2 A Reason for Murder (10 page)

I sighed loudly. "I don't know anyone. I'm in Australia; it's not exactly the world hub of hoodoo voodoo or of Haitian Voudou."

"Just give me a minute."

I waited about three minutes, but luckily for me, Chris was the one paying for the international call.

His voice came back. "Are you anywhere near Armidale in New South Wales?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, and I did my degree there."

"At the University of New England there's a man who could possibly help you, but I could be sending you on a wild goose chase. Professor Bill Dolan. He's not a practitioner, not as far as I know, but he's an ancient historian and his research field is religious artifacts. They have a quite a good museum there in the School of Humanities. He could be helpful. I'm afraid I can't think of anything else that could help."

I thanked Chris and offered apologies that he was paying for the call, but he assured me he was on a good plan. Jamie had snored throughout the entire conversation, and I had made no progress on solving the murder of Baxter Morgan.

"Before a cat will condescend
To treat you as a trusted friend,
Some little token of esteem
Is needed, like a dish of cream."
(T.S. Eliot)

Chapter Sixteen
.

I pulled into the car park at Heatherbrae McDonald's for a bathroom and coffee stop. At McCafe I ordered and paid for my long black with a double shot of caramel and Jamie's usual English Breakfast tea with two sugars, then headed to the bathroom. The drinks were awaiting me upon my return. I took them back to the car where Jamie was asleep. The jet lag appeared to have hit him hard.

I had been a student at the University of New England in the country town of Armidale, known to some visitors as Farmidale. Armidale was technically a city due to the requisite number of cathedrals, but had a population of only around twenty five thousand. Unsuspecting people heading north to Armidale would drive the long route along the New England Highway, via Muswellbrook, Scone, and Tamworth (each of which had a Maccas), but the route over the mountain cut off a good two hours. The catch was that it was over a mountain, a whopping big, steep mountain, and had miles and miles of winding roads. It was very picturesque, but along this route, Heatherbrae was the last Maccas until Armidale from which it was about a four hour drive. There was however good coffee along the way at Stroud, Gloucester, and Barrington, and even at Walcha and Uralla. I knew this road well.

Jamie stirred, said, "Are we there yet?" and then went back to sleep. I was wedged between two logging trucks going up the mountain. Often logging trucks pull over to let traffic past, but this one didn't, and there was no opportunity to overtake given the narrow roads and the rapidly descending mist.

By the time we reached Armidale, Jamie was wide awake and in fact had driven from the top of the mountain to Uralla. I swapped back to being driver again at Uralla as I felt it less taxing to drive than to give directions. I knew my way to the University of New England and took the short cut past the golf course and up Elm Avenue, along the drive flanked by, you guessed it, elm trees. European culture is young in Australia, just over two hundred years old, and these elm trees were ancient in the scheme of things. At the top of the road I took a right, then a left, and wound my way up to the car parks, parking in the first visitors' section at the bottom of the Faculty of Arts building. I grumbled that I had to insert two dollars in the machine for the privilege of parking there. When I was a student, parking had been free.

The Faculty of Arts building was a large gray concrete affair, and it was fortunate that I knew how to navigate the rabbit's warren of rooms and lecture theaters.

Professor Dolan's door was open. I knocked and he gestured us in from his position behind his desk. The small room was much like any other in the Faculty of Arts, a wall of bookshelves on the right of the door, a Mac on the desk ahead with the standard issue Occupational Health and Safety chair, white-painted, rendered concrete walls and a narrow floor to ceiling window with an outlook over lawns and native Australian shrubs. Most academics' rooms are cluttered, and Dolan's room was no exception.

Professor Dolan stood up, smiling, and introduced himself. Jamie and I followed suit and I thanked him for seeing us on such short notice. He was tall, a little stooped and thin, and red-faced. He reminded me of a professor I'd had as a student, a professor whose lectures were so boring that my fellow students and I used to joke that he had read the same lecture for centuries, and kept it preserved between plates of glass so it wouldn't disintegrate from age.

"You are interested in jars that are said to contain human spirits?" Dolan came straight to the point.

