The Drought (43 page)

Incredulous, he cast a wild glance toward the dark field behind his house. A faint glow outlined the trees in the distance. The fire that started at Elise’s house had spread. He said, “Narried we don’t have time for this. We need to find Elise.”

She ignored his urgency and said, “He was expecting men—not three beautiful women.”

Nute chuckled. “I guess every mon has a weakness.”

“That they do. That they do.” She folded Nathan’s fingers over the smoking ball. “When the time come, you give this ball to the boy. Ever ting in the universe has a destiny.” She looked at Nathan. “Yours, Nayton, was to come home.” She tapped the ball sitting in his hand. “This ball,” she shook her head in mild wonderment. “This ball been coming toward the boy for a long time now.” She clasped her hands together intertwining her fingers. “Their destiny is like this.” She nodded to herself pleased with her interpretation.

Nathan looked at the ball. If not for the game at Fenway Park it would have been just an ordinary baseball. Maybe on a different day it would have been caught by a diehard Red Sox fan, a guy who would have taken it home, given it to his kid as a memento. The kid might have treasured it for awhile, only to lose interest later. From there it might have ended up stuffed at the back of a closet, chewed by the family dog, or lost at a local park. It certainly would not have attracted the attention of a collector or ended up in a drainage pipe in the small town of Junction.

He pushed the scuffed ball into his pocket. It was uncomfortable and created an odd lump at the side of his trousers. He thought about her words, spoken with conviction. Was it possible for a baseball to have a destiny and if so, could it be a boy?

Nathan had seen replays of the game. There wasn’t a baseball fan out there who didn’t know about Game 6 in the ’75 series. It was a tied game in overtime, after midnight when Fisk came up to bat. He hit the second pitch of the inning. It went deep into left field, right down the line. Everything was riding on that ball. For a moment it appeared as if the entire stadium had taken a collective breath—holding it, waiting to see if it would go foul or stay fair. It hit the left field pole and stayed fair. It was a homerun. The Red Sox won the game. It didn’t matter they lost the series that year. Everyone talked about Game six and Fisk’s homerun.

It had been a historic game—the ball had become a priceless collector’s item—so what in hell was that ball doing here, covered in soot and stuffed in his pocket? As he followed Nute and Narried through the woods toward the sound of the drums and a confrontation which would most likely end with him killing his ex-lover, releasing an evil spirit and possibly saving the life of an innocent boy, he couldn’t escape the one illogical thought that might have changed everything.
The damn ball should have gone foul.

Reserve, Louisiana

Jar and Suzy entered an old confederate graveyard—they were close to the drums, a low chant joined the rising tempo and the air nearly frothed with energy. A sentinel spotted them and shouted for them to stop. Suzy kept walking. The sentinel rushed past Jar and grabbed Suzy’s arm. His fingers met cold skin and water moved beneath his grip. Lifting his torch he illuminated her bloated face. Suzy’s milky eyes met his. He backed away from her, crossed himself, turned and fled.

Jar followed Suzy through the crumbling grave markers until they came to a path lined with human skulls, suspended on poles. The clay box nearly burned his hands. He wanted to put it down at the entrance to the gruesome path and let someone else carry it toward whatever fate awaited at the other end. He glanced over his shoulder wondering if Nathan had made it home and if Agador was safe—it felt like he’d spent a lifetime with them instead of two days.

Suzy walked down the path, her shoulder knocked one of the skulls and it spun merrily around on its perch. His eyes went past Suzy and he saw people waiting at the end of the path. Jar stepped forward, edging between the two rows of skulls. As he approached the group at the end he heard them muttering the word
zombie
. They let Suzy pass. When he exited the path, rough hands grabbed him and dragged him through the woods. He held tight to the govi and felt energy course through his hands and up his arms.

