The Teller’s Tale
Chapter 14
Marie Claire launched her story without preamble or hesitation. I asked if I could record her on my cell phone and she agreed.
“I was born and raised in Port-au-Prince and have never left the city. It’s been my home for 70 years and I have no desire to travel. My parents were voodoo practitioners like their forefathers for untold generations. The religion was in their blood as it is in mine.”
“I had an unremarkable childhood and attended Catholic schools until the twelfth grade. The thought of attending university never entered my mind since I already knew my calling. I was a lonely child and had few friends given my off-putting size even then, a glandular condition according to the Western doctors. I was shunned and teased by most of my classmates. It was in my early teens that I seriously turned to voodoo. It gave me solace and purpose in life. It also gave me powers which others didn’t possess. I didn’t play with the sorts of dolls like the other girls my age. Oh no, mine were very special ones,” winking as she spoke the last line.
“I married Henri Dumont when I was seventeen. He was a much older gentleman and a well known, respected Houngan, a voodoo priest. We had one child by our union, a son named Desmond, a troublesome boy, but he is still young and has much to learn. Henri died in a car crash many years ago and I still mourn his loss. He was a kind man and bright spirit who saw beyond my body and looked directly into my soul, my true self. Praise Bondye and may he continue to bless my husband and watch over his immortal soul!”
“Speaking of souls Monsieur Richard, yours is in need of spiritual cleansing. Your aura is dark and lacks the bright colors of the rainbow as it should. I can help you if you wish to attain a higher astral plane and state of grace.”
“Thanks Mama, but I’ll pass on your kind offer. I’m simply not a believer in much of anything these days.”
I suspected Mama was trying to play mind games with me, but her ploy wouldn’t work. My brain had been washed and blown dry several times over during my long career with the Diplomatic Security Service. My embedded Pavlovian instincts to fetch and roll over couldn’t be erased by shampoo, voodoo or years of psychotherapy.
“That is sad. The power of Christian prayer is good, but the power of voodoo is stronger. Let me know if you change your mind. I can help lift the fog and impure thoughts cluttering your mind.”
“So Mama, please continue your story. I find it fascinating.”
“Henri left me this modest shop and it’s been my means of support since his death. In the past 10 years, I’ve prospered, but not in a financial sense, but in a spiritual one and that’s much more rewarding. I now have a large family of followers and we do good deeds for the community. That’s the rewarding part and what I’m most proud.”
“People in need turn to us for help during difficult times. We provide midwives for those who can’t afford hospital, we tend to the sick and dying by offering hospice care and love and we operate a daycare center so women can work outside the home.”
“Of course, our biggest challenge was the earthquake in 2010. My followers not only put their own houses back in order, but their neighbors as well. Even though it’s been several years, our assistance to the victims of that terrible event continues. The tented camp, located on the Petionville golf course, is one more example of our good deeds.”
“Many hundreds of people displaced by the quake have been living in deplorable conditions. And the international aid workers simply can’t keep up with the demands for healthcare, food, water and other necessities of life. My congregants fill the voids for assistance as best they can. So, you see that voodoo is not an evil religion as depicted by many.”
If I believed Mama Mambo’s story, she made Mother Theresa look like a lazy sinner. However, I wasn’t about to swallow my chum whole. There were too many red herrings in the telling. I’d heard too much from others about her dark side. Moreover, she was the instigator and principle actor in trying to bring down the embassy. She simply wasn’t credible and her self-serving story was all public relations puff and nothing more. It was simply more disinformation for a gullible, naïve tourist. But I certainly didn’t challenge her. Not yet at least.
I wasn’t here for the truth, whole truth and nothing but. I didn’t expect that outcome and I didn’t get it. No, I simply wanted to get a sense of my adversary, some insight into her personality and quirks, anything which might prove useful if we later butted heads. Given her huge size, body language was impossible to read.
“Mama, is it possible to attend a voodoo ceremony? I’ve never seen one and it would greatly help with my article, give it more authenticity and such.”
“Yes, it’s possible. We are holding a large ceremony in a few days and it’s open to believers and nonbelievers alike. We always have a Doubting Thomas or two attend and they sometimes disrupt things. Regardless, the public is always welcome and so are you Monsieur Richard. In fact, come as my honored guest.”
I thanked Mama for her time, story and invitation. I got what I wanted: seeing Mama Mambo in the flesh! And she was a formidable opponent, one I needed to be careful around.
The contact microphone, a drop transmitter in the spy biz, I’d secreted under the kitchen table would keep us informed as to what she was doing…maybe.
***
Marie Claire had a nose for money, but a bigger nose for danger. And Richard Avery smelled like trouble. He was too damn nosey for his own good, she thought. Perhaps the zombies could track his movements and report back. Simply see what he was about and up to.
She then picked up the phone and called Desmond. She believed in the old adage about the best defense being a good offense. And she could be especially offensive when someone threatened The Family and its many sources of illicit income.