Helping Hands
Chapter 6
Several hands grabbed Jean-Claude as he walked home from the embassy. He’d decided to defy the warning and he felt good about his decision, although he worried for his family’s safety. This too shall pass, he thought, as he rounded a corner and was assaulted by the three zombies. He immediately understood his situation and began praying for his soul to be delivered to God.
A coarse sugar bag was pulled over his head and he was hogtied and thrown in the back of a pickup truck. That much of the ordeal he could remember, but really wasn’t certain what he later experienced. The rest was a hazy, crazy and surreal experience, suspecting he’d been drugged at some point by his captors.
They drove for an interminable length of time, although Jean-Claude was having difficulty keeping his mind clear. Things were getting confusing and his thoughts wandered, experiencing weird visions. He was frightened, but felt no pain or discomfort from being tightly trussed up. That was a small blessing, he thought.
The truck abruptly stopped and he was roughly dragged into a building of some sort and that’s when he heard the loud drumming. His hood was removed and what he saw shocked him to the core. Two masked figures in traditional Voodoo garb threw him to the floor and commanded him to stay still if he wanted to live.
Jean-Claude wanted to live and remained motionless. His eyes, however, took in the macabre, bizarre sights in the large room. It was dark and only the many votive candles illuminated the space. He saw several costumed dancers keeping time with the beating drums that were now getting louder and faster in cadence. He noticed one of the dancers wore a boa constrictor around his or her neck. It seemed to wriggle in time to the music, although that was impossible, he thought. But the music began hurting his ears and wished it would stop. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. When he started to doze off, one of the zombies would poke him with the sharp end of a spear which jolted him awake.
A brazier glowed in the center of the room that gave off an eerie light of its own. Occasionally, a zombie would flick some sort of liquid into it causing colorful sparks to shoot into the air.
“You have sullied your hands and soul by working for the Americans Jean-Claude and you must pay the price for disobeying Bondye’s wishes. You must undergo a cleansing ritual to appease Him and let the Loa deliver your sincere forgiveness so you can be saved from a life of eternal damnation.”
The diminutive figure continued to berate him and threaten his family if he returned to work. Jean-Claude thought he might be a child given its size, but the voice was much too low. Maybe he was hallucinating and that accounted for the misperception of the figure before him.
He was then abruptly pulled to his feet and cut free of the ropes that bound him. He was unceremoniously plopped into a large wooden chair and his forearms lashed to its arms with ordinary trouser belts. It was then his bladder released and the pee freely made its way down one of his pant legs. But he was too disoriented to care.
The dancers’ movements were becoming more frenzied and they began loudly chanting and speaking in tongues. The ceremony seemed to be reaching a climax and the music a crescendo.
It was then the kid was brought into the room. Its feet were bound together and it was hung on a long, bamboo pole carried by two zombies. Its bleating added to the already raucous cacophony. Jean-Claude wished he could cover his ears and eyes and block out what he was experiencing. It was all too frightening and overwhelmed his senses. He thought he was losing his sanity or maybe he’d already lost it.
“Jean-Claude, repent your sins and pray that Bondye will forgive you! You have unclean hands that must be purified. That is your fate!”
With the pronouncement, the figure slashed the goat’s throat and let the blood drain to the floor in front of Jean-Claude.
As it puddled at his feet, the figure brought the sharp blade of the machete down on Jean-Claude’s wrists, first the left and then the right. The severed hands were quickly collected by a zombie and thrown on the fire. It was the last thing Jean-Claude glimpsed before he mercifully passed out from shock.
Bondye had finally been appeased and the celebration continued without the guest of honor.
***
Jean-Claude woke-up sometime later lying on a dirt path in a part of the city he was unfamiliar with. His head had mostly cleared and he yelled out in pain. His wrists were still bound with the belts and they had stanched the bleeding, otherwise he would have bled out and died. Yes, he would live, but live out the rest of his years without his hands. It was a cruel lesson, he thought and one he didn’t deserve. He shooed the flies away from his face with the stump of his right arm. He swore then to seek revenge!