They entered a sea of people clad in red, black, and white linen, writhing to the rhythm of the drums. The men pushed him through the crowd until he stood at the center of courtyard next to a colorful pole. A woman wearing a white gossamer robe turned to look at him. She held a human skull in her hands like a chalice and she moved with the poise of a queen. Ignoring him, she squatted down in front of the elaborate pole, placed the skull on the ground and poured a packet of flour in the dirt. She drew a cross with eyes at the intersection.

People approached reverently and tossed pieces of candy, small toys and cigars around the drawing and the colorful pole. The air crackled with electricity, and the pole hummed like a lightening rod conducting current. Jar’s hair lifted and his scalp tingled. He cast a nervous eye toward the starless night sky in search of heat lightening. Sensing that the energy came from the pole, he stepped away.

A young man from the crowd screamed and immediately fell to the ground writhing.

The crowd chanted, “Papa Legba, Papa Legba.”

The man rose from the ground and began hobbling around the courtyard. He looked transformed as if he had visibly aged. A woman ran forward and handed him a stick. The man took the stick and shambled away until he disappeared among the crowd of worshippers.

Jar observed the ritual with fear and curiosity. What he knew of Voodoo came from books and movies and he was pretty certain at some point during the night something was going to be sacrificed. A woman in the crowd fell to the ground and began to writhe.

It felt staged, like a bad movie. His eyes swept over each person looking for Suzy. She stood listlessly at the fringe of the crowd—her head cocked at an odd angle. It looked like she was listening to someone whisper in her ear. Why did she bring him here? Was this a ritual to end the curse?

The woman poured another packet of flour into the dirt and drew a different design with her finger. People came forward carrying white chickens. A man cut the head off a chicken and threw its body toward Jar. He jerked back as if burned. The headless fowl ran around the courtyard spouting blood until it dropped to the ground. Several more white chickens were sacrificed.

The priestess stood and held out her palms. The chanting came to an abrupt halt. When she spoke, her voice resonated through the dark night. “Ayida-Weddo is with us but she hovers there.” She pointed to the tops of the tall trees surrounding the grove. The trees shifted beneath a wind, not felt in the hot circle below. It appeared as if the wind and trees were within her command.

The priestess stepped behind Jar and rested her hands upon his sloped shoulders. “Ayida-Weddo warns me someone among the worshippers will betray me.” She stroked Jar’s cheek. “Will it be this boy who has traveled so many miles to return the sacred Govi to us?” She narrowed her eyes, encompassing the worshippers, searching for the source of betrayal.

Her next words, although delivered with authority, revealed her fear. “Mark my words, for I speak the truth. If there is one among you who wish to harm me, the wrath of the Loa will be upon you.” Her proclamation was met with an uneasy silence. In a commanding voice she called for the next offering. At her signal the tempo of the drums rose.

One by one, women stepped forward. They unbuttoned Jar’s shirt, poured egg whites over his head and rubbed the viscous fluid into his flesh. The rhythm of the drums, the tangible anticipation and the overwhelming heat emanating from the clay box encircled him. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at the scantily clad women and wondering about the mysteries hidden between their legs. The thoughts gave him an erection. Barry had told him once when it got hard, men stuck it between a woman’s legs. He wasn’t sure how the whole thing worked but he felt an overwhelming urge to stick it somewhere.

Several women stepped behind the priestess and poured egg whites over her head. Chanting, she called Ayida-Weddo down from the trees and asked the Loa of fertility to mount her. An unseen force crashed through the trees like a powerful gust of wind. The colorful pole in the center of the courtyard strummed with energy. The Priestess’s hands gripped Jar’s shoulders. A jolt of energy exited the pole and entered the priestess. The force vibrated through his body. The priestess buckled, falling away as if someone had slammed into her or tackled her to the ground. Through it all the tempo of the drums rose and fell.

Elise Dupier rose slowly from the ground, her demeanor visibly different. Just as earlier the young man had taken on the characteristics of an old man, the priestess now exuded an innocence that defied description. She appeared younger, cleaner… somehow, ripe.

