The Seer Renee (5 page)

"I've
studied natural remedies and their power years longer than any doctor. These
compounds have been proven effective over hundreds of years. Many of the drugs
the pharmaceutical companies make have adverse side effects. And the doctors
only have the pharmaceutical's biased word on the drug’s effectiveness, based
on limited testing." Over half the population thought that we were all
charlatans that threw a bunch of weeds in a jar and claimed it would cure every
disease known to modern man. I did have to admit some self-called Voodoo
priests and priestesses did, not unlike the snake oil salesmen of the old west.
And the scams were not limited to Voodoo. The Internet was filled with
miraculous cures. Then there were the know-it-all college kids. After wandering
around the shop for a while snickering, one came up to the counter.

"You
don't expect anyone to believe this mumble-jumble Voodoo magic, do you?"

"Are you
a Christian, by any chance?" I asked casually. The supercilious smile left
his face for a moment and then returned full force.

“Yes, I am.
You're not trying to claim Voodoo is real?"

"If you
mean all the nonsense that the uninformed claim…” I bit my lip to keep from
saying ‘like you. “I certainly don't. If you mean Vodou, a religion practiced
by some eighty million people around the world and
having a number of beliefs
similar to Catholicism, then yes, I do believe in Vodou.
" I gave a slight nod to punctuate my statement.

"Oh,"
he mumbled. The smile was gone. His buddies had joined us after they heard his
opening salvo and were now clustered around us.

"Yes, we
have ceremonies much like your services or masses; we have messengers to God
similar to your saints or prophets; and we've all sorts of different ways of
asking God for favors which are no different from praying."

The young man
got a lot of ribbing from his buddies on the way out. The questions helped pass
the time and hopefully got people interested in buying something, if only a
book on some aspect of Vodou. I'm not trying to convert anyone to Vodou, but to
inform them and dispel any Hollywood characterizations of Voodoo, which does
not exist in reality. But realistically, I know it's easier to convince someone
that a Voodoo doll has power than to change a person's strongly held
perceptions, even though they are based on rumors or works of fantasy.

* * *

A lot had
happened over the past couple of weeks. I wasn't sure how it was being received
by the senior Asogwes, so I decided to visit Mambo Monique. Although Vodou had
no hierarchical structure except to the Asogwe who consecrated him or her, I
respected Mambo Monique and valued her counsel. She was as close as could be to
the old Voodoo queens that existed in Louisiana over the years. So, I closed
early on Tuesday and walked down Bourbon Street in the direction of Toulouse
Street and Monique's shop, the Serpent House of Voodoo. On the way, I
considered the number of incidents that had occurred, beginning with Hector,
and the rumors they had spawned. Like Voodoo, people would assume they were
real and would form an opinion of me based on those beliefs. That would have
consequences which would impact me directly. I had only hoped to create a
following and to pass on the wisdom that Granny, Mambo Asogwe Eshe, had shared
with me.

When I
reached Monique's shop my mind was in turmoil, and I stood there debating
whether to go in or not. Finally, logic won out. Monique had been a close
friend of Granny and the only person I knew to turn to.

"Good
day, Renee. It's early in the day for you to be out," Monique said as I
entered the shop. The only other person in her shop looked like a tourist,
judging from her clothes and shopping bags from several other shops in the
area. She had several objects in her arms from Monique's shop. I decided to
leave and turned towards the door.

"Don't
go, Renee. I will close after the young lady has finished her shopping. Go in
the back and make yourself comfortable." She waved towards the curtain
that led to her living quarters. That she would close her shop to talk to me
was a shock. I had been right to seek her out. Her house was no larger than Granny's...mine.
The kitchen area was small, and the only appliances were a small refrigerator
and stove that were almost as old as me. A round table with two kitchen chairs
formed the dining area. A single cot lay against the wall on the opposite side of
the room. Next to it, there was a night table and lamp. Closer to the door stood
a dresser and bookcase loaded to capacity. A recliner sat nearby with another
small table and a tall lamp. The door on the opposite side near the kitchen was
open and looked to contain jars of herbs and other things. Next to that I
assumed was a closet. I chose one of the kitchen chairs and sat. On the window in
the back hung a beautiful curtain of Haitian design in blues, greens, and
oranges. In the center of the room was a faded tree-of-life rug in shades of
brown—camel, bronze, golden brown, and taupe. It looked old, but the
intricate design was breathtaking. And the walls were filled with Haitian art I
had seen only in books. It was a very comfortable room and captured the essence
of Monique perfectly. Not too long afterward, I heard the woman leaving and the
door being locked.

"Well, Renee,
I'm glad you came to visit. I hear your name mentioned more and more, and the
rumors are disturbing. It will be nice to hear the facts around those
rumors." She walked over to the sink and ran some water into a pot.
"Would you like some sweet tea and maybe some leftover pastalaya?"
She obviously planned to spend the time to hear the details and to offer her counsel.
I desperately needed someone I could go to for advice.

"Yes,
thank you. That sounds wonderful." I relaxed somewhat as I watched her heating
our meal. I missed Granny's counsel and Monique could never replace her, but it
felt right being here. After she laid the food on the table, I began.

"I guess
it started with—"

"Renee,
relax and eat. How else are you going to enjoy my good food?" She smiled. Monique
did most of the talking while we ate—small talk about everything and
nothing. When we finished eating, she cleaned up and made tea. Then she sat.

"Now you
can tell me what is on your mind, if you still feel you need to." She
relaxed back in her chair and appeared content to wait. Like Granny, she was a
wise woman. I had come with my mind in turmoil not knowing what I wanted except
that I needed someone to talk to. She had taken the time and effort to let me
know she cared and wanted to help.

"Granny...Mambo
Eshe's death shattered my life. I loved her with all my heart and expected her to
live for many years. I miss her wisdom and counsel." A tear slowly
trickled down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it away. It was honest sorrow.

"All who
knew Mambo Eshe will miss her greatly. I'll miss her more than many. To me, she
felt more like a sister than a friend. And to you she was a loving mother and
your only family. You have a right to feel the way you do, but we must all move
on or stagnate, destroying our lives and those around us. Mambos have a special
obligation not to get caught up in self-pity or to seek other paths, because of
the lives they impact. It has been difficult for you, but I believe you have
adjusted well since Eshe died—until now. The events over the past couple
of weeks have everyone talking. Although rumors, they affect people’s
perception whether accurate or not."

From what she
said, it was clear that she would provide me the support Granny would have but
only if I honored Mambo Eshe's teaching.

"Yes,
the last two weeks has been a nightmare. It started with Hector deciding to
make me his girl. If he had succeeded, soon I would have been selling drugs out
of my shop, and when he eventually got tired of me, I'd become the Locos' girl.
Although I may have had the right to kill him, I couldn't without causing more
trouble with the Locos and destroying myself. As I told you, I didn't use magic
of any kind, only drugs, but the perception of magic was necessary to keep
Hector and the Locos away."

"You
were right; however, there is a thin line between white and black magic in the
eyes of most. People tend to perceive violent results like what happened to
Hector as black, whereas they perceive gentle results as white. Therefore, what
happened to Hector was black. Although, if the rumors are correct, Hector
claims you cured him of a crippling disease," she said with a smile which
said she knew I didn't.

"I
wanted to make peace with Hector and, therefore, the Locos. So I proposed a
compromise with Hector. He would claim he went to me because he was in terrible
pain, and I gave him medicine that made him extremely sick. He was mad at me
until he realized it had cured him. He agreed because he hadn't told the Locos
anything about our encounter, and they were beginning to think him weak. In
fact, two of his wacko friends attacked me several nights ago, to prove it.
They set a trap using a small girl. They planned to rape me and then pass me
around to their Loco friends."

"You, a
girl won, therefore, black magic."

"No.
Although I did mumble words of help to the Loa, years of Bagua saved me."

"Eshe
planned well for your future, Renee. And Kweku?"

"Hector
paid Kweku to curse me. He used two young boys. One boy distracted me while the
other dropped
strychnine
into my
cup of gumbo soup. Since it hadn't dissolved completely, I noticed it before I
drank any and pretended to finish. When Kweku saw me drinking the soup, he put
on his little show planning to take credit for cursing me."

"Most
might consider that white magic over black," she said after a pause.
"But you can see that you have become a very controversial mambo, and you
will attract good and evil until these issues are resolved by you. I'm convinced
you are not using or inclined towards black magic." Monique said nothing
more. She got up and poured us another cup of tea.

"I'd be
interested in hearing about Samuel. Eshe was very perceptive and understood
people; however, I believe her insights were a gift from the Loa. That gift
could be interpreted as white or black magic depending upon one's perception of
the mambo. I don't know if you are perceptive or have Eshe's gift, but I would
question whether you would want to follow in Eshe's footsteps after what
happened to her. I have heard there have been people talking to your clients
and asking questions about you. I'm afraid there is too much to hear."

