!” he continued to sing.
“You hurt people! You hurt people! You hurt people!”

Calm, Arelia. Calm, don’t snap
at the poor man
; he obviously has problems. Compassion and respect. That’s
right, show some compassion and respect for your fellow man.
I took a deep
breath and ignored him but he continued to poke me with his bony
finger. “You hurt people! You hurt people! You hurt people! You
hurt people!” He went on and on.

Ignore him, Arelia. Ignore
him.

As much as I wanted to ignore
him and keep my vow of compassion and respect
, he kept poking me, and after
a while it got so irritating I had the sudden urge to break his
finger.

“
Shut
up!” I snapped, unable to hold in my
annoyance any longer. “What‘s your problem?” I asked, as I faced
him.

“
You hurt people! You hurt
people!”

“
Simon, be nice to our guest.”
Thankfully, the bartender came to my rescue and the redhead stopped
his incessant poking and went back to talking to
himself.

What kind of
strange-
ass
bar was this? “Thank you.” I gave the bartender a half-smile, not
really looking at him.

“
My pleasure, darlin’. Here,
this should cheer you up. I know it always makes me feel better,”
he said in that comforting voice of his, as he pushed a bowl full
of candy towards me.

I eyed the bowl suspiciously, but quickly
became mesmerized by the colorful candy it contained. I was tempted
to grab what looked like a monster gumdrop but had to remind myself
that nothing good ever came from taking candy from strangers, no
matter how tempting it was.

“
No thanks.” I pushed the
bowl away.

“
You don’t know what you’re
missing,” said the bartender, as he helped himself to a red
lollipop.

I perked up and looked at the
bartender carefully. Red flannel shirt, red lollypop. “Papa Legba?”
I asked with uncertainty. He didn’t look like a rock star. In fact,
he looked like a frail old man with a candy addiction.

He smiled widely and peered at
me with his kind brown eyes. “Arelia LaRue, I’ve been expecting
you. Your friend Marie is certain that you’re ready to let go of
your fears. The question is,
are
you ready?”

I was speechless. What do you say to a
spirit who is infinitely powerful, wise, and knows more about you
than yourself? I shrugged. “I guess so, but I don’t know why I’m
here and where I’m supposed to go, so that makes everything a bit
more complicated. I’m not even sure I can trust Marie.”