Riding the body of Elise Dupier, Ayida-Weddo stepped toward the youthful boy. Coyly, she reached out to touch his smooth face, reveling in its perfection, his youth. Her hands slid away from the boy’s face until they rested lightly on his shoulders. She swirled her finger in the egg residue and brought the tip of her finger to her mouth. She sucked the egg white gently from the tip of her finger. Her fingers continued their exploration brushing over his hot skin like butterflies. Sensing his arousal she gripped his hands and led him away.

Jar followed the woman to an altar. One table was empty, the other filled with lit candles, pictures of saints, rum and chicken eggs. Transfixed by the overwhelming sensations running through his young body, he didn’t notice the group of people following them, or the hands that carefully removed the govi from his burning embrace, he didn’t see the box placed on the altar or watch them pry the lid off with a lever. He saw only the woman’s eyes and what surely must have been Eden glimmering beyond.

He couldn’t breathe. The woman’s cool hands against his feverish body felt like the cold waves of the Llano River lapping against his skin. With his new proximity to her, he could see her nipples brushing against the sheer cloth and see the dark triangle Barry had assured him was the place where men stuck it in. He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering down to the dark patch.

Ayida-Weddo, the Loa of fertility was on fire. Inside the mortal body she could feel the ovaries burning like hot furnaces. She felt an egg drop and followed it as it pulsated through the fallopian tube and into the uterus. She was ripe; the moment was ripe. She untied the loose knot holding her robe and let the boy gaze upon her burning body, let him gaze upon the embodiment of creation. The robe slid to the ground and she reclined back upon the stone altar, offering her naked perfection to the boy.

Jar’s breath came in quivering exhalations. A powerful need surged through his body, and physically pulled him toward the woman. Without knowing how it happened his clothing fell to the floor. Oblivious to the people watching the ceremony and the union about to take place, he climbed onto the altar and positioned himself above the woman. He wanted to be inside her, he wanted to be consumed by the heat emanating from her body, but he hesitated, struggling with his youthful conscience. Her hands tugged at him, drawing him closer—a heartbeat of indecision could not combat his deep hunger. Jar lowered himself and thrust deep inside the woman.

A strong, hot wind blew through the trees. Wind swept across the altar extinguished the candles and stirred the dust in the govi. The grainy mixture followed the wind, swirling through the air until all the particles were free of the vessel. It formed into a small dirt devil and danced across the altar.

Had Jar looked over he would have seen the image of Jean-Claude spinning inside the vortex of dust, he would have recognized the eager look, the suppressed hilarity bubbling forward, he would have seen the steel jaws of a trap closing down around him—but he was unaware of anything except the mounting wave of pleasure rising within him. The pressure built inside of him until he felt like his body was going to explode into a million pieces. Unable to contain this new sensation, his mouth fell open.

The vortex of ash shifted, lifted up and entered Jar’s open mouth. The mass obstructed his throat and he began to choke. His eyes rolled back in his head, but his young body acting on animal instinct continued to thrust forward. His throat worked to pass the obstruction and the mass descended through his esophagus until he ingested the cells of the gypsy girl, Anselina, and with her the dark spirit of Jean-Claude Brunache. For a brief wonderful moment he felt the aura of the gypsy girl in every cell of his body and for a flash Suzy was there too. He saw the color of her eyes and plunged through them and into the Llano River.

He resurfaced at the swimming hole under Flatrock Bridge. The river was high, the water cool and refreshing. No sign of the long drought and the damage it had wrought existed. Smiling, he treaded the deep glorious water and started to laugh. He was home. It was over.

As he struck out for shore, the green water started to churn. The elation he’d felt only moments earlier slid away. He swam harder determined to make the shore but the water held him. It swirled around his body, sucked at his legs and spun into a dark whirlpool. He thrust his hands high, reaching up toward the endless expanse of Texas sky.