Chapter 10

Life, you know, is rather like opening a tin of sardines.

We are all of us looking for the key.

—Alan Bennett

Staring at the barren mountains that stood naked and hurt, with no place to hide from the merciless sun, I tried to recall more details of my life with Hagathe. Her features appeared but were suddenly swallowed by a cloud of smoke from Lamercie’s pipe. My memories grew hollow and more distant.

Lamercie sat on a straw mat, pulling smoke from her pipe. “Get out of here!” she yelled, waving a hand in the air.

“Why can’t I sit with you?” I asked, shocked that she would chase me away.

“I was talking to those evil spirits walking around in broad daylight.”

I thought she was losing her mind, but said nothing.

Wearing a blank expression on her face, she told me, “You can’t see them. Three little men went by walking on their hands. They were no more than twelve inches tall.”

I had heard from Marie Ange that Lamercie had come back from death and that she was exceptional because the caul over her head at birth allowed her to see supernatural beings. Mean spirits couldn’t hurt her, and she could communicate with good ones. “Marie Ange told me that you died and came back to life,” I said, thinking it was the right time to bring up the topic.

“I came back to life because my time had not come.” She peered into the distance, hands cupped around her clay pipe. “The night I was supposed to die, my mother dreamed of a black man dressed in flaming red pants and shirt, holding a machete high above his head. Ogoun Badagris, the spirit of fire, talked to her all the way from Guinen. He told her Koksanbèk, the toothless sorcerer, was about to make a zombie of me and that Gran Bwa, the spirit of medicinal herbs, could bring me back to life.” She paused, puffed contentedly on her pipe, taking her time.

“When the sun woke up early the next morning,” she continued, “my mother went inside the peristyle and came back with the spirit of Gran Bwa dancing in her head. The spirit went to the mountains and returned with leaves that he used to fix me a drink and a bath.” Lamercie took her time again, puffing and blowing smoke. And I waited. Above her head floated a halo of wisdom that inspired awe. “Minutes later, I sat up and rubbed my eyes.”

“How did your mother know your time hadn’t come?” I asked.

“She couldn’t know for sure,” Lamercie explained. “She just took a chance. But if God, our Granmèt, wanted to take me from this life, it would have happened anyway.”

Once again, I doubted her sanity. “Could it be that you were just in a coma?”

“Call it whatever you want,” she snapped. “But I’ll tell you what happened. I saw my soul leave my body and then I came to a wooden door and knocked. A voice told me I had to go back because my job here was not done yet. Soon after that, my mother entered the room where I was sleeping.”

“Do you think Hagathe could come back?” I asked in a hopeful but only half-serious voice.

“I gave her a dose of poison to make sure she really died.”

“Why would you poison her?”

“Vilanus’s family is still going around saying he died because of Hagathe. I was afraid they would turn her into a zombie to take revenge.”

“How would they do that?”

“The night of the funeral, they could take her body from the coffin and revive her with herbal medicine. I poisoned her to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Being a zombie is worse than being a slave. At least a slave can hope for freedom.” Lamercie removed her red scarf from around her waist and tied it around her head.

“I was planning to visit my mother this summer,” I told her.

“Learn to recognize her messages.” She threw her hand in the air, this time to chase a mosquito. “Your mother’s spirit is right here. She’s listening to our conversation.” Lamercie flashed a toothless grin that lit up her face. “If you want,” she said, “we can call her in a govi so you can talk to her.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, not wanting to venture that far into Lamercie’s mystical world. But I did ask her to tell me more about Hagathe’s complicated life.