E. Godz (18 page)

"Why, thank you, Mr. Godz." Like a brief summer cloudburst, Nenufer's dark scowl
blew away as if it had never existed. Her face was transformed from Gorgon to Grace by
a warm, affectionate smile. "That's all we were waiting to hear."

She turned on her heel, walked up to the statue of Isis, and clapped her hands four
times. There was a great creaking of wood, a groaning of gears, and a squeal of moving
parts as the statue of the goddess spread her arms wide. Fountains of blue and green
sparks leaped from the gilded palms of her hands and the ceiling began to leak roses.

Before Dov's astonished eyes, the lights dimmed and a citrine glow suffused the great
room. He smelled patchouli incense and heard many voices chanting sonorously, but he
could not for the life of him figure out where they were coming from. When he looked
for Nenufer, to ask her what was going on, he found her gone.

Now the gauze curtain at the far end of the room began to wave as if a small
windstorm had darted into the house. With a clash of tinny bells, the fragile cloth was
whipped aside and down the steps came Ray Rah, leading a procession of his followers—
those who weren't watching the Cubs play, anyway.

They walked slowly, solemnly, in perfect order. Ray Rah himself was dressed to
resemble the divine Osiris, ruler of the Afterlife. The thick layer of blue paint covering
his face looked itchy—his nose and firmly closed mouth both twitched like mad—but
despite his obvious agony he repressed any urge to break character and scratch. Behind
him came two women dressed as the goddesses Isis and Nephthys. Musicians followed,
playing small harps, drums, and the sistrum's jangling framework of bells. Next came
those who carried burning bowls of incense, palm fronds to spread the fragrant smoke
throughout the hall, and last of all a magnificently tall, regal woman wearing a gilded
mask.

Dov drew in his breath sharply when he saw her painted face. It was Edwina.

Stumbling from the shock, he fell into line at the end of the procession and followed
Ray Rah's congregation into a smaller room to one side of the hall of the gods' images.
The walls were either stone or painted to look like stone. They were certainly painted to
look as if they had been carved with low relief figures, in the style of the ancient
Egyptian pharaonic tombs. Dov glanced to left and right and felt his heart begin to beat
faster with dread.

The painted walls were covered with pictures of his mother.

As the rest of the procession circled the room, making reverential gestures at each of
the pictures, Ray Rah dropped back from his place at the head of the line in order to
speak with a trembling Dov.

"Please take your proper place, Mr. Godz," he said. "Ever since Horus first avenged
his father Osiris' death, the firstborn son has been the most important participant in rites
like these."

"But—but she's not dead yet!" Dov protested. "You're giving her a funeral and she's
not dead!" Another, more terrible thought struck him: Could it be that while he was in
transit, somewhere a computer had hiccupped and he'd missed out on a truly vital piece
of news? "Is she?"

Ray Rah raised the ceremonial crook and flail aloft in a warding gesture. "May the
gods forbid it! Of course not. We've been in touch with her on a daily basis ever since we
heard about her illness."

"Oh." Dov lowered his eyes. They've been in touch with her every day, he thought.
And what have I been doing? Nothing. Just looking out for my own interests. I'm one hell
of a son. Suddenly he felt more ashamed of himself than when Sam Turkey Feather had
called him on his lack of filial devotion.

"This isn't a funerary rite," Ray Rah went on. "Though I must admit that what
attracted me to the ancient Egyptian practices was the emphasis on death. The trouble is,
when you're at a cocktail party and someone asks you about your beliefs and you say
something like, 'I belong to what's basically a death cult,' that kind of kills the
conversation."

Dov couldn't disagree with that. "What is this if it's not a funeral?"

"It's our way of making peace with what must come. As much as we love Edwina, as
much as we owe her, we knew that the day would come when we'd have to bid her
farewell. That's how it is for all of us, isn't it? But in this country, death is an
embarrassment. It's a wonder we can hear ourselves talk over the noise of several million
people whistling past the graveyard. We worship youth and beauty not for their own
sakes but because we tell ourselves that the young and the beautiful never die. We follow
a thousand different health fads because we believe that there's some magic number of
granola bars that will let you live forever, but only if you wash them down with the right
kind of one hundred percent natural spring water while standing on the Sacred Treadmill.
My generation's called the Baby Boomers for a reason: We act like babies when it comes
to facing the inevitable. If we close our eyes, cover our ears, and hide under the blankets,
Death won't be able to find us."

