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She broke off. Her face went blank. Then, with a small touch of a frown, she went on:
"I don't remember liking Chicago very much. New York had no trees that I ever saw. I couldn't wait to come back
home. Cold Sandra, she loved New Orleans too. She always came back, until the last time."
"Was she a smart woman, your mother?" I asked. "Was she bright the way you are?"
This gave her pause for thought.
"She's got no education," said Merrick. "She doesn't read books. I myself, I like to read. When you read you can learn
things, you know. I read old magazines that people left lying around. One time I got stacks and stacks of Time magazine
from some old house they were tearing down. I read everything I could in those magazines, I mean every one of them; I
read about art and science and books and music and politics and every single thing till those magazines were falling apart.
I read books from the library, from the grocery store racks; I read the newspaper. I read old prayer books. I've read books
of magic. I have many books of magic that I haven't even showed you yet."
She gave a little shrug with her shoulders, looking small and weary but still the child in her puzzlement of all that had
happened.
"Cold Sandra wouldn't read anything," she said. "You'd never see Cold Sandra watching the six o'clock news. Great
Nananne sent her to the nuns, she always said, but Cold Sandra misbehaved and they were always sending her home.
Besides, Cold Sandra was plenty light enough to not like dark people herself, you know. You'd think she knew better,
with her own father dumping her, but she did not. Fact is she was the color of an almond, if you see the picture. But she
had those light yellow eyes, and that's a dead giveaway, those yellow eyes. She hated it when they started calling her Cold
Sandra too."
"How did the nickname come about?" I asked. "Did the children start it?''
We had almost reached our destination. I remember there was so much more I wanted to know about this strange
society, so alien to what I knew. At that moment, I felt that my opportunities in Brazil had been largely wasted. The old
woman's words had stung me to the heart.
"No, it started right in our house," said Merrick. "That's the worst kind of nickname, I figure. When the neighbors and
the children heard it, they said 'Your own Nananne calls you Cold Sandra.' But it stuck on account of the things she did.
She used all the magic to fix people, like I said. She put the Evil Eye on people. I saw her skin a black cat once and I
never want to see that again."
I must have flinched because a tiny smile settled on her lips for a moment. Then she went on.
"By the time I was six years old, she started calling herself Cold Sandra. She'd say to me, 'Merrick, you come here to
Cold Sandra.' I'd jump in her lap."
There was a slight break in her voice as she continued.
"She was nothing like Great Nananne," Merrick said. "And she smoked all the time and she drank, and she was always
restless, and when she drank she was mean. When Cold Sandra came home after being gone for a long time, Great
Nananne would say, 'What's in your cold heart this time, Cold Sandra? What lies are you going to tell?'
"Great Nananne used to say there was no time for black magic in this world. You could do all you had to do with good
magic. Then Matthew came, and Cold Sandra was the happiest she'd ever been."
"Matthew," I said coaxingly, "the man who gave you the parchment book."
"He didn't give me that book, Mr. Talbot, he taught me to read it," she answered. "That book we already had. That book
came from Great-Oncle Vervain, who was a terrible Voodoo Man. They called him Dr. Vervain from one end of the city
to the other. Everybody wanted his spells. That old man gave me lots of things before he passed on. He was Great
Nananne's older brother. He was the first person I ever saw just up and die. He was sitting at the dining room table with
the newspaper in his hand."
I had more questions on the tip of my tongue.
In all of this long unfolding tale there had been no mention of that other name which Great Nananne had uttered: Honey
in the Sunshine.
But we had arrived at the old house. The afternoon sun was quite strong but the rain had thinned away.
8
I WAS SURPRISED to see so many people standing about. Indeed they were everywhere, and a very subdued but
attentive lot. I observed at once that not one, but two small paneled trucks had come from the Motherhouse, and that there
stood guard a small group of Talamasca acolytes, ready to pack up the house.
I greeted these youngsters of the Order, thanking them in advance for their care and discretion, and told them to wait
quietly until they were given the signal to begin their work.
As we went up the stairs and walked through the house, I saw, where the windows permitted me to see anything, that
people were loitering in the alleyways, and as we came into the backyard, I noticed many persons gathered far off to the
right and to the left beyond the heavy growth of the low-limbed oaks. I could see no fences anywhere. And I do not
believe there were any at that time.
All was dimness beneath a canopy of luxuriant leaf, and we were surrounded by the sound of softly dripping water.
Wild red hyacinth grew where the sun could penetrate the precious gloom. I saw thin yew trees, the species so sacred to
the dead and to the magician. And I saw many lilies lost in the choking grass. It could not have been more lulling and
dreamy had it been a purposeful Japanese garden.
As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I realized that we were standing on a flagstone patio of sorts, punctuated by
several twisted yet flowering trees, and much cracked and overwhelmed by slippery shining moss. Before us stood a huge
open shed with a central pillar holding its corrugated tin roof.
The pillar was brightly painted red to the midpoint and green to the top, and it rose from a huge altar stone quite
appropriately heavily stained. Beyond in the darkness stood the inevitable altar, with saints even more numerous and
magnificent than those in Great Nananne's bedroom.
There were banks upon banks of lighted candles.
It was, I knew from my studies, a common Voodoo configurationthe central pillar and the stone. One could find it all
over the island of Haiti. And this weedy flagstone spot was what a Haitian Voodoo doctor might have called his peristyle.
