into the yard now,” said Madame Karitska in a low voice, nudging Pruden, and he followed her and the others outside to a corner of the enclosure where a deep hole had been dug. To Pruden’ssurprise it had grown dark while they were inside, and the lamps encircling the hole sent bizarre shadows flickering up and down the fence. He turned to see Luis limp from the building on the arms of two young men, and as Luis approached the illuminated circle, Pruden saw that he looked stronger, his eyes wide open and no longer clouded. He was carefully helped down into the hole and a tree of equal stature was placed in it beside him. The rooster, protesting, was again passed over Luis’ body and the incantations begun again, concluding at last with Madame Souffrant calling out in a ringing, down-to-earth voice, “I demand that you return the life of this man.… I, Souffrant, demand the life of this man. I buy for cash—I pay you—I owe nothing!”
With this she grasped a jug, poured its contents over Luis’ head, broke it with a blow of her fist and let the pieces fall into the hole. She was still chanting as Luis was pulled out of the hole. The rooster was placed inside it instead, and buried alive at the foot of the tree.
The ritual was not over yet but Pruden’s gaze was fixed on Luis now, who was being helped into a long white gown. He stood unsupported; his skin had color again and his eyes were bright, no longer haunted. It was unbelievable when Pruden remembered the prostrate, gray-faced, nearly lifeless man he’d seen lying on the earth only a little while ago.
“He will remain here now near the sacred peristyle for several days,” said Madame Karitska briskly. “If the tree dies, Luis will live. If the tree lives, Luis will die. Only when this is known will he leave, dead or alive.”
“Yes,” said Pruden, still bemused.
“Are you all right?” she asked sharply.
He pulled himself together with an effort. “Of course I’m all right. We can leave now?”
She nodded, and they walked back to his car. As they drove away he said, “Okay, explain.”
“Madame Souffrant would be the better person to ask,” she pointed out. “I can only tell you what she discovered when she visited Luis in his room. She is, you know, a detective in her own way.”
“Oh?” His voice was sardonic.
“She found what she called a ‘disaster lamp’ buried in the Malone back yard,” continued Madame Karitska. “We went out, all of us, and in a corner of the yard under a tree it was obvious that digging had taken place within the last week.” Madame Karitska added distastefully, “I must say the lamp was a disaster in itself when we dug it up. It smelled terribly. Madame Souffrant said it contained the gall bladder of an ox, soot, lime juice, and castor oil.”
“All right, but how would Luis know it was there?” demanded Pruden.
“Exactly,” said Madame Karitska. “Someone obviously had to tell him it was there, or add to it some other type of symbol that was terrifying to Luis. Madame Souffrant’s guess was that graveyard dust was sent him through the mail, or left on his doorstep. It would have to be someone who knew he was a believer. In any case Luis felt he was doomed and that the gods of the cemetery had taken him.”
“Well, I can’t say it’s nonsense any longer,” Pruden admitted. “I saw how ill he was, and I saw his resurrection.”
Madame Karitska said quietly, “When one believes—whatis this, after all, but the demonic side of faith?”
Already the memory of the
oum’phor
was receding, releasing him from its spell so that Pruden said almost angrily, “It goes against everything believable, a man dooming himself to die.”
Madame Karitska said dryly, “Yet you are witnessing precisely this. You forget that everything that makes a person human is invisible: his thoughts, his emotions, his soul. You forget that electricity is invisible, too, and can kill.”
“Okay—the invisible can
With this she grasped a jug, poured its contents over Luis’ head, broke it with a blow of her fist and let the pieces fall into the hole. She was still chanting as Luis was pulled out of the hole. The rooster was placed inside it instead, and buried alive at the foot of the tree.
The ritual was not over yet but Pruden’s gaze was fixed on Luis now, who was being helped into a long white gown. He stood unsupported; his skin had color again and his eyes were bright, no longer haunted. It was unbelievable when Pruden remembered the prostrate, gray-faced, nearly lifeless man he’d seen lying on the earth only a little while ago.
“He will remain here now near the sacred peristyle for several days,” said Madame Karitska briskly. “If the tree dies, Luis will live. If the tree lives, Luis will die. Only when this is known will he leave, dead or alive.”
“Yes,” said Pruden, still bemused.
“Are you all right?” she asked sharply.
He pulled himself together with an effort. “Of course I’m all right. We can leave now?”
She nodded, and they walked back to his car. As they drove away he said, “Okay, explain.”
“Madame Souffrant would be the better person to ask,” she pointed out. “I can only tell you what she discovered when she visited Luis in his room. She is, you know, a detective in her own way.”
“Oh?” His voice was sardonic.
“She found what she called a ‘disaster lamp’ buried in the Malone back yard,” continued Madame Karitska. “We went out, all of us, and in a corner of the yard under a tree it was obvious that digging had taken place within the last week.” Madame Karitska added distastefully, “I must say the lamp was a disaster in itself when we dug it up. It smelled terribly. Madame Souffrant said it contained the gall bladder of an ox, soot, lime juice, and castor oil.”
“All right, but how would Luis know it was there?” demanded Pruden.
“Exactly,” said Madame Karitska. “Someone obviously had to tell him it was there, or add to it some other type of symbol that was terrifying to Luis. Madame Souffrant’s guess was that graveyard dust was sent him through the mail, or left on his doorstep. It would have to be someone who knew he was a believer. In any case Luis felt he was doomed and that the gods of the cemetery had taken him.”
“Well, I can’t say it’s nonsense any longer,” Pruden admitted. “I saw how ill he was, and I saw his resurrection.”
Madame Karitska said quietly, “When one believes—whatis this, after all, but the demonic side of faith?”
Already the memory of the
oum’phor
was receding, releasing him from its spell so that Pruden said almost angrily, “It goes against everything believable, a man dooming himself to die.”
Madame Karitska said dryly, “Yet you are witnessing precisely this. You forget that everything that makes a person human is invisible: his thoughts, his emotions, his soul. You forget that electricity is invisible, too, and can kill.”
“Okay—the invisible can
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