“She slid her hand and petted the baby’s hair. What brings you to this place, Marie? The fire, I told her, same as you. The whole house burned, even my room and my money hidden under the same mattress you slept on. Deep sadness skittered across her features. What has become of the household? We have moved till the place can be rebuilt, but nothing can be done about my three hundred Spanish dollars, enough almost to buy my contract. Without warning, Hachard closed her eyes and kept them shut so long that I worried she might have fallen asleep or the Good Lord come in like a thief and steal her soul. When I touched her hand, she like to jump out of her skin. Don’t do that to a body, she said. I was cogitating and you frightened me. Bending closely so that her words fit in my ear alone, she whispered, Do you ever go to la Conga in the square a Sunday evening? I laughed and nodded toward the sleeping baby. I go nowhere now, but there was a time when a young man fancied me and we danced the bamboula to hear the drums and the contredanse to show the whites how it is done, and oh, the eau-de-vie. You are not the only one who has a wild side, but alas, he was Cuban and back to Habana he did go, such a beautiful boy. Have you, Hachard asked, ever danced the Vaudoux? For years I had heard about the secret dance and the magic gained by all who dared the initiation, but I never risked go myself. Some scheme lay behind her question, her voice betrayed her, and though I knew not what she had in mind, I supposed my best course was to encourage her. No, I have not, but I should like to learn. That’s good, very good, she said, for there your prayers will be answered. You shall either have your money or your freedom; we will ask the King and Queen what to do. With her gnarled hands, Hachard stroked Clothide’s hair as she slept. And perhaps, you will say a prayer for me, too, not so?
“On a hot night in June, I left the baby with a neighbor and found Hachard by the Place Conga and together we went to a darker part of town where an empty stables stood and no eyes could profane the holy ceremony. Two women bound me in strips of purple cloth and put sandals on my feet, and I entered the cell with twenty others, men and women both. At the end of the room stood the King and Queen at the altar of the snake. Do you believe, said the King, in the power of the Vaudoux? He tapped the cage with the end of a stick and the snake slithered to the other side. Will you keep secret its most sacred magic? At each question, the assembled shouted Yes to these and to many more tests of faith. The crowd was made to bow before the snake and a fire was lit, and the Queen, she walked right through the flames without burning, and other marvelous feats were performed in the name of the Vaudoux. Now, I was raised a good Christian by the nuns in Saint-Domingue, but even so, such wonders cannot be explained away. When the show ended, the petitioners separated and waited patiently in two lines to confer with the King and Queen, as children will queue to speak to their mama or papa. And their wants were as ordinary as children’s.
“Ask the Vaudoux, one young woman said, if my man be stepping out on me, and if he be, may his own snake fall off between his legs. An old man asked for three more years of life so that he might outlive his younger brother. A third person wished to be made more beautiful in the eyes of her beloved, for he finds her too plain to marry. Others asked for to be cured of their ailments, and others still wished ailments upon their enemies. When my turn came to speak to the King, I was afraid. He was no Domingue man, but out of Africa, a Kongo man, back broad as a bull and a chest wide and deep, out of which boomed his voice, even when he spoke softly, asking, What can the snake do for you, daughter? I told him my tale of transport to Louisiana in service of the fat M. LaChance and his six chubby children. And the contract of manumission, the fire that ate my money, and my ill treatment by the son Georges. Even the story of the pet dog who is a constant reminder of my shame, and the King let out a yip-yap, just like Georges’s monster, and I was convinced the King knew already of my sorrows. You must take the oath, he said, are you ready? I was ready to hope in something more than what had seen me through so far, and I nodded. The King framed my face in his huge hands. Daughter, feed the master corn boiled with fat, and fry his meat and fish in mounds of butter. Sneak more andouille into the gumbo and backfat bacon for his breakfast. Make cakes and have him wash them down with ale and cider. At every meal, serve the lagniappe, the unexpected treat, but make sure it is rich or fat or clotted. Stuff the old goose and you will win your freedom. I will give you a sign of the power of Vaudoux this very night. Against my better sense, I said amen.
“As soon as the last petitioner finished, the King and Queen became very agitated. He took the snake from the altar and set the cage on the ground, and the grand lady who is the Vaudoux Queen stepped up on top of the cage and made to act as if the snake itself had climbed into her, and she began to speak in a strange language I never heard here in Orleans or Saint-Domingue or anywhere on earth. She pointed her finger at me and bade me come to her.