 
That's
what Sheila wanted with my appointment book.
"You're right. The people who were responsible for Granny's death
are still hanging around. I don't know what they want, but they are connected
to power. I should run away, but I can't. Granny raised me to be a mambo, not
to follow in her footsteps but because I love the Vodou religion, the Loa, the
ceremonies, and want to help as many people as I can. "

"I would
not counsel you to run. You're a serpent not a rabbit, but I would counsel caution.
You find yourself swimming among sharks and cannot afford to get cut." Monique
reached out and took my hand. "You may come to me anytime to talk or for
whatever help that is within my power to give."

I felt a
sense of relief as I walked slowly back to my shop. I hadn't solved any of my
problems but talking with Monique had helped me put things in perspective. More
importantly, I now had someone I respected that I could turn to in times of need.

"Renee!" a young,
well-dressed man shouted as he came through the doorway and ran towards me with
his arms spread wide. He was tall, over six feet, lean physique, sandy-blond
hair, and a long angular face with an outdoors complexion. For a second, I
didn’t recognize him and had been preparing to defend myself.

"Ron Casey—" I managed
as he raised me off the ground in a bear hug. I had met Ron at Loyola
University. At the time, I was a freshman enrolled in the Department of
Philosophy, and he was in his second year of Law School. We met by accident at
a special series of lectures on the history of New Orleans put on by the
University's Center for the Study of New Orleans. We happened to be sitting
next to each other, and a few comments led to coffee afterward and many
subsequent talks about Voodoo and Hoodoo—superstition. We never dated
since he and I had steadies at the time, but we became good friends.

A woman in a tailored pants suit
stood behind him. She was a few inches shorter than Ron with a nice figure, if
a little on the thin side, auburn-colored hair, a few faded freckles, straight
nose, and full lips. She stood evaluating us with a slight smile on her lips.

 
I left school prior to my junior year when
Granny passed on her gift, and unbeknown to me, began preparing me for her
death. It had been a little over two years since we had seen each other. "Ron,
who's the very attractive young lady behind you? She seems to be debating
whether to strangle you or me," I said when I could breathe again. Ron
half-turned and put his arm around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"This beautiful woman is my
wife, Grace. Grace, this is the infamous Mambo Renee, a Voodoo Priestess. I've
told you about her. She taught me the difference between Voodoo, Hoodoo, and
mumble-jumble."

"It's nice to finally meet
you, Renee. Ron's talked about you a lot. You impressed him… intellectually and
personally. Fortunately, I already had him in my clutches."

"We had some interesting
conversations. Voodoo is my favorite subject and Ron has an inquisitive mind
and loves to take the counter argument. I'd certainly call on him if I ever
needed a lawyer."

"I'm right here, you two. Renee,
if you aren't too busy, why don't you have dinner with us tonight?" Ron
said and Grace nodded agreement.

"Would seven be all right?"
I asked. Ron looked to Grace who nodded. "I'll call for reservations at
Cajun Café on Saint Peter Street. The food's good, and it has a cozy, relaxed
atmosphere."

"That sounds good. We'll see
you at seven." Ron took Grace's hand, and they wandered around the shop,
while I answered an elderly man's questions about herbs for treating colds. I
eventually sold him a root and herb mixture. Ron and Grace left while I was
talking with my customer.

* * *

Eloi was at the door to greet us
when we arrived, and treated me like I was a visiting dignitary.

"Mambo Renee, your table is
ready. I've seated you on the patio. Is that all right?"

"That's good, Eloi. Thank
you."

Eloi personally showed us to our
table, and Alma stood ready to get us drinks.

"Grace and I would like a red
wine. What do you suggest, Renee?" Ron asked.

"What do you suggest,
Alma?" I certainly wasn't an expert on wines.

"I understand the house red is
pretty good, and it's reasonably priced."

Ron looked to me. I didn't normally
have wine with my meals, but this felt like a special occasion, so I nodded.

"Three glasses, please,"
Ron said, and Alma took off.

"Y’all certainly have been
busy," I said. "I'd bet beginning married life and a new job is a
real challenge."

"You're right. Ron's position
with the law firm of Fontaine, Bousquet, and Allstott has him putting in lots
of overtime. It's a prestigious firm and will require hard work if he's to have
a chance at making partner. And the FBI keeps me busy. It's not a nine-to-five
type of environment. We just make the most of the time we have together," Grace
said, giving Ron a warm smile. "What about you, Renee? Your grandmother's
death can't have been easy."