Cast to the side, among the close and straggling yew trees, I saw two iron tables, small and rectangular in shape, and a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
She broke off. Her face went blank. Then, with a small touch of a frown, she went on:
"I don't remember liking Chicago very much. New York had no trees that I ever saw. I couldn't wait to come back
home. Cold Sandra, she loved New Orleans too. She always came back, until the last time."
"Was she a smart woman, your mother?" I asked. "Was she bright the way you are?"
This gave her pause for thought.
"She's got no education," said Merrick. "She doesn't read books. I myself, I like to read. When you read you can learn
things, you know. I read old magazines that people left lying around. One time I got stacks and stacks of Time magazine
from some old house they were tearing down. I read everything I could in those magazines, I mean every one of them; I
read about art and science and books and music and politics and every single thing till those magazines were falling apart.
I read books from the library, from the grocery store racks; I read the newspaper. I read old prayer books. I've read books
of magic. I have many books of magic that I haven't even showed you yet."
She gave a little shrug with her shoulders, looking small and weary but still the child in her puzzlement of all that had
happened.
"Cold Sandra wouldn't read anything," she said. "You'd never see Cold Sandra watching the six o'clock news. Great
Nananne sent her to the nuns, she always said, but Cold Sandra misbehaved and they were always sending her home.
Besides, Cold Sandra was plenty light enough to not like dark people herself, you know. You'd think she knew better,
with her own father dumping her, but she did not. Fact is she was the color of an almond, if you see the picture. But she
had those light yellow eyes, and that's a dead giveaway, those yellow eyes. She hated it when they started calling her Cold
Sandra too."
"How did the nickname come about?" I asked. "Did the children start it?''
We had almost reached our destination. I remember there was so much more I wanted to know about this strange
society, so alien to what I knew. At that moment, I felt that my opportunities in Brazil had been largely wasted. The old
woman's words had stung me to the heart.
"No, it started right in our house," said Merrick. "That's the worst kind of nickname, I figure. When the neighbors and
the children heard it, they said 'Your own Nananne calls you Cold Sandra.' But it stuck on account of the things she did.
She used all the magic to fix people, like I said. She put the Evil Eye on people. I saw her skin a black cat once and I
never want to see that again."
I must have flinched because a tiny smile settled on her lips for a moment. Then she went on.
"By the time I was six years old, she started calling herself Cold Sandra. She'd say to me, 'Merrick, you come here to
Cold Sandra.' I'd jump in her lap."
There was a slight break in her voice as she continued.
"She was nothing like Great Nananne," Merrick said. "And she smoked all the time and she drank, and she was always
restless, and when she drank she was mean. When Cold Sandra came home after being gone for a long time, Great
Nananne would say, 'What's in your cold heart this time, Cold Sandra? What lies are you going to tell?'
"Great Nananne used to say there was no time for black magic in this world. You could do all you had to do with good
magic. Then Matthew came, and Cold Sandra was the happiest she'd ever been."
"Matthew," I said coaxingly, "the man who gave you the parchment book."
"He didn't give me that book, Mr. Talbot, he taught me to read it," she answered. "That book we already had. That book
came from Great-Oncle Vervain, who was a terrible Voodoo Man. They called him Dr. Vervain from one end of the city
to the other. Everybody wanted his spells. That old man gave me lots of things before he passed on. He was Great
Nananne's older brother. He was the first person I ever saw just up and die. He was sitting at the dining room table with
the newspaper in his hand."
I had more questions on the tip of my tongue.
In all of this long unfolding tale there had been no mention of that other name which Great Nananne had uttered: Honey
in the Sunshine.
But we had arrived at the old house. The afternoon sun was quite strong but the rain had thinned away.
8
I WAS SURPRISED to see so many people standing about. Indeed they were everywhere, and a very subdued but
attentive lot. I observed at once that not one, but two small paneled trucks had come from the Motherhouse, and that there
stood guard a small group of Talamasca acolytes, ready to pack up the house.
I greeted these youngsters of the Order, thanking them in advance for their care and discretion, and told them to wait
quietly until they were given the signal to begin their work.
As we went up the stairs and walked through the house, I saw, where the windows permitted me to see anything, that
people were loitering in the alleyways, and as we came into the backyard, I noticed many persons gathered far off to the
right and to the left beyond the heavy growth of the low-limbed oaks. I could see no fences anywhere. And I do not
believe there were any at that time.
All was dimness beneath a canopy of luxuriant leaf, and we were surrounded by the sound of softly dripping water.
Wild red hyacinth grew where the sun could penetrate the precious gloom. I saw thin yew trees, the species so sacred to
the dead and to the magician. And I saw many lilies lost in the choking grass. It could not have been more lulling and
dreamy had it been a purposeful Japanese garden.
As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I realized that we were standing on a flagstone patio of sorts, punctuated by
several twisted yet flowering trees, and much cracked and overwhelmed by slippery shining moss. Before us stood a huge
open shed with a central pillar holding its corrugated tin roof.
The pillar was brightly painted red to the midpoint and green to the top, and it rose from a huge altar stone quite
appropriately heavily stained. Beyond in the darkness stood the inevitable altar, with saints even more numerous and
magnificent than those in Great Nananne's bedroom.
There were banks upon banks of lighted candles.
It was, I knew from my studies, a common Voodoo configurationthe central pillar and the stone. One could find it all
over the island of Haiti. And this weedy flagstone spot was what a Haitian Voodoo doctor might have called his peristyle.
Cast to the side, among the close and straggling yew trees, I saw two iron tables, small and rectangular in shape, and a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]