A large kettle stood beside the fire, inside the circle of men, and as the rite progressed, I saw some of the men dip their hands into it as they danced past. They smeared the contents over their bodies, and I guessed that the kettle contained more dung. When all of them were covered with it, they began to vie with one another—-still dancing—-to get closer to Pietro.
After a moment, it became obvious what they were after. Evidently, it would be an honor to have him bestow a live chicken on one of them. Finally he did, and the circle drew back to observe the actions of the chosen one.
It was a white man, fair-haired, with Nordic features. He swung the live bird over his head for a moment as his dance reached a frenzied pitch. Then he brought the bird down and his head darted forward. His teeth ripped at the bird’s neck and tore out its throat. He threw back his head and the bird’s blood poured into his open mouth. Beside me I heard Raoul gag audibly; I gagged right along with him.
Now the circle of men disintegrated and the circle of dancing women closed in on Pietro. The ritual was repeated until he handed one of the women—an Indian -- the remaining bird. She did as the man had done and then, just as he had, she tore at the carcass of the still-warm bird, seemingly bent on devouring flesh, feathers, bones-—-everything.
When she was through, the Nordic man joined her beside the fire. The circle of women fell back and inter-mingled with the men. The couple danced together in a highly erotic fashion for a moment. Then they embraced and sank down to the earth in each other’s arms. Pietro stood directly over them, looking down benignly as they commenced making love.
Then it all started over again, proceeding until another couple were similarly engaged. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth. Each time the ritual grew shorter, until Pietro seemed to be merely handing out the chickens at random to men and women alike. All slaughtered them in the same way, drank the blood, ravaged the carcasses with their mouths, and then joined the orgy of love-making.
At the point where it seemed that everybody was involved, Simone appeared beside me again. Her garments were splattered with chicken blood and dung, although she hadn’t as yet been “chosen.” Her face was burning with a fanatic fever and there were drops of saliva at the corners of her mouth. The very way she held herself made her body seem aflame with erotic desire.
“Watch,” she said. “Now it is my turn. Pietro will honor me with something special. I am to serve the voodoo god himself.” And then she was gone, before I could ask her what she meant.
But I soon found out. At a signal from Pietro, the orgy ceased and the couples squatted in a large semi-circle behind the fire. Pietro drew Simone out in front of this grouping and she too sat down cross-legged. Even from across the clearing I could see her trembling with anticipation.
Pietro snapped his fingers and someone handed him a small bamboo cage. From it he withdrew a tiny infant monkey. He presented this to Simone.
She played with the baby animal for a few moments, caressing and petting it. Then she bent forward and her teeth tore its throat open. She threw her head back and drank the blood. Then she nibbled on the still quivering carcass and finally tossed it aside.
Again Pietro approached her. This time he carried a large wicker basket. He handed Simone the basket and moved well away from her. She took off the lid and reached inside it. I blanched when I saw what she came with.
It was a fer-de-lance, over seven feet long, its tongue spitting venom from between its poisonous fangs. I know something about snakes, and I knew that this one was a member of what is probably the most deadly species in the world. It’s a close relative of the North American rattlesnake, but without the rattle. Its bite is always fatal, and it will bite anything it can. It becomes particularly vicious when incensed by fresh blood. There was a lot of fresh blood smeared over Simone’s clothing and flesh.
I watched, aghast, as she held the writhing reptile in her two hands. One of her hands had it just under the jaws and I could see that her fingers gripped it in a way that would prevent it from biting. Even so, she was flirting with fanged death, and the least slip would make her its victim.
She moved with the snake now in a ritualistic fashion similar to the way in which Pietro had moved with the chickens. Then she held the snake straight out with one hand while its body coiled around her arm. With her other hand, she loosed the cord at the bodice of her blouse.
Her small, pert breasts sprang into view, their tips purplish and distended. They glowed with a fine dew of perspiration. And they fluttered enticingly with the rapid rise and fall of her breathing.
She drew the snake to her bosom. She manipulated it until its head was lodged in the deep cleft between her breasts. Then she released its head. The poison fangs darted for one of her nipples. Astoundingly, the breast alone seemed to move in a quick blur that put it just out of reach of the deadly fangs. When the fer-de-lance reversed itself and went for the other breast, she repeated her response in a truly astonishingly display of muscular control.
Simone must have kept it up for five minutes. I was sure she’d never survive it, but she did. She never touched the monster with her hands. She simply clutched it with her breasts and manipulated it so that the fangs kept missing her by the barest fractions of an inch. Finally she picked it up again and held it away from her.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was premature. What was to follow was even more fantastic.
Still squatting cross-legged, Simone lifted the hem of her long skirt and prodded the fer-de-lance under it. When the entire length of the serpent had vanished there, she tucked the skirt back under her legs so that it was completely hidden and started to rock back and forth on her haunches. Her eyes stared blindly as her movements quickened into a frantic and erotic sort of writhing.
A sort of low moaning sound came from the onlookers. I didn’t look at them. I was hardly aware of them. I couldn’t take my eyes off Simone.
There was no mistaking the hideous sexuality which had hold of her body. Whatever that deadly monster was doing under her skirts it was eliciting rapture rather than fear from her. How, considering the erotic trance she was in, Simone kept it from biting her, I have no idea. But she did—right up to and including the moment when she was seized by a long spasm of exploding passion.
And then it was over. Simone removed the fer-de-lance and replaced it in the wicker basket. She placed the cover on the basket. One of the men detached him- self from the crowd of onlookers and took the basket from her. Simone remained where she was, bathed in perspiration, still staring straight ahead from unseeing eyes.
Pietro came forth and loomed over her, his body jerking about in a ritualistic fashion. It was obvious that he was working up to having sex with her. But something else came first.
Me!
That’s right. The something else was me. It happened so fast I had no time to fathom the part I was meant to play in the voodoo rite.
Four of the men lifted me by my arms and legs and carried me over to where Pietro was sing-songing his mumbo-jumbo over Simone. When they got there they began tossing my body about in a proscribed fashion. Horror filled me as I realized it was the same pattern of movements that the chickens had been put through!