"No. My grandmother raised me.
She was all I had… it's like a part of me died along with her. I don't know
what would have happened if I hadn't had to take over her shop. I think it
saved me. I wasn't prepared to run her shop, and it's helped keep me from dwelling
on her death. She was more than my grandmother. She was my mentor and
friend."

The time with Ron and Grace was
more enjoyable than I had anticipated. I hadn't done
much—any—socializing over the past two years. It had been two years
of work and worry. Eloi treated us like royalty. We had lingered over coffee and
three orders of pecan pie and ice cream catching up on what had happened over the
past two years. I was sorry to see the evening end and hoped I would see them
now and then. I refused a ride home since it was only a short distance to the
shop, and the weather was clear and pleasantly cool. On the way home, I decided
it would be nice to have a boyfriend—or two. To find one, however, I
would have to get out and socialize. Wishing and getting were not the same.

* * *

The next day, a few minutes after I
had opened for business, Hector appeared in the doorway. He looked like the
doorway was the entrance to the underworld. I took pity on him, smiled, and
waved him into the shop.

"Hector, don't just stand
there, come in." I didn't know what he could want, but he didn't look like
he wanted trouble—just the reverse. He slowly made his way to the counter
I was sitting behind and stood quietly for a minute.

"Mambo Renee, I want you to
know I didn't have anything to do with Knife and his friend Banger. They
weren't there when I told the Locos about the drug you gave me to cure my
disease." He grinned. "You were right. The boys thought I was getting
weak. Knife and Banger planned to make you the Locos' pussy after they had
their fun with you. No Loco is going to mess with Mambo Renee. You're bad
medicine," he said and looked at the floor.

"Rumor is you can see the
future. I want a reading. I'll pay," he said in a rush. I almost felt
sorry for Hector. He was like a pit bull which had been beaten into submission.
How many of the Locos' girls felt that way—neither Hector nor any of the
Locos deserved pity. I would never like Hector; however, it was in my best
interest to not only keep him and the Locos in fear of me, but also not to give
them reason to test my strength. Hector foresaw some problem or other. If I
could help, it might give the Locos another reason to leave me alone.

"Tonight at seven. Come
alone."

"Yes, Mambo Renee. Tonight at
seven."

* * *

Ten minutes before seven, Hector
was standing outside my shop. I saw no reason—except pure meanness—to
leave him standing there like a kid waiting to see the principal. I was
prepared for trouble, although I didn't anticipate any. I had a tiger-eye ring
with pure ricin, derived from the castor beans, on each hand. Making him sick
twice might make him suspicious. If he got aggressive tonight, he would die,
although I hated the thought and the consequences.

"Hector, come sit here and put
your hands on the table." When he did, I sat and placed my hands over his.
His hands tightened for a moment then relaxed. Abstractly, I realized putting
my hands over someone's hands kept me safe while I closed my eyes since he
couldn't reach or strike me without moving his hand. I relaxed and watched as
Hector's life over the next several weeks scrolled before my eyes. Yes, the
Locos were in big trouble. A week from now they would be in a fight. Outnumbered
and outgunned, they would lose their territory to a Salvadoran gang, MS666—the
symbol for the devil.

"Hector, I see another gang
wants your territory. If you meet them, you will lose. They have more weapons
than you. Your only chance is to hunt them in their territory, on your terms
not theirs," I said and remained quiet as Hector sorted through what I had
told him and began thinking about how he could take the fight to them. As he
did, his future changed. He had decided not to meet them in an all-out fight as
he had apparently agreed. Now that I had seen what he planned and the results,
I could make another prediction. "If you take the fight to them, a few
Locos will get killed, a few injured, but you'll hold onto your territory."

"Thank you, Mambo Renee,"
he whispered, looking deep in thought. He stood eyes downcast as he fished in
his pocket and pulled out a single bill. Placing it on the table, he gave me a
sheepish look, "Is this enough?"

I nodded more in surprise than
agreement, and before I could say anything, he was out the door. The face of
Benjamin Franklin stared up at me—a hundred dollar bill. Usually, I
charged fifty for a session, which could last anywhere from a half hour to an
hour depending upon the amount of small talk. I was surprised but didn't plan
on refunding Hector any money. The advice I had given him saved his life and territory.
I rationalized it benefited everyone—the neighborhood, the Locos, and
me—because the rival gang had a more violent reputation than the Locos. I
concluded life can be very complicated.