Chapter Eight
The cemetery didn’t seem so opposing in the daylight. Isabella witnessed two funerals since their arrival and she had Ernie there. She didn’t know who the deceased were but felt sorry for their families. Even though she didn’t actually believe Vinnie, she looked around for signs of Baron Samedi and his assistant, Kubol who usually hung out in cemeteries, taking souls on to their final destination. So far, nothing…not even a sign of cult activity.
Isabella trembled as she felt a mystic presence spread around them.
“There are still souls here,” Ernie said to her. “Some of them have not yet crossed over.”
Isabella nodded in agreement. “Welcome to my world.”
They stopped in front of a crypt and Isabella ran her hand across the cool marble while reading the inscription. Time and erosion had erased away most of it.
“Do you think she’s in there?” Ernie asked.
“Who?”
“Marie?” he answered.
“That’s her name written on the marble, isn’t it?”
Ernie nodded. “Some people think this is her daughter’s grave, since her daughter was also named Marie Laveau.”
Isabella touched the crypt again and a warm feeling ran through her. “No it is the original. Her remains are in there.” She ran her finger across the X’s that someone had marked on the crypt. “Her followers know it’s her.” She pointed to the fresh X marks. “They still pay her homage.” Isabella walked away and Ernie followed.
“There is so much I don’t know about your religion,” Ernie said to her.
Isabella shrugged. “It’s not that complicated. It’s sort of like the Catholic religion.” Her gut instincts told her to eliminate the cult theory. Things didn’t add up.
Ernie chuckled. “I’ve never seen animals sacrificed at my church.” They walked toward the exit.
“I mean we use altars and candles like they do in the Catholic churches. Marie was raised a Roman Catholic, like most of the French and Spanish at the time. She was a devout Catholic and she attended mass every day.” Isabella paused. “Marie even got permission to hold rituals behind the Saint Louis Cathedral.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ernie said, impressed. He walked her to her car and opened the door for her.
“You need to come to church with me one night and witness one of our ceremonies.” Isabella started her car.
“Maybe,” Ernie said in a noncommittal tone. “I might take up on the invitation. Where are you headed?”
“Home to check on the place and then I think I’ll swing by to see my grandmother.”
“Give her my love,” Ernie said. He walked to his car and unlocked the door.
Isabella drove off.
* * * *
The night sky was filled with stars and an enormous moon. It didn’t look any different than any other night except instead of patrolling the streets for demons, Isabella decided to go to church and get some advice from her grandmother, Matilda.
She dressed in a long, white cotton dress with her long, dark hair covered by a white bandana. Her feet were incased in a pair of soft leather sandals. A breeze whipped at the flowing hem around her legs.
Others, dressed in similar garb, walked the well-worn path which led to their place of worship, along Bayou Saint John. Its whereabouts weren’t a secret but very few outsiders came there to visit. Isabella suspected a lot of people were afraid of what they might find.
The hype of Hollywood and the imaginations of fiction writers portrayed the voodoo religion as the practice of black magic. It was so far from the truth, as Isabella and her church of worshippers practiced the opposite. Her family had been voodoo worshippers all of their lives. Descendants of eighteenth century West African Yoruba people…the originators of the Vodun religion.
Isabella followed the others as they walked toward their peristyle…the main building of worship. The small building was far from glamorous but it served them well, providing shelter against the elements and protected them from the curious.
Isabella walked through the door and into the foyer where she stood in a short line that led into the meeting room. Two tall men, dressed from head to toe in white, guarded the door. One of them, Jason, turned at the sound of her approach.
“Your grandmother will be pleased you could join us tonight, Isabella,” he said. “It has been a long time.”
The other man, Otis, turned to acknowledge her. “Come inside, Sister, and join us.”
Both men stepped aside and allowed her to enter. Then they stepped inside pulling the doors closed behind them.
Everything was almost ready for the ceremony, Isabella noted as she walked in, gazing at the altar. There were rows and rows of long folding tables and chairs placed around the great room. The worshippers were busy getting seated as she scanned the room for her grandmother. Matilda appeared beside the altar.
Matilda Denning was nearly seventy years old, but her face was smooth and without wrinkles. Her dark hair had long since gone and was replaced by a coarse mingle-gray mixture which she always wore braided and concealed beneath a rag. Her grandmother got around without the aid of a cane or walker and her mind was still alert and sharp. She took care of Isabella since her mother was murdered by a vampire many years ago.
Isabella walked over and gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek.
“Good evening, child. Hurry, take your seat.”
“Can I talk to you before the ceremony begins?” Isabella asked.
Matilda nodded. “Is it about the murders?”
Isabella nodded quickly. “The police and the mayor think a voodoo cult is responsible.”
Matilda chuckled. “Child, you know better than that.”
Isabella lowered her head for doubting. “Yes, but I have to admit that someone is going out of their way to make it look like voodoo is involved. There were altars at the scenes and religious artifacts and a lot of dead bodies.”
