"It was the truth. Still is."
"You really think she knew we had no weapons?"
"Yeah."
"How would she know that, mahn?"
I shrugged. "Maybe that's what she wants to tell us."
We waited, listening to the crime sounds from the street.
114
The messenger came into the yard. "Will you come back with us?" he asked me.
I nodded. We started for the basement. The messenger held up his hand. "Just you, please."
I looked at Clarence. "Wait in the car," I told him.
He scanned my face carefully, nodded.
They took me right before her this time.
"You have returned our offering to us. In exchange, I will answer your questions."
"I have no questions."
"All men have questions," she said, her voice so low and dark I had to strain for the words. "Do you think I am some foolish fortune-teller, some thief with a crystal ball? I am the third daughter of a third sister. That is the mystical number, three. People of confused religion say Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. That is idolatry. Before religion, there was Earth, Wind, and Fire. Always three. Primitive man did not understand that sex makes babies— if it were not for sex, there would be no man. Sex is the drive force, and it is controlled by women. There are three ways into the female body, but only one will make children. A man would have no preference. That is why a woman s sex is a triangle. Three again. The true root of all communication with the spirits. Only a queen may know all the truth. A man may know only what he is told. People first mated like animals, never face to face. This changed only when women grew tired of bending over. When there is famine, women are not fertile. Their bodies know the spirits— their bodies are the link to the earth. Do you understand this?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe it?" Something else in her voice, testing.
"Yes." Thinking of Blossom, lying on her bed, listening to her chuckle. "No wonder men are so stupid— their brains are all in such a small place."
"You are Wednesday's child, born to sadness. Yes?"
"Yes."
"Many children are born without a father— only the most damned are born without a mother. You know this?"
"Yes."
"Why did you look for this baby?"
"It was a job."
"No."
"I can't explain it, then."
"I know. Listen to me, child of sorrow: the baby is in the water, as you believed. I know this. The man you seek, he worshiped with us. Pretended to worship. The night of the child's death, he came to us. The baby's body in his arms. He said the child had choked to death in his crib. He asked us for a sacrifice. To save the baby's spirit. He thought what you thought…what you are afraid to say…that our offerings contain the bodies…that the baby would be cut up, placed inside the bag. When we told him how we would make the sacrifice, he walked away from us. We thought it was grief then. Now we know the truth— he feared the baby's spirit would walk."
"I understand."
"Do you? Do you understand that you are a baby's spirit? Spirit walking? Go now. You will search for the evil— I see that in you. When the time comes, return to me. I will show you the path."
115
No cars followed us from the house. Rain misted around the Rover, overmatching the puny wipers.
"Where shall I take you, mahn?"
"Anywhere over the bridge."
"You don't want me to see where you live, then?"
"Better you don't know, right? You were planning to drop in one day, have a visit?"
"Maybe I do that, mahn. Bring you some Island beer, sit around, talk some…would that be so bad, now?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Clarence."
"Yes, I know," he said. But his eyes were hurt.
116
I let Pansy out to her roof, ignoring her attitude because I came home without a treat.
I never have to ask myself why something scares me. So much does. A child doesn't fear death— doesn't understand what it is. A child fears pain. Immediate pain. The terror is to remember.
The freaks count on it.
117
I walked all the way to Chinatown the next morning. Stopped at a bakery for a bag of small hard poppy-seed rolls. Chewed them slowly, one at a time. To settle my stomach. Stopped again at a greengrocer, got a handful of fresh parsley and cold bottle of pineapple juice. Sipped it slowly, crossing the still-wet streets, watching.
By the time I got near Mama's, I was munching the parsley, cleaning out my mouth.
The Plymouth was parked in the alley, the rear end too close to the wall. Max could catch flies in the air without hurting them, but he couldn't drive worth a damn.
I knocked on the back door, thinking about Luke in the basement. How basements used to frighten him.
About last night.
One of Mama's crew let me in, nodded his head toward the dining area.
Max was in my booth, the Prof across from him. The little man was rapping away, waving his hands like it was sign language.
I sat down next to Max. One of the waiters brought me a glass of water, went away.
"How'd it go, bro'?" the Prof greeted me.
"Okay. It was okay. I gave them their property. We're all square." I didn't bother to ask him how he knew about the meeting.
I looked over at Max. Spread my hands in a "what?" gesture. He nodded. Rapid-fire universal gestures, the kind you can use anywhere in the world: thumb rubbed against first two fingers, finger pointing straight ahead, same finger making small circles next to his temple. Then he made the sign for "okay." He gave the money to the crazy man, no problems.
The Prof wasn't satisfied yet. "Come on, homeboy. What was the scene with the Queen? What'd she say— how'd it play?"
I ran it all down to him, gesturing for Max. After all these years, I could do it pretty fast. If Max doesn't get something, he lets me know.
"You know what I was thinking, Prof? How I wasn't scared…you understand? I'm in a basement in Corona, some kind of voodoo temple. They decide to do something to me, I'm gone. Nobody'd even hear a shot on that block. Nobody'd care. But I'm calm. From the beginning. Like nothing's gonna happen to me."
"Her game's not pain, bro'."
"Yeah. You believe…? I mean…you understand what she told me?"
"All preachers the same, Burke. They say what makes the people pay."
"You think it's a hustle?"
"You think there's one answer, babe? The Catholics are right about what they sell, then all the Jews are goin' to hell. The Muslims be the only ones who know the way, it's the Buddhists who're gonna pay. Live righteous, the Man knows, whoever he is, get it? Ain't no pie in the sky when you die. Here and now, on the ground…what's true is what you do."
"You think it's all different names for the same thing?"