The inevitable ... Dov thought. My mother is going to die. He had known it for days,
he had been saddened by it, but for the first time he truly felt it. Tears stung the corners of
his eyes.

"The ancient Egyptians loved life just as much as we do," Ray Rah went on. "They
loved all the physical joys and comforts of day-to-day living. That may be why they
found a way to take it with them. But our way is not just about being buried in your red
Thunderbird convertible: It's about knowing that someday you will have to be buried. We
who follow the old ways know this, and trust me, knowing that today could be the last
day of the rest of your life is not as scary as it seems."

"You get used to the idea," Dov said. "Is that it?"

Ray Rah nodded and smiled, cracking his blue face paint. "Exactly."

"And this ritual is to help you get used to the idea that Edwi—that Mom is going to
die soon?"

Ray Rah nodded again. "To help us, but mostly to help you. We figured that it was
the least we could do for you, since we've already pledged our support to your sister as
the future head of E. Godz, Inc."

Dov was surprised that the news of Peez's victory didn't affect him at all. He was
preoccupied by thoughts of a more important loss. "Thank you," he managed to tell Ray
Rah. "It's very kind of you. I wish I could stay longer, but— I'm sorry." His usual
glibness deserted him.

My mother is going to die. I'll never see her again, never hear her voice, never even
be irritated by the way she treats me like I'm still a baby. My mother is going to—

He wheeled around and ran out of the Temple of Seshat-by-the-Shore before any of
them could see him cry. On the way out, he collided with a young man carrying two
heavy shopping bags. Dov knocked him off his feet without a second thought as he ran
on, sending forth a taxi-summoning spell like a flare. By the time he reached the street, a
cab was waiting.

The young man he'd overrun sat in a puddle of bright red fruit while he watched Dov
speed away. The front steps soon crowded with Ray Rah and the rest of the congregation.
The young man looked from the departing cab to the mounds of smashed fruit to the
group on the stairs and said, "I got the pomegranates. Did I miss anything?"

"Not much, Billy-hotep," said Meritaten. "C'mon in and have a beer."

"My dear young woman," Mr. Bones said with a winning smile. "Had I but known
how beautiful you were, I would not have been so quick to promise my support to your
brother." He raised Peez's hand to his lips and bestowed a delicate kiss.

"You flatter me, Mr. Bones," Peez replied. "But please, don't worry about whatever
you've promised or to whom you promised it. I'm disappointed, of course, but it was your
choice to make."

The two of them were standing in front of one of several New Orleans restaurants
calling itself the Court of the Three Sisters. Peez had found him there by chance, in the
course of a thorough search of the Vieux Carre, in much the same way that Dov had
encountered the venerable voodoo priest. It was at least as effective a way of finding Mr.
Bones as saying "Meet me in front of the Court of the Three Sisters" without specifying
which one. There were several. Since every tourist who came to visit New Orleans was
told by the folks back home that he or she simply must eat at the Court of the Three
Sisters, could the local restauranteurs be blamed for trying to accommodate them?

"You are as gracious as you are beautiful," Mr. Bones said. He was wearing his full
regalia, though his staff had been redecorated recently. Fresh ribbons had been added,
and fresh bones. He glanced up at the restaurant's artfully painted sign. Teddy Tumtum
was peering over the lip of Peez's carry-on bag and misinterpreted what was really just a
casual action.

"Sheesh! What's it gonna take, someone dropping an anvil on your head?" he hissed
at her. "Mark my words, you buy the old guy a decent meal and he'll forget all about any
promises he made to your brother!"

Before the bear could add any further tidbits of counsel, Mr. Bones stuck his staff
under Teddy Tumtum's fuzzy chin in the manner of Errol Flynn playing sword tricks and
lifted the unruly toy out of the bag. Teddy Tumtum described a small midair arc that
ended when Mr. Bones caught him in his free hand.

"What is it with you people?" Teddy Tumtum complained. "Is this National Bear-
Tossing Week or what? If I'm gonna spend this much time in flight, at least give me a bag
of peanuts!"

"Petit ours, I am not sure I like you," Mr. Bones said, smiling. "I am thinking that if
this gracious lady feels the same way, I might offer to trade her my support for your fat
little body. Perhaps you will become the first of a new style in voodoo dolls, hein?"

Teddy Tumtum let out a squeak of terror so piteous that Peez snatched him out of Mr.
Bones' grasp and was already glaring daggers at the man before she realized that he was
only joking. Embarrassed, she smiled shyly and said, "As you can see, monsieur, I do not
feel the same way about Teddy Tumtum as you do. He's been with me a long, long time.
Believe it or not, I love him."

