Miss Lucretia sat there looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, while we held our breath waiting for her to reveal her great secret.
“It’s really a very simple thing, boys, to be able to walk on fire,” she said. “Wid de right preparation de two of y’all could do it, too.”
“You said you was gonna tell us how you done it,” Poudlum said impatiently.
“I said it, and I is. Just hold yo’ hosses fo’ a minute. De last voodoo priest showed me how to do it. He was my Uncle Caledonia Jones, on my momma’s side of de family, and he had a little gristmill where he ground up corn into meal during de day, but by night he practiced voodoo. He didn’t have no children of his own. I don’t know why he picked me, but he did, and it made me feel special. So I went along wid it, and de next thing you know he up and died, and dat’s how I come to be de voodoo queen.”
“What did your family think about that?” I asked.
“Didn’t have none left ’cept my poor old momma, who was just trying to survive, and so voodoo become our livelihood.”
“How in the world did y’all make a living on voodoo?” Poudlum asked.
“Real simple,” she replied. “Somebody would get mad wid somebody else, and dey would bring me a sack of taters or a bag of meal, and whisper dat person’s name in my ear. Sooner or later something bad would happen to dat person and I would take credit for it.”
“Without having done anything to ’em on your part?” I asked.
“Dat’s right,” she confirmed.
“Well, didn’t anybody ever get suspicious that you was a fake?” I enquired.
“Uh huh, sometimes.”
“What would you do?”
“I would build a fire and spread de word I was gonna walk on it. After folks would see dat I did, dey would be right back at my door wid a bushel of apples wanting me to put a curse or a spell on somebody who had done ’em wrong.
“Occasionally, at a gathering, I would slip a little of my potion into somebody’s ice tea, and just fo’ it knocked ’em out, I would make a big fuss about how dat person was about to leave dis world, and den just fo’ time for ’em to come to, I would wave my stick over ’em to revive ’em. After dat, I would be selling drogues fo’ a month.”
“Why, you was just nothing but a witch doctor!” I declared.
“Voodoo queen,” she corrected.
“It’s all just a bunch of fake stuff, just like I suspected,” Poudlum said.
“It is,” Miss Lucretia said, “unless you really believe in it, den it can seem real.”
Poudlum continued, “I heard tell you could see into the future using voodoo.”
“Used to could,” she said, “or make it seem like so, but I couldn’t never use dat part of it.”
“How come?” I asked.
“On account of de drums, or I ’spose I ought to say, on account of de absence of ’em.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Voodoo folks used to send messages to each other wid drums, so dat dey would know what happened somewhere else fo’ de word ever got to anybody, and dat made folks think dey knew what happened fo’ it ever did.”
“What happened to the drums?”
“Back fo’ dey got ’round to coronate me, when white folks heard ’em, dey would search ’em out and destroy ’em.”
“Hey, Miss Lucretia, did you forget you was gonna tell us how you walked on fire?” Poudlum asked.
“I didn’t forget, and I’s gonna tell you, but I did forget my stuff. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared into the cabin once again, but was back momentarily with three jars in her arms, which she sat down on the table.
She picked up the first one, which was half full of something white, and said, “Dis is camphor, a medicinal cream.”
She carefully set it aside and picked up the second one, which was half full of a light brown liquid, a little darker than honey, and said, “Dis is storax, a liquid balsam from de bark of a special tree.”
After she carefully placed it next to the jar of camphor, she held up a small glass container with a big cork stopper in it. It looked like liquid silver as she held it up to the lamplight.
“Dis is quicksilver, like de mercury in a thermometer. I make a mixture of it wid de camphor and de storax and rubs it on my feet, and it keeps the hot coals from burning.
“I still have it on my hands. See,” she said as she bent over and picked up a big red-hot coal and held it in the palm of her hand for a moment before she tossed it back into the fire.
“Well, I’ll be John Brown!” Poudlum said. “All you got to do is mix up some chemicals and rub ’em on your feet, and you can walk on fire!”
“Y’all just settle down, now,” Miss Lucretia said. “I’m awful sorry I ain’t got nothing to offer you boys for dessert. Run out of sugar three weeks ago. And dis is my last dip of snuff,” she said as she loaded up her bottom lip.