I also came straight to the point, wriggling on the uncomfortable chair. "Yes. I'm particularly interested in
govi
, but any information about jars which contain human spirits would be very helpful."

Dolan rubbed his hands together. "Of course, zombi bottles immediately spring to mind."

Jamie and I looked at each other. I thought of
The Walking Dead
, and then of
Shaun of the Dead
and Simon Pegg.

Dolan continued. "Just a sec. I set aside some information for you." He flashed me the cover of a large book. I had a fleeting glimpse of a hand, and at the top, the word "Vodou" in white against a black background. The professor started to read but I forestalled him.

"Sorry - could you give me the name of the book please?"

"Certainly. It's Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou and the editor is Donald J. Cosentino. That's v, o, d, o, u, and Cosentino is c, o, s, e, n for November, t, i, n for November, o. 1995."

I held up my hand to prevent him telling me the publisher and spelling it too. "I won't need the publisher."

"Sure. The chapter is by Elizabeth-with-a-z McAlister-that's-M-c, and is entitled, 'A Sorcerer's Bottle: The Visual Art of Magic in Haiti.'"

Thankfully no words in the title were spelled out for me. The professor held up the book to show me a beautiful color print. "Do you know what that is?"

I peered at it. "I have no idea of the spiritual significance. I can see it's a bottle with two scissors tied to it."

"It's a bottle with a spirit inside it, made by a Haitian
bokor
. That's who you may describe in layperson's terms as a sorcerer." Professor Dolan almost sounded triumphant. "This is
nkisi
, n for November, k, i, s, i. The plural is
minkisi
, m for Mike, i, n for November, k, i, s, i." I took notes. He coughed, and then continued. "The
nkisi
contains a spirit which is constructed and controlled by humans, and usually the spirit is taken from one of the dead."

Jamie spoke. "Do you mean that a
nkisi
could contain the spirit of a person who has died?"

Dolan nodded, and picked up another book. "I'll explain what Thompson and Cornett have to say. They say that a
nkisi
is believed to live with an inner life of its own. The basis of that life was a captured soul. They also say that the owner of the charm could direct the spirit in the object to accomplish mystically certain things for him, either to enhance his luck or to sharpen his business sense. That's R. F. Thompson, t, h, o, m for Mike, p, s, o, n for November and J. Cornett, c, o, r, n for November, e, t, t, Four Moments of the Sun, Smithsonian Institution Press." Dolan paused and looked up at me.

I shook my head. "I don't need the publisher." I wondered why he hadn't given the NATO Phonetic Alphabet for all the letters, but I was certainly glad he hadn't.

He nodded, and added, "1981, page 37. Now, this article by Elizabeth-with-a-z McAlister-that's-M-c, she's a Yale scholar by the way, details a
nkisi
that she was given. She interviewed the
bokor
who gave it to her, and he told her that there were two zombi inside the bottle. He said they had died, and were now zombi in the bottle and were working for him. See for yourself."

Dolan held the book in front of me, and tapped his finger on the paragraph. "Her understanding was that the zombi are trapped between death and the other side, literally trapped within the bottle. She says that zombi is part of the soul that is stolen and made to work."

I was suffering from a bit of information overload, so tried to clarify. "Is a
govi
just another word for a
nkisi
, just from a different culture, a different spiritual tradition?"

The professor shrugged and then looked at me intently. "I suppose you could say that, but only in the context of containing spirits. Do you know the difference between the
ti bon ange
and the
gros bon ange
?"

"No, I haven't even heard those terms before." I hoped he wouldn't spell them.

Jamie interrupted. "Isn't that something to do with the belief that a human being has one body but two spirits?"

"Yes, exactly. I suppose you could say that the
ti bon ange
is like our understanding of the conscience. On the other hand, the
gros bon ange
is like our understanding of the soul, only in a way more separate and distinct. Are you familiar with the Western theories of personhood or the soul?"

It was my turn to shrug. "Not really, but I have read Lucretius'
De Rerum Natura
in Latin and I studied Plato's
Theory of Forms
when I was here as a student."

Professor Dolan beamed. "That's wonderful."

I waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, I asked, "Are those theories of any help in understanding govi?"