"Ah, well! If it is love then there is certainly no accounting for it. I am willing to
believe anything where love is involved."

"Then I hope you'll believe me when I say that even though you've pledged your
support to my brother, you and I may still have business."

"Is that so?" Mr. Bones adjusted the angle of his top hat and looked interested. "What
manner of business might that be?"

"The business of learning," Peez said.

"Learning? Do I look like a schoolteacher, ma fille?" Mr. Bones was enjoying this.

"No, but you do look like a guide."

"A guide, a guide ..." The old man twiddled his fingers as if his staff were a flute.
"And where do you propose I lead you, if I am in truth a guide? Which path do you need
to follow? Where do you wish to go?"

Peez tucked Teddy Tumtum into her carryon and said, "Why don't I tell you that after
lunch?"

* * *

In the back room of Au Roi Gris-Gris, Aurore served coffee. She was wearing the
outfit she used to please the tourists, though instead of her tignon she had a telephone
headset. While she filled the cups and passed Peez a tray of pastries, she carried on a
spirited exchange with the person on the other end of the call, most likely a broker. A
vocabulary that was pure Wall Street Journalese coupled with fluent Fortune magazine
rattled from Aurore's lips as she shuffled portfolios without spilling a drop of coffee or a
crumb of cake. It was a relief to both Peez and Mr. Bones when she finally left them
alone and peace returned.

"Well now," Mr. Bones said. "Now that we are fed and settled, will you tell me what
you wish from me?"

Peez sipped her coffee. "I wish to learn about the path you've taken, Mr. Bones," she
said. "I know what the company printouts say: You're a voodoo priest. But what does it
mean?"

"What do you think it means?" was Mr. Bones' canny reply.

"You play drums, dance around a fire, and stick pins in dolls to hurt your enemies,"
Peez said coldly. "Oh wait, no, that's what you think I think it means. I came to you
looking for answers, not a fencing match."

"Really? I thought you came here to court my backing for the takeover of E. Godz,
Inc."

"I did, except you told me you've already given that to my brother. Before, that would
have annoyed the hell out of me. I'd've brought every trick in the book to bear on you,
trying to get you to change your mind. Now I know better. I'm not the only one in this
world with freedom of choice. Even when the choice others make doesn't suit my own
wishes, I've still got to respect their right to it."

"This all sounds very fine," Mr. Bones said, rubbing his chin.

"Oh, she means every word of it." Teddy Tumtum's voice echoed out of the carry-on
bag. "Let me tell you, this girl's gone through some changes, and I've got the scorpion
eggs in my butt to prove it! If she says that it's cool with her that you're backing Dov, you
can believe it."

"Is it so?" Mr. Bones leaned forward in his chair and looked deeply into Peez's eyes.
"Yes, yes, I see that it is," he said when at last he sat back again. "You are one who seeks
true answers. My faith, my practices, would actually be something real to you, and not
just a source of photographs or cheap souvenirs to take home to your friends."

"What friends?" Teddy Tumtum put in. Mr. Bones shot an ugly look into the carryon,
but Peez just laughed.

"He's right, you know," she said. "I have business acquaintances, but no friends."

"Can you not have both?" Mr. Bones patted her hand. "You have asked me to tell you
about what it is I do, the path I have chosen to follow. It is a path that begins deep in the
Mother Country, in Africa. Black men stole black men and women in the tribal wars and
brought them to the black and brown men from the lands of mosque and minaret. These
slave traders in turn took them to the coast, put them into the hands of men who make
their prayers in churches. At last, after long days and nights of suffering, these poor
stolen souls crossed the ocean to this side of the world and were put up on the auction
block for sale. They were stripped of their clothes, of their families, of their freedom,
even of their names. What more could be taken from them?" He sagged in his chair,
closed his eyes, and wearily said: "Only their gods."

"Oh, come off it!" Teddy Tumtum said, hauling himself to the top of the carry-on bag
and holding onto one of the handles. "That's one thing no one can take from you."

"Is that what you think, petit?" Mr. Bones' smile was sad. "But you would: You have
only fluff for brains. Soft words may make some people turn from one faith to another,
but the sword and the whip and the fire work more quickly. When my ancestors came
here and tried to hold on to the one thing that had not been ripped from their hands, they
were told that worshipping our gods and our ancestors was ignorant, primitive, evil! They
were punished for it—for the good of their eternal souls, they were told. That was how
they came to learn that your eternal soul is only another way of saying your owner's
peace of mind."

