"Is that what those chickens and doves at your house are for?"
The Mother nodded.
"Do you ever use bigger animals?"
The Mother held Frank's gaze easily.
"Sometimes a goat or pig. Once I sacrificed a bull"—her white teeth flashed—"but that was such a bother I'll never do that again."
When humans are so much easier, Frank finished for her.
"How'd you get into this? The spiritual and Lukumi stuff."
"You're born to it, child. Someone in my line's always had the gift. Usually a female child but sometimes a boy. My uncle Kuban had the sight. He could heal. My mother had it. She passed it on to me. I learned how to heal from her. From my grandmother too. They were steeped in the Spiritual Church and I followed that for a time.
"Then a client introduced me to santeria and I realized that my true path was to follow the ancient gods. I studied to be an olosha, a priestess, and in 1994 I was ordained by the Church of the Lukumi Babalu Aye."
"You see your clients—do your healing—over at Slauson?"
The Mother rearranged some flowers on the pulpit, purring, "That's right."
"Who's that beggar that hangs around outside your place? The old one wrapped in the blankets?"
The Mother threw an eye at Frank.
"I don't know who you're talking about."
"Got cataracts, gray hair, wears about half a dozen blankets, even now, in the heat."
"There are many beggars in this city. Am I expected to know all of them?"
"This one hangs around your place a lot," Frank pushed.
Fussing with some pots around her arrangement, the Mother asked, "Why do you want to know?"
"I know a lot of them, but I don't know this one. I was just wondering if it was a client of yours."
When the Mother didn't respond, Frank continued, "So you see clients at home and this is where you do church stuff, right? The singing and preaching. All that."
The Mother laid a hand on Frank's bare arm. Her touch was cool and dry and Frank was reminded of a snake shedding its skin.
"If you're so curious, why don't you come to a service and find out. There's one tomorrow night at seven o'clock. Even better"— the Mother leered—"come to a bembe. You'll really see something there. I'm having one two weeks from this Saturday. It starts at five-thirty. At my home. For a client's daughter."
As if leaving, Frank turned away from the Mother's touch.
"What's a bembe?"
"It's an initiation ceremony into the faith. It's where the initiate is chosen by one of the gods. I don't usually allow outsiders, but I'll make an exception in your case."
"The initiate is chosen by one of the gods to do what?"
"Why, to serve!"
The Mother bared her teeth in a shark's smile. Frank ignored the shiver crawling up her spine. With an effort at nonchalance, Frank answered, "I just might show up."
14
Anthony Dalton had married a woman younger than his first granddaughter and was feeling like his mojo needed freshening up. Mother Love agreed, fixing him up with a new hand and a prescription for Uncrossing salts and High John the Conqueror oil. She guaranteed that before the week was out he'd be restored to his full manhood. He believed her; his sweet little girl had balked at marriage until he'd visited Mother Love for a magic potion. By the end of that month his sugar was Mrs. Anthony Dalton.
Isabel Salia had love trouble too; her husband had left with another woman. Mother Love told her she had to get her husband to drink a glass of sweet wine with some of her own cat juice mixed into it. That would make her man come back and stay. She recited a prayer for Isabel and dressed a black candle in Crossing Oil. Isabel had to carve her rival's name into the candle, light it, and repeat the prayer over the flame for nine nights, as well as sprinkle Hot Foot Powder across the woman's front door. That woman would leave and never come round again. Isabel had been doubtful about visiting this Mother Love, but her sister had convinced her, swearing she'd been promoted and found her lost diamond ring within nine days of Mother Love's cleansing her for good luck and fortune.
Rita Kincaid wanted to know if the man courting her was serious or just milking the cow for free. The Mother patiently cast the cowries, making repeated notations in a thick ledger. The upshot was that this man only spelled trouble for Rita. Mother Love fixed her up with a spell kit to attract the right kind of man and Rita happily laid $100 on the table.
Meanwhile, Eddie Mae King had been waiting. When it was her turn to see Mother Love, she transferred her great bulk from the waiting room into the plant-cluttered office. Eddie Mae didn't like it in here. It was too hot, too dark, and too crowded. She always felt like she was going to suffocate and collapse and they wouldn't be able to drag her big body out of there. She perched one buttock over a rickety little chair, fanning herself with a stubby hand. She started to cry, telling Mother Love her son had been stabbed in his belly and was dying up to Drew/King.
Mother Love got into Eddie Mae's face, scolding, "Does he have a chicken scratch or is that boy carved up like a Christmas ham?"
"He's in the ICU since last night," Eddie Mae sobbed.
The Mother relented, claiming, "We'll have to make ebo.”
Eddie Mae nodded. Her four chins nodded too. Mother Love scratched something on a piece of paper while Eddie Mae explained the circumstances about Tyrell. Lucian appeared after Mother Love pressed a buzzer. She handed him the paper and when he left Eddie Mae sighed, "I wish my boy had come out like your Lucian. He's such a darlin'."
"Your boy'd a come out right if you'd a knocked some sense into his head," Mother Love answered coldly. "You always spoiled them children, Eddie Mae. Didn't I warn you 'bout that?"
"Yes," Eddie Mae had to sigh. Lucian returned with a box and Eddie Mae recognized the offerings for Saint Lazarus. Babaluaye, is what Mother Love called him. That was his African name. Eddie Mae didn't much mind what name they used, as long as she got results.
Mother Love propped a crutch and straw broom into a corner next to a small table. She started singing, one of those African songs that made Eddie Mae feel proud. And a little afraid too. She knew what was coming. Mother Love smoothed a square of yellow satin over the table. On it she put a Saint Lazarus holy card, a clay pot with a perforated lid, and two plastic dogs. She surrounded them with seventeen yellow candles.
Stepping back, she surveyed the table. She must have liked what she saw, because she gave a short nod, saying, "Now we'll feed Babaluaye."
Eddie Mae's four chins quivered nervously. This was the part she didn't like. She offered a silent prayer to Jesus, hoping He wouldn't mind. She meant no harm, only wanted her son to be healthy. He could understand that, couldn't He?
Mother Love dipped a perfectly manicured hand into the box Lucian had brought. She unwrapped a square of cornbread and put it on the table next to an orange, a banana, and an open jar of coconut butter. A bottle of 151 rum complemented the food. Eddie Mae hoped she had enough money to pay for this.
Mother Love studied the table again.
"I'll make beans and rice tonight, but for now this'll have to do."
Scratching sounds came from the box and Mother Love pulled out a paper bag. Eddie Mae squirmed, enduring a scornful glance as she crossed herself. Mother Love sang her African song again and drew two pigeons from the bag. She held them over the table by their legs. Eddie Mae closed her eyes, but not quickly enough. With swift ease Mother Love twisted the heads off. She shook their blood onto the table, placing the drained bodies alongside the other offerings. She sang again.