"Not at all. The belief is that when a person dies, the
gros bon ange
goes to the underwater place. After they have been in the underwater place for one year and one day, his or her relatives can recall the
gros bon ange
and send them on to rest. This isn't easy to do, as it is expensive and often requires an animal sacrifice. My understanding is that the
pots-de-tete
is a vessel used to hold the
gros bon ange
and the govi is used to hold the
ti bon ange
. This is not my field, so you had better check with someone who knows."

I was kicking myself for not asking Chris, but thought I had it figured now. "Ahh, so a
govi
houses the spirit of someone who died and was recalled by that person's relatives, but with a
nkisi
, it is anyone who died, and their spirit is trapped by someone who doesn't have to be a relative."

Dolan regarded me pityingly, and then spoke more slowly. "No, that's not it at all. The spirit within the
nkisi
is someone who was killed by black magick, before their time. If someone is killed by black magick, they are a potential zombi. Did I mention a
govi
is a small earthenware bottle with a lid? That's another difference, but the main difference is that the
govi
are not generally used to trap spirits against their will. At least, not as far as I know, but I'm not a practitioner and many of these matters are only known to initiates. Devil traps and witch bottles are more in my field of research."

I opened my mouth to speak but the professor hurried on. "One thing I am fairly sure of, is that the
govi
is used to hold the
ti bon ange
, and it is in fact the
ti bon ange
which can be captured by a
bokor
and turned into a zombi, or so the belief goes."

My head spun with information overload.

Professor Dolan paused and turned his screen around so Jamie and I could see it. "This is the
Proceedings for the Society of Biblical Archeology
from 1890. It's only photographs of the journal so it's hard to see. Can you make it out?"

I squinted at the page, adjusted my reading glasses, and nodded.

"It mentions a so-called 'Babylonian Devil Trap,' a clay dish used to protect the user against Lilith and other hostile night spirits," the professor said. "Hebrew inscriptions were written around the bowl. This is nothing to do with containing spirits in a jar or bowl; I'm digressing somewhat. However, in my view, it's significant that many cultures across the ages have associated spirits with bottles and jars. You have the blue bottle trees in some parts of Africa and in both Haitian and New Orleans voodoo. You should google the images of blue bottle trees at some point as they can be quite beautiful. They're believed to trap evil spirits. You know about witches' bottles?"

I nodded. I didn't confess that I had two buried in my yard. "Lilith" rang a bell, too. I was sure Gavin had mentioned her to me.

"Archaeologists have dug up these in significant numbers. They're invariably filled with sharp objects, such as pins, nails, broken glass, and often urine. You studied Classics here?"

I nodded again.

"You may be interested to know that there is Roman and ancient Greek precedence for trapping spirits in a similar way to a zombi bottle. Do you know what
sit tibi terra levis
means?"

I wrote it down, and figured it out, more or less - mostly less. "Something about the ground sitting briefly on someone?"

Dolan was visibly disgusted by my effort. "It means, 'May the ground press lightly on you.' It was such a common writing on Roman tombs that it was simply abbreviated as 'STTL.' That was a reference to spirits being able to get out of the grave. They believed that if the ground pressed too heavily on a grave, the spirit would be trapped in the grave. A famous example is from Quintilian's
Tenth Declamation
." The professor turned to Jamie and added, "That's a literary genre, a speech."

It was Jamie's turn to look blank and nod.

Dolan continued. "Quintilian's
Tenth Declamation
tells of a mother who had the vision of her dead son on the night of his funeral. When she told her husband, he became alarmed, and sent for a sorcerer. The mother was unaware of this. The sorcerer visited the grave and spoke binding words, and finally threw himself on the grave saying more spells, reducing the boy's spirit to a mere shade. The sorcerer then said that his words weren't enough, and ordered the grave bound with iron as well as stone. The wife found out and brought a lawsuit for cruelty against her husband. The speech ends with an appeal to the sorcerer to release the boy's spirit. I have the quote ready for you, here. '
You are able to summon the spirits that serve you and to act as their pitiless, cruel jailer. Listen to a mother's prayers and let them soften your heart
.' My translation, of course."