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injure me, but I had little faith in these old formulae. What I did believe in were the powers of Merrick, which I'd long ago
witnessed and would never forget.
Hurrying up the stairs to Merrick's suite, I put my key into the lock of her door.
As soon as I stepped into the parlor, I saw the flicker of candlelight and smelled another very pleasant smell which I had
connected with Merrick in years past. It was the scent of Florida water, redolent of fresh cut oranges a scent loved by the
Voodoo goddess Ezili, and by the Candomble goddess of a similar name.
As for the candle, I saw it atop a handsome bombe chest just opposite the door.
It was a votive light, sunk deep and safe inside a water glass, and behind it, looking down upon it, was a fine plaster
statue of St. Peter with his golden keys to Heaven, a figure about a foot and a half in height. The complexion of the statue
was dark, and it had pale amber glass eyes.
It was clothed in a soft green tunic etched with gold, and a cloak of purple on which the gold was fancier still. He held
not only the proverbial keys to the Kingdom of Heaven, but also, in the right hand, a large book.
I was shocked all over. The hair came up on the back of my neck.
Of course I knew it was not only St. Peter, this statue, it was Papa Legba in Voodoo, the god of the crossroads, the god
who must unlock the spiritual realms if you are to obtain anything with your magic.
Before you begin a spell, a prayer, or a sacrifice you honor Papa Legba first. And whoever had made this statue realized
these things.
How else explain the deliberately darkened complexion of the saint who appeared now to be a man of color, or the
mysterious book?
He had his complement in Candomble, whom I had so often saluted. This was the orisha, or god, by the name of Exu.
And any Candomble temple would have begun its ceremonies by first saluting him.
As I stared at the statue and the candle, the very scents of those Brazilian temples with their hard-packed dirt floors
came back to me. I heard the drums. I smelled the cooked foods laid out in offerings. Indeed, I let the sensations come.
There came back other memories, memories of Merrick, as well.
"Papa Legba," I whispered aloud. I'm certain that I bowed my head ever so slightly and felt a rush of blood to my face.
"Exu," I whispered. "Don't be offended by anything that I do here."
I uttered a small prayer, more formulaic in the Portuguese that I had long ago learnt, asking that whatever realm he had
just opened, he not deny me entrance, as my respect was as strong as that of Merrick.
The statue of course remained motionless, its pale glass eyes staring quite directly into mine, but I had seldom beheld
something which seemed so animate in a sly and unexplainable way.
"I'm going slightly mad," I thought. But then I had come to Merrick to work magic, had I not? And I knew Merrick,
didn't I? But then, I had never expected these tricks!
I beheld in my mind the temple in Brazil once more, where I had trained for months learning the proper leaves for
offering, learning the myths of the gods, learning finally, after months and months of struggle, to dance clockwise with the
others, saluting each deity with our gestures and dance steps, until a frenzy was reached, until I myself felt the deity enter
into me, possess me ... and then there was the waking after, remembering nothing, being told I had been mightily
possessed, the sublime exhaustion.
Of course ... What had I thought we were doing here if not inviting those old powers? And Merrick knew my old
strengths and weaknesses if anybody did. I could scarcely tear my gaze off the face of the statue of St. Peter. But I finally
managed it.
I backed away as anyone might do when leaving a shrine, and darted silently into the bedroom.
Again, I breathed in the bright citrus fragrance of the Florida water, and also the scent of rum.
Where was her favorite perfume, the Chanel No. 22? Had she ceased to wear it? The Florida water was very strong.
Merrick lay asleep on the bed.
She looked as if she'd never moved. It struck me now and only now how much her white blouse and skirt resembled the
classic dress of the Candomble women. All she needed was a turban for her head to make the image complete.
The new bottle of rum was open on the table beside her, and about a third of it consumed. Nothing else had changed that
I could ascertain. The scent was powerful, which meant she might have sprayed it through her teeth into the air, an
offering to the god.
In sleep she looked perfect, as people often do when they relax utterly; she seemed the girl of herself. And it struck me
that were she to be made a vampire, she would have this flawless countenance.
I was filled with fear and abhorrence. I was filled also for the first time in these many years with the full realization
that I, and I without the help of anyone else, could grant this magic, the transformation into a vampire, to her, or to any
human. For the first time, I understood its monstrous temptation.
Of course nothing of this sort would befall Merrick. Merrick was my child. Merrick was my ... daughter.
"Merrick, wake up!" I said sharply. I touched her shoulder. "You're going to explain these visions to me. Wake up!"
No response. She appeared to be dead drunk.
"Merrick, wake up!" I said again, very crossly. And this time I lifted her shoulders with both hands, but her head
tumbled back. The scent of the Chanel perfume rose from her. Ali, that was precisely what I so loved.
I became painfully conscious of her breasts, quite visible in the scoop neck of her cotton blouse. Down into the pillows I
let her fall.
"Why did you do these things?" I demanded of the inert body of the beautiful woman lying on the bed. "What did you
mean with all this? Do you think I'm to be frightened away?"
But it was useless. She wasn't pretending. She was out cold. I could divine no dreams or subterranean thoughts in her.
And quickly examining the little hotel wet bar, I saw that she'd drunk a couple of little bottles of gin.
"Typical Merrick," I said with faint anger.
It had always been her way to drink to excess at specific times. She'd work very hard at her studies or in the field for
months on end, and then announce that she was "going to the Moon," as she called it, at which time she would lay in
liquor and drink for several nights and days. Her favorite drinks were those with sweetness and flavor sugercane rum,
apricot brandy, Grand Marnier, ad infinitum. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]