Introduction
THIS NOVEL WAS BORN FROM THE short story The Obeah Woman May
Chapter I
Farewell to Christine
THE BURIAL GROUND OF THE VILLAGE of Salvation had more graves of earth and wood than graves of stone and cement, and the sparse simplicity of it made it beautiful in the midday sun; and at the burial service to lay Christine Duncan to final rest, prayers were being said and hymns were being sung, and Lieutenant Brian Hughes mulled over his plan of revenge as the Obeah Woman May looked on.
May laughed to herself and flaked off a piece of dry bark from her tree-hiding-place. She looked over at the other assembled mourners, some thirty strong or so, and played a game of identifying them one by one.
Even Barry showed up. God deliver us.
May peeled off a bit more bark.
That whoremaster Barry probably didn't blame himself one small bit for his party den being the first, the in-between, and the last meeting place for all the shenanigans that had led to the girl's death. But they all knew who they wanted to blame for everything.
All that talk that she had engineered the whole thing so that she could steal the girl's spirit? What in heaven's name was she supposed to have done with that girl's spirit? There wasn't anything quite that special about her. But such talk made a good story, and who was she not to appreciate a good story? Even this one.
CHRISTINE WAS DEAD, and Brian was determined that May was going to pay.
He stared at the coffin resting on its supports outside the grave and listened to the steady sounds of prayers being recited by Father Murray. He didn't really focus on what was being said, but the words had a familiar cadence to them, and now and again he mouthed responses in concert with the voices of the others gathered at the gravesite service.
Lieutenant Brian Hughes cut a dashing figure, but exactly why this was so wasn't always clear to those meeting him. Some thought that it must be because of the meticulously well- kept uniform that he wore frequently, but many such persons find uniforms almost always impressive. Others thought that it must be because of his elegant speaking voice, although a few were clever enough to spot that his delivery had absolutely nothing to do with some of the self-serving nonsense that sometimes came out of his mouth. Some others thought that it must be because he was handsome, or that because he was tall, or for some other reason that suited them best. But Brian actually was average-looking and of average height, and his persona was formed not by any one thing such as his uniform, or his speaking voice, but by qualities of bearing which emanated from every fiber of his being. He was also always well-groomed.
Brian glanced around quickly.
There was no doubt that she had killed Christine, Brian thought. Everyone knew it. The whole Village knew what had gone on. And they were all watching to see what he would do about it.
They were all afraid of her. But if she thought that he was afraid of her because of some Obeah nonsense, then she had another thing coming.
The prayers stopped and Brian glanced around again at the assembled gathering. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of May's head wrap off in the distance, barely visible from behind a tree. Father Murray started to lead the gathering in a hymn.
God! thought Brian. She had the nerve to show up. There was no question about it. This woman was going to pay dearly. You couldn't really figure out how old she was, but when he was finished with her she was going to be permanently retired from whatever troublemaking she was always up to. Everyone was watching to see what he would do.
IT WAS CLEAR that Brian had spotted her, May thought. It didn't look like anyone else had yet, but he had. It was in-evitable that they would all see her and that it might cause a stir, but she had to see this send-off. How could she miss such an event, especially when talk put her so much as a star-girl of their little drama, even if not the star-girl, out of respect for the departed. And since the girl had died rather suddenly, it was also interesting to see if any spirits would be lurking around. No, she couldn't miss this one for the world.
The Obeah Woman May stood tall in her sandals, and her customary head wrap always made her appear taller still. But the real key to her always grand bearing was in the tilt of her head and the strut of her walk; and there was never a person not suitably impressed with her appearance.
May peered from behind a large tree far away from the burial site and looked on, safe in the shade from most prying eyes, and safe from the midday sun. Just then Dennis Duncan fainted—again—and many of the assembled at least shifted to help, even Brian.
That little boy sure does add some drama to this gathering, May thought. Couldn't be more than eight years old, but he's sure crying enough for more than two. The loud crying seemed to be breaking him up and twisting him about like he was catching fits. Then silent boo hooing, then fainting. It was all a bit too much for such a little body.
May placed both hands on her tree-hiding-place and tried for a closer look. She squinted her eyes and nodded her head in mock frustration.
That's a lot of powerful feeling coming from that little body. But then, the little bundle of joy was probably one of the few present who could do any crying with a clear conscience. At least he wasn't a hypocrite. He loved his sister and missed her. Not a judgmental bone in his body. The same couldn't be said about the rest of them.
Might as well hang banners all around saying MAY IS TO BLAME. But who was it who had tried to help that wretched girl? It sure wasn't any of them. Well, except for that sweetboy Brian who had more helped himself to her than helped her. He was probably the closest thing to a real culprit for that girl dying and he was doing his best to do most of the blaming. He has a lot of gall. He shouldn't even be at the funeral much less think about even trying to help that fainting boy after pushing his sister to the grave.
May smiled. She moved to a different vantage point. As she moved, she touched her head wrap briefly and grabbed a hand-ful of her skirt, swishing its full length temporarily to above her ankle. She peered from the other side of her tree-hiding-place, resting her hands on the dry bark.
Yes, that Brian had been talking quite a lot. Hypocrite! But it would take a lot of talking, and then still more talking, to ease his dirty conscience. If he had a conscience at all. He would get justice for Christine's death even if certain spiritual people were responsible? What a laugh. Spiritual people? If he knew what she knew, he would stay clear. But every madman got he own sense.
As she peered from the other side of the tree, May watched Brian put his arms around his wife in a very public show of comfort. He stared straight ahead with an air of respectful seriousness.
Poor Dawn. Poor sorry little Dawn. Poor sorry little Dawn who didn't know what to do with herself. Even now she hung her arms at her side, and looked up at Mr. Sweetboy like he was the best husband in the world, and like she didn't have a problem at all. Everyone must know by now that her husband had been sleeping with the dead girl, and she knows that they all know. Heaven knows what all those women saw in this man.
May smiled and nodded her head. From her distance, she peered to look closer at Dawn's face.
Poor Dawn only didn't know what to do with herself some of the time. Couldn't see it on her face alone, but that little bit of information about her looking for help from a certain spiritual person May would certainly stir things up around the Village.
Francine brushed Brian with her arm as she placed it around Dawn's shoulder. She glanced playfully at Brian, then looked away quickly before anyone noticed.
May stamped her feet with barely contained glee.
Oh Francine, Francine, Francine. This was too much. The little trollop was playing around with Brian right out in the open. But what are good friends for? This was the definite highlight of today's ceremonies unless things planned to heat up a bit.
As May watched, Father Murray became more animated, waving his hands this way and that as was his custom. And she could hear the soft sounds of familiar prayers as he continued the service.
Sanctimonious idiot. God deliver us all from his right-eousness. He got older and grayer, but he was still on the go after all these years. Now he looked like he could go on for a hundred more. But he could preach all he wanted, he too had a hand in the girl's death. There was little doubt that he had helped poor Christine the same way that he had helped others. