Page 144

The questions tired me out. I longed for sleep. As the drowsiness took over and my mind settled, I heard the faint sound of the sobbing again. It came from the darkest corners of my mind and before I fell asleep, I wasn't sure if it was my own sobbing or the sobbing of someone I had yet to meet.

I was surprised at how late I had slept into the next morning. When I finally awoke, I was sure everyone had gone down and had breakfast without me. Ashamed, I shot out of bed and hurriedly washed and dressed, tying my hair in a bandanna rather than spend the time to brush it out properly. But when I bounced quickly down the stairs and popped into the dining room, I found it empty. Edgar was just cleaning away some cups and dishes.

"Is breakfast over?" I asked.

"Breakfast over? Oh, no, mademoiselle. Monsieur Dumas has eaten and gone to work, but you're the first of the ladies to appear," he replied. "What would you like this morning? Some of Nina's eggs and grits?"

"Yes, thank you," I said. He smiled warmly and said he would bring me some fresh orange juice and a pot of hot coffee. I sat down and waited, expecting to hear either Daphne's or Gisselle's footsteps in the hallway at any moment, but I was still the only one at the table by the time Edgar brought me my complete breakfast. He looked in on me every once in a while to see if there was anything else I wanted.

When I was finished, he was there immediately to clear away my dishes. How long would it take, I wondered, for me to get used to being waited on and looked after like this? I couldn't help having the urge to pick up my own dirty dishes and take them into the kitchen. Edgar smiled down at me.

"And how are you enjoyin' New Orleans, mademoiselle?" he asked.

"I love it," I said. "Have you lived here all your life, Edgar?"

"Oh, yes, mademoiselle. My family's been workin' for the Dumas as far back as the Civil War. Of course, they were slaves then," he added, and started for the kitchen. I got up and followed him in to tell Nina how much I had enjoyed her cooking. She looked up with surprise, but was very pleased. She was happy to tell me she had definitely concluded I was no spirit.

"Otherwise, I would be killing a black cat in the cemetery at midnight," she told me.

"My goodness, why?"

"Why? You've got to once a spirit comes haunting. You kill the cat, remove the guts, and cook it all in hot lard with salt and eggs. You eat it as soon as it's lukewarm," she instructed. My stomach started to churn.

"Ugh," I said. "How horrible."

"Then you return to the cemetery the next Friday night and call the cat." Her eyes widened. "When the cat answers, call out the names of the dead people you know and tell the cat that you believe in the devil. When you've seen a spirit once, you'll be sure to see them all the time, so it's best you get to know them and they get to know you.

"Of course,

" she added as an aside, "this works best in October."

Her talk of spirits made me think about the sobbing I felt sure I had heard in what had been Jean's room.

"Nina, have you ever heard sobbing upstairs coming from what was once my uncle Jean's room?" I asked.

Her eyes, which I thought had become as wide as possible, grew even wider, only now they were full of terror, too.

"You heard that?" she replied. I nodded and she crossed herself quickly. Then she reached out and seized my wrist. "Come with Nina," she commanded.

"What?"

I let her pull me through the kitchen and out the back way. "Where are we going, Nina?"

She hurried us through the hallway to the rear of the house.

"This is my room," she told me, and opened the door. I hesitated, gasping at the sight.

The walls of the small room were cluttered with voodoo paraphernalia: dolls and bones, chunks of what looked like black cat fur, strands of hair tied with leather string, twisted roots, and strips of snakeskin. The shelves were crowded with small bottles of multicolored powders, stacks of yellow, blue, green, and brown candles, jars of snake heads, and a picture of a woman sitting on what looked like a throne. Around her picture were white candles.

"That be Marie Laveau," Nina told me when she saw I was looking at the picture, "Voodoo Queen."

Nina had a small bed, a nightstand, and a rattan dresser.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the one and only chair. I did so, slowly. She went to her shelves, found something she wanted, and turned to me. She put a small ceramic jar in my hands and told me to hold it. I smelled the contents.

"Brimstone," she said when I grimaced. Then she lit a white candle and mumbled a prayer. She fixed her eyes on me and said, "Someone put a spell on you for sure. You need to keep the evil spirits away." She brought the candle to the ceramic jar and dipped the flame toward the contents so the brimstone would burn. A small stream of smoke twisted its way up. The stench was unpleasant, but Nina looked relieved that I held onto the jar anyway.

"Close your eyes and lean over so the smoke touches your face," she prescribed. I did so. After a moment, she said,