“But y’all did have some honey yesterday,” she added.
“How you know about that?” I asked in amazement.
“Heh, heh,” she snickered. “I picked up y’all’s trail right after I heard de shots when y’all shot Old Rufus, and then—”
“Wait a minute,” Poudlum interrupted. “You saying you was following us all the time after that?”
“Not all de time, but most of it,” she replied.
As soon as she answered Poudlum, I asked, “Did you call that rattlesnake we shot a name?”
“Uh huh, he was Old Rufus, and I been fattening him up to get him big fo’ I took his skin. I got it anyway after y’all left him. But y’all got his rattlers. I use them rattlers to trade, too.”
“So you trade rattlesnake skins, their rattlers, and bobcat fur to your nephew for the supplies he brings into here for you?” I asked.
“Dat’s right,” she said. “Plus he always wants a little of my potion, too.”
“What does he do with the skins and the rattlers?” Poudlum asked.
“He sells de rattlers fo’ drogues, and he ships de skins all de way over de big water to, I think he say France, where dey make belts and shoes wid ’em.”
I was afraid to ask what he might be doing with her potion.
“How many snakeskins you give him?” Poudlum asked.
“Oh, I gives him thirty or forty twice a year.”
“And all he gives you is salt, sugar, meal, flour, and sewing needles?”
“He brings me some snuff, too.”
“Miss Lucretia,” Poudlum said, “them skins are probably worth several dollars apiece. A jar of snuff don’t cost but a dime. I suspect you being taken advantage of.”
She thought on this for a few moments before she said, “I wouldn’t doubt dat a’tall.”
“Does Mister Autrey know your nephew comes in here?”
“Oh, no. He say he parks his truck in de woods a piece down from Mister Autrey’s house. My nephew say nobody needs to know ’bout him coming back here.”
“I bet he does,” I said. “When’s the last time he came in here?”
“Been six months. I told y’all. He due any time. But enough talk about dis. Y’all got yo’ dogs, don’t you want de rifles?”
“Yes’m,” we said in unison.
“Den one of y’all grab de lamp and let’s go inside and I’ll get ’em. De other one bring one of dem benches so we can sit at de table.”
When we were settled down at the table, Miss Lucretia walked over to the mysterious curtain in the far corner, reached behind it and pulled out our rifles.
After she had placed them on the table, we inspected them to find out they were still loaded with the safeties on.
The dogs had followed us to the cabin and I could hear their slight rustling sounds as they settled down for the night.
Everything seemed to be right again. We had our dogs back, and now we had our rifles. I was fixing to ask Poudlum if he wanted to let’s light out in the morning and spend Friday night at our camp before leaving on Saturday morning when I heard him ask Miss Lucretia what was behind the curtain in the corner.
“Why you wants to know?” she asked.
“’Cause I got a feeling they’s something back there that we need to know about. You done told us how you walk on fire, and all the other tricks about voodoo, so what else you got to hide?”
She stood up, and said, “Y’all come on and we’ll take dat curtain down, ’cause you is right. I ain’t got nothing else to hide.”
When we got over to the curtain, she said, “One of y’all grab each corner. Dey just hooked on to a nail.”
I just about jumped out of my boots when that curtain came down because the first thing I saw was the biggest rattlesnake I had ever seen. If it hadn’t been in a cage I expect I would have fainted. When it raised its big head up I saw that it was as big as my hand.
The cage was a crude affair made of more salvaged fence wire over a wooden frame with a little door and a latch on it.
“Good Lord, Miss Lucretia!” Poudlum gasped. “That’s the biggest snake I ever seen! What you doing with it here in the house?”
“Fattening him up,” she said painfully. “My nephew always likes for me to fry him up some when he comes.”
Now I knew what had been moving inside her pocket earlier. More than likely it had been mice she had brought in to feed that monster snake.
“You sleep in this room with that snake all the time?” I asked her.
“He’s penned up,” she said.
“But what if he got loose?” Poudlum asked. “And what if you rolled over on it during the night? I’ll answer that myself —you wouldn’t never live to see the light of day!”
“I ain’t sleeping in here with him,” I said.
“Me neither,” Poudlum agreed.
“I’ll set him out on de porch,” she volunteered.