“You said it yourself, someone is going out of their way to make it look like voodoo is involved. We don’t perform human sacrifices.”
“Yeah, that’s the part that’s confusing. Why would someone do this?”
Matilda shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they’re trying to blame it on us because they don’t like our religion, or maybe it’s some type of sign or a warning. I’m leaning closer to it being a warning. Someone is trying to tell the good citizens of New Orleans something.” Matilda sat down.
Isabella sat down to the right of her grandmother. Another woman, her cousin Grace, approached the table and bade them good evening. She sat to Matilda’s left. All conversation ceased.
“Crime took a night off?” Grace asked. Like most of the women in the family, Grace was very pretty and petite. Isabella unfortunately had taken after her father.
Isabella poked her tongue at her cousin. “Can’t a person come to church, brat?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it Aunty?”
Matilda nodded.
Her grandmother was very proud of both of them. Grace, the grand-daughter of Matilda’s youngest sister had grown up and gotten married. She worked as a nurse and was mother to a beautiful little girl.
Isabella, with the encouragement of her Uncle George had joined the PAK organization and went off to see the world. She returned a grown woman who possessed a good heart, yet she found no man to love. Her life, such as it was, belonged to the organization which rid the world of things that went bump in the night.
“How’s Marcelite?” Isabella asked Grace. Marcelite was Grace’s daughter.
“She’s fine,” Grace answered. “She’s home with Raymond, charming him with her brilliant repertoire.”
Isabella smiled. Her young cousin was such a gem.
“She’s been asking about you. She wants to know why you haven’t visited in a long time.”
“I’ll try to stop by and see her this week,” Isabella half-promised. It all depended on whether there would be a rest of the week. She hated not being around her family but sometimes one had to put the good of the many before the good of the few.
A drumbeat signaled the onset of dinner. Isabella and Grace stopped talking and prepared for the feast. This was the way their church services always began. Large silver trays, piled high with fresh fruit and vegetables, serving crocks of homemade seafood Gumbo, freshly baked bread and bowls of leafy green salad were passed down the long tables until everyone was served.
Isabella inhaled and her nose picked up the aroma of filé and seafood as she reached for her soup spoon. She dipped it into the bowl of Gumbo and rice and brought it to her lips. Her entire system sighed. “Now this is good eating.” Isabella grabbed a piece of French bread and dipped it into her bowl and took a bite.
“I thought you were dieting,” Matilda said to her.
“I am,” Isabella replied. “But you know how I love Gumbo.”
“Going to go straight to your hips,” Grace warned. She picked daintily at her salad.
“I’ll work it off at the gym,” Isabella said as she continued to eat.
The tables were cleared after their meal ended and the chairs were moved back toward the walls.
One of the older ladies sprinkled cornmeal on the floor to create a verve unique to the Loa…the spirit they would be worshipping.
Matilda walked over to the altar, said a prayer and then touched the altar’s Poteau-mitan, the center. It represented the center of the universe and the access to the spirit world. All of the members began dancing around it. The altar was decorated with pictures of Christian saints, candles and symbolic items to the Loa. Tonight they worshipped Ayza-the Protector.
The worshippers sought solace and answers about the murders that plagued New Orleans and its neighboring cities. They came tonight for consul with their Mambo, the voodoo priestess, Matilda.
The low beating drums sounded throughout the building as Matilda made her way to the verve. The beating continued as Matilda grabbed her sacred gourd-shaped rattle. In her other hand she held a flag used to help summon Ayza.
Matilda joined the dancing. Otis played the mannan drum using a small wooden hammer. Jason played the second drum. He held it between his knees and beat it with his hands. Jason’s grandson Jake played a smaller drum called a bula.
The tempo of the music picked up and Isabella’s hips swayed to the beat. Grace rocked side to side and they both chanted along with the others. Isabella’s heart beat rapidly in her chest as she watched her grandmother dance. Next to her was Gabrielle, her newest houneses…a novice student of voodoo.
Gabrielle danced feverishly as if she and the drums were one. It was Isabella’s guess that the spirit of Ayza now possessed the girl.
The drums stopped and all eyes glued to Gabrielle.
Matilda hushed the chanting of all the others and she led Gabrielle to the altar. Gabrielle’s ti-bon-ange…her soul had left her body; Ayza had taken control of her. To all who watched she was Ayza-the Protector. The worshippers returned to their chairs.
The drumbeat started up again signaling the sacrifice. Chickens were brought forth and quickly slaughtered. Their blood captured in a jar and passed to Gabrielle. The young woman drank some as in their belief to satisfy the hungry Ayza. Then the slaughtered chickens were taken away to be cooked and later eaten.
Isabella sighed. She had seen it all a thousand times and she never could explain the events to anyone. It was one of those instances when you really had to be there. Isabella felt drained.
The room shook under their feet and people fell to their knees. Matilda walked over to Isabella and gathered her into her arms. “The realm has opened,” the elderly said. “Protect this town.”
Isabella nodded. The only thing left for her to do was go home and go to bed.