please don’t do no harm while you here; is we, your sons and daughters.”
Mami balanced the still-burning cigar on the candy bowl. She got creakily to her feet, hooked the chicken down from the ceiling. She put the chicken on the floor in front of Eshu and motioned to Tony to hold its wings and body. She stretched its neck out long, so that the pinny neck feathers stood up, revealing the pink pimpled flesh beneath. Then she took her kitchen knife out of the basket and before Ti-Jeanne could warn Tony, sliced clean through the sensé fowl’s neck. Blood spurted in gouts from the headless body. Its legs kicked. It was no worse than the way they killed the fowls for their supper table, but Tony made a sick noise in the back of his throat and looked away.
“Hold it, Tony,” Mami hissed. “Don’t make it run ’way! Here, give it to me.”
Tony watched the grisly rite, curling his lips away from his teeth in disgust and fear. He seemed quite happy to relinquish the twitching, gushing body into Mami’s hands. Mami directed the blood over the stone head. “We give you life to drink, Eshu, but is Ogun wield the knife, not we.”
She laid the chicken and its head in front of Eshu. The hen’s body jerked again feebly, once, then was still. The air was heavy with the stench of chicken flesh and blood.
Mami took her place on the stool, put the drum between her knees. With her fingertips and the heels of her hands, she began to beat out a rhythm. Ti-Jeanne recognised the pattern of sounds. She’d often heard that rhythm in the loud drumming coming from the chapel at nights. She hated it; it tugged at her blood, filled her head with sound until she thought it would burst from within, her skull cracking apart like an overripe pumpkin to reveal the soft, wet interior. Although Mami was rapping out the rhythm softly, the sound beat at Ti-Jeanne as loud as drums. It made her bones vibrate, her teeth ache. The small chapel was saturated with the rhythm, dripping with it. And still Mami kept drumming. Ti-Jeanne felt as though the chapel bell was chiming and gonging in time, her heart pounding to the drum, the shadows in the chapel leaping to it. Mami was rocking from side to side. So was Tony, not even seeming aware that he was doing so. He rolled up his sleeves to his forearms. Yes, it was hot now in the chapel. Ti-Jeanne could see the buff slashes on his arms. Two of them looked hardly healed. She sighed, sadly. Tony was still using. Same thing they fired him from the hospital for.
In Ti-Jeanne’s arms Baby was wide awake, his eyes alert. He looked as though he were listening, hard, with his whole self. Ti-Jeanne realised that she was swaying to the drumming, too. She tried to stop herself, but her attention would waver and she’d find her body moving again.
Ti-Jeanne’s focus shrank until all she could perceive was the sound of the drumming, the sight of Mami’s water-chapped fingers beating and beating their rhythm. The cadence caught her mind in a loop, spun it in on itself, smaller and smaller until she was no longer aware of her body, of her arms cradling her child. She barely knew when she stood up.
• • • •
Trying not to retch from the thick stench of raw chicken and fresh blood, Tony sat hunched between Ti-Jeanne and her crazy grandmother. He was terrified. He could still feel the warmth of the chicken’s body on his hands. He wanted to run out of there and never come back. But if he did, he’d probably run straight into the arms of the posse. His time was up. And Rudy was even crazier than Mami Gros-Jeanne. If Tony didn’t get out of Toronto, Rudy’s vengeance would probably make Tony wish for a death as quick as that of the throat-slit hen. Mami was his only chance. So he stayed, wrapping his arms around himself. He began rocking, rocking, praying this would be over soon.
Beside him, Ti-Jeanne giggled, a manic, breathy sound that made Tony’s scalp prickle. She rose smoothly to her feet and began
Mami balanced the still-burning cigar on the candy bowl. She got creakily to her feet, hooked the chicken down from the ceiling. She put the chicken on the floor in front of Eshu and motioned to Tony to hold its wings and body. She stretched its neck out long, so that the pinny neck feathers stood up, revealing the pink pimpled flesh beneath. Then she took her kitchen knife out of the basket and before Ti-Jeanne could warn Tony, sliced clean through the sensé fowl’s neck. Blood spurted in gouts from the headless body. Its legs kicked. It was no worse than the way they killed the fowls for their supper table, but Tony made a sick noise in the back of his throat and looked away.
“Hold it, Tony,” Mami hissed. “Don’t make it run ’way! Here, give it to me.”
Tony watched the grisly rite, curling his lips away from his teeth in disgust and fear. He seemed quite happy to relinquish the twitching, gushing body into Mami’s hands. Mami directed the blood over the stone head. “We give you life to drink, Eshu, but is Ogun wield the knife, not we.”
She laid the chicken and its head in front of Eshu. The hen’s body jerked again feebly, once, then was still. The air was heavy with the stench of chicken flesh and blood.
Mami took her place on the stool, put the drum between her knees. With her fingertips and the heels of her hands, she began to beat out a rhythm. Ti-Jeanne recognised the pattern of sounds. She’d often heard that rhythm in the loud drumming coming from the chapel at nights. She hated it; it tugged at her blood, filled her head with sound until she thought it would burst from within, her skull cracking apart like an overripe pumpkin to reveal the soft, wet interior. Although Mami was rapping out the rhythm softly, the sound beat at Ti-Jeanne as loud as drums. It made her bones vibrate, her teeth ache. The small chapel was saturated with the rhythm, dripping with it. And still Mami kept drumming. Ti-Jeanne felt as though the chapel bell was chiming and gonging in time, her heart pounding to the drum, the shadows in the chapel leaping to it. Mami was rocking from side to side. So was Tony, not even seeming aware that he was doing so. He rolled up his sleeves to his forearms. Yes, it was hot now in the chapel. Ti-Jeanne could see the buff slashes on his arms. Two of them looked hardly healed. She sighed, sadly. Tony was still using. Same thing they fired him from the hospital for.
In Ti-Jeanne’s arms Baby was wide awake, his eyes alert. He looked as though he were listening, hard, with his whole self. Ti-Jeanne realised that she was swaying to the drumming, too. She tried to stop herself, but her attention would waver and she’d find her body moving again.
Ti-Jeanne’s focus shrank until all she could perceive was the sound of the drumming, the sight of Mami’s water-chapped fingers beating and beating their rhythm. The cadence caught her mind in a loop, spun it in on itself, smaller and smaller until she was no longer aware of her body, of her arms cradling her child. She barely knew when she stood up.
• • • •
Trying not to retch from the thick stench of raw chicken and fresh blood, Tony sat hunched between Ti-Jeanne and her crazy grandmother. He was terrified. He could still feel the warmth of the chicken’s body on his hands. He wanted to run out of there and never come back. But if he did, he’d probably run straight into the arms of the posse. His time was up. And Rudy was even crazier than Mami Gros-Jeanne. If Tony didn’t get out of Toronto, Rudy’s vengeance would probably make Tony wish for a death as quick as that of the throat-slit hen. Mami was his only chance. So he stayed, wrapping his arms around himself. He began rocking, rocking, praying this would be over soon.
Beside him, Ti-Jeanne giggled, a manic, breathy sound that made Tony’s scalp prickle. She rose smoothly to her feet and began
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