"The slaveowners were afraid of their slaves?" This was news to Teddy Tumtum.

Mr. Bones nodded. "They told themselves that they had done us a great favor by
bringing us to this land, feeding us, clothing us according to their ideas of decency. They
were sincerely puzzled by our failure to be thankful for all these blessings. Our
ingratitude was just one further proof of our savage nature, and no wise man trusts
savages who whisper behind his back, keep secrets, perform obscure rites where blood is
shed. The whispers may be about him, the secrets may be plots, the spilled blood may
shortly be his own!"

"Whoa. Not too paranoid, huh?" The bear dropped over the side of the bag and tugged
on Peez's skirt until she picked him up and put him in her lap where he could get a better
view of Mr. Bones.

"I don't think it's paranoia if they really are out to get you," Peez said, absently
stroking his fur. A few leftover grains of Arizona desert sand pattered to the floor. "It's
just that the owners thought their slaves were out to get them for no good reason. They
didn't think they'd done anything wrong. Since when is paying a fair price for farm
equipment and domestic appliances a crime? That's how they saw it, anyhow."

"So this is different from all those times you thought the toaster was out to kill you
because it wouldn't pop up the bread and then when you tried to get it out with a fork it—
?"

"Shut up, Teddy Tumtum." Peez hated to be reminded of her losing war with all small
kitchen appliances. To Mr. Bones she said: "Please go on."

"There is little more to say. The people wished to hold fast to the one thing that they
thought could not be taken from them, the owners did their best to prove them wrong.
Any vestiges of the old African ways were seen as sin, blasphemy, treason, danger to
those in power. Any attempt the people made to worship as they chose were cruelly
suppressed. In time the slaves all became good Christians and the owners sat back,
content with a job well done. So many souls pulled out of the darkness of savagery, saved
from Hell!" He shook his head. "They never knew."

"Never knew what?" Teddy Tumtum asked.

"Never knew that the old ways still lived on. Never knew that the people still
worshipped the gods of their ancestors in the way of their ancestors. How simple it was to
trick the slave owners! If you cannot pay homage to a goddess because Master will see
and whip you for it, then kneel before the altar of a female saint and Master will leave
you be, thinking you are a good little slave. And there were so very many saints from
which to choose! So the people learned that they could keep their gods of field and forest,
earth and water, iron and air, so long as they found the proper patron saint whose robes
could hide them."

Teddy Tumtum whistled without benefit of pucker. "That is sooo neat. Stealth
saints!"

"Quiet, heathen," Peez said fondly.

"Well, chere, have you learned enough?" Mr. Bones asked her. "Are you satisfied?"

"There's more to what you practice than a history lesson, isn't there?" Peez said.

"Oh, you might say that. There are the rites and the spells and the names of all the
spirits, good and bad, to be learned. But surely you do not need to know so much?"

"If all I'd wanted was a nodding acquaintance with the path you follow, I'd have
bought a guidebook. Mr. Bones, my mother is dying." Her voice caught when she said
that. "She's leaving me and I never took the time to learn anything about her when I had
the chance. Most of what I know is that creating E. Godz, Inc. wasn't just a moneymaking
scheme for her. She cared about the old ways, the faiths with their roots in the earth. She
explored them, studied them, became one with them, understood why now, more than
ever, they're necessary to us all."

"I cannot give you back your mother's life, petite," Mr. Bones said sadly.

"I know. But you can give me a start, a way to learn more about the things that matter
to her. I have a lot to learn and I think that you'll make a very good teacher. May I stay
here just a little longer to study with you?"

"Have you nowhere else to go? When your brother was here, he was in a hurry to be
elsewhere. There were many other E. Godz, Inc. subsidiaries he had to visit, to gain their
support for when he bid to take over the company. Is that no longer your desire? Do you
not wish to give him, as they say, a run for the money?"

A half-smile touched her lips. "I thought I told you, Mr. Bones: It's no longer about
the money. It's not about running anywhere. Oh, I still want to take over E. Godz, Inc.,
but only because I believe I can bring something more to the job than a lot of number-
crunching and paper-pushing. Besides, I think I may have seen as many of our
subsidiaries as necessary already. Well? May I stay? Will you teach me?"

Mr. Bones stood up and shook his staff to the four quarters of the compass. The bones
clicked and clattered loudly. Aurore came bustling back into the room. "Prepare the upper
chamber, ma belle," he told her. "We will have a guest. No: We will have family."