Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [46]
Recalling the dismemberment I’d witnessed, I said, “Yeah, that was my impression.”
The shop’s telephone rang. “I’m sorry, I’d better get that,” she said. “Make yourselves comfortable, and when I’m done with this call, we’ll talk.”
The caller turned out to be a supplier evidently trying to resolve a shipping error, and the conversation lasted for a while. Trying to ignore the rumbling of my empty stomach, I looked around the shop. It was small and crowded with merchandise, but well-ordered and appealing.
There was a display of charms and potions for attracting love, luck, and money, as well as for protecting oneself against negative forces, enemies, and evildoers. There were colorful drapeaux for sale on the walls, similar to the ones I had seen at the Livingston Foundation. The items available for a worshipper’s personal voodoo altar included candles, offering bowls, crystals, incense, and spirit bottles.
“What’s a spirit bottle?” I asked Max.
“It’s a tool for communicating with the loa.” He picked up a pretty bottle decorated with beads and delicate paint. “A mambo or a houngan has the power to call a spirit down into the bottle, where it will converse with worshippers who wish to question it. Or an experienced worshipper who prepares mentally and spiritually may call a loa into the bottle and commune with it there.”
“That seems very accommodating of the loa,” I said.
“They can be called into other objects, too.” Max pointed to some masks that were decorated with shells, paint, feathers, jewelry, and sequins. “You can hang such a mask in a room that you wish to protect. If you want to shield a child from illness and harm, for example, you might hang a spirit mask in his bedroom and call the appropriate loa into the mask.”
“You were right,” I noted. “This is a practical religion.”
The Catholic influence on Vodou was evident in the many pictures of Catholic saints for sale in the shop, as well vials of holy water, crucifixes, and rosary beads.
There was a bulletin board near the front door with flyers and notices pinned to it. Patrons of the shop were invited to attend traditional rituals, as well classes and lectures about Vodou. A calendar of the Livingston Foundation’s activities for the month of August was posted. And various mambos and houngans in the tristate area offered their services: divination, healing, casting spells, consulting the spirits, constructing charms, concocting potions, helping people find happiness and ward off evil, and spiritual cleansing.
Elsewhere in the shop, I examined a prepackaged ritual kit for beginners, but decided I wasn’t that interested when I saw the price tag; I’m a working actress, and I live on a tight budget. I also looked at some divination tools (including animal bones), spell kits, and protective amulets. There was a big gourd rattle decorated with cowry shells. I enjoyed playing with it until I read on the label that its rattling noise was not made by beads, beans, or pebbles, as I had supposed, but by snake vertebrae.
“What is it with voodoo and snakes?” I said, putting the rattle down quickly.
“In many faiths of the world, dating back far into prehistory, snakes represent wisdom, strength, and fertility.” Max added, “But there is no denying the negative reaction to snakes that our distant primate past instills in many of us.”
I poked around a large selection of whole and powdered herbs—some common, some exotic. Wondering what Jeff was studying so intently, I wandered over to him. He was looking at a machete and some ritual knives that were displayed inside a locked glass case.
“Do you suppose these are for slaughtering animals?” he asked me.
“Sacrificing animals,” Puma corrected him. She had just gotten off the phone. “Like us, the Vodou loa must eat and drink to stay strong. And if they are strong, then they guide us, protect us, and bring us good fortune. So we must nourish them.”
“How often does this nourishing occur?” Jeff asked cautiously.
“Around here, animal sacrifices are only made on special occasions.