“The dogs ain’t gonna sleep with it either!” Poudlum told her.
“All right, den I’ll take him out under de shed.”
We both stood well back while Miss Lucretia made her exit with the snake cage.
With the snake gone, we turned our attention to what was left behind where the curtain had hung. There was a small table covered with a red cloth that contained animal skulls and a few other assorted bones.
“Wh-wh-what is it, Poudlum?” I stuttered.
“I think it’s some kind of voodoo altar.”
Behind the altar hung what I guessed to be forty or fifty dried snakeskins and three bobcat pelts.
There were also some shelves with jars and bottles containing liquids and dried materials.
“Those must be all her voodoo potions and stuff,” I guessed.
We were startled when we heard a voice behind us say, “Dat’s right, dat’s what dey is.”
She was back.
She went over to her small bed and pulled two quilts out from under it and said, “I use dese to stay warm wid in de winter. But tonight y’all can make yo’selves pallets wid ’em, and you won’t have to sleep on de hard floor.”
Once we had done that, she got into her bed and pulled a thin coverlet over herself, and said, “Y’all blow dat lamp out.”
Poudlum put his open hand close to the top of the globe of the lamp, blew on it, and it deflected the little blast of air down, and the flickering flame went out.
I heard Poudlum as he lay down on the pallet next to me while it got pitch black in the room. It got so quiet you could have heard an ant breathing.
I began to feel the drowsy waves of sleep coming over me, but I was jolted from it when Miss Lucretia’s voice came out of the dark, saying, “Y’all did say it was 1949, didn’t you?”
“Yes’m,” Poudlum replied.
That seemed to satisfy her on what year it was. Then she said, “I’ll go out to de chicken pen in de morning and gather up some fresh eggs. Y’all likes ’em scrambled or fried?”
“We’ll take ’em however you like ’em,” Poudlum said.
“Wish I had some fresh sausage to fix wid ’em. Last time I had some fresh sausage wuz de last time I saw my momma.
“I ’member we went to a hog killing early one cold and frosty morning. Dey had several fires going and washpots boiling. I did some fire walking and we left wid plenty of fresh meat. And de best part wuz de sausage. I really liked de patty sausage, but de very best wuz dem links.
“Dey ground up a whole hog, added some sage to it and used de chitlings fo’ de casings, den dey would wound de links down into a bucket of lard to keep ’em. On de morning of de day they drove me away, I remember my momma reached down into dat bucket, pulled up a link and used her butcher knife to whack us off two pieces. Den she tossed ’em into her big black iron skillet where dey started sizzling and popping, and de ends of ’em busted open while dey wuz browning.”
It got real quiet again for awhile. Then she continued, “I ain’t had me no sausage since 1935, not in fourteen long years.”
The words of her story and the sadness in her voice touched my heart, and it must have had the same effect on Poudlum, because he said, “We gonna take you out of these woods tomorrow morning, Miss Lucretia. And soon as we get to my house, my momma’ll fry us up some sausage. You can’t stay back here no more, ’cause it just ain’t right.”
“You ain’t even asked yo’ momma,” she said.
“I don’t have to. Ain’t that right, Ted?”
“It surely is, Miss Lucretia. And all the folks in Poudlum’s church will help you, too.”
“What does a white boy know about what folks in a colored church gonna do? Look what de ones down in Africatown done to me.”
“Folks in Poudlum’s church ain’t like that,” I told her.
“How in de world does a white boy know such as dat?”
“I been to a service in Poudlum’s church.”
“You has?”
“Yes’m, I have, and them folks are gentle and kindhearted. They won’t turn you away.”
She attempted to muffle her voice, but we heard her words, when she said, “Praise de Lawd for sending dese young angels to save my po’ soul.”
Poudlum ended all the talking, when he said, “Let’s all go on to sleep now. After you cook up some eggs in the morning, we’ll pack up and light outta here. After that, me and Ted will take care of you.”
I drifted on off to sleep with a warm feeling, thinking that tomorrow everything would be all right.
I hadn’t been asleep long when I was awakened by the frantic barking of the dogs. At first I thought that big snake had probably got loose, but when I raised up on my elbow, I saw flashes of light through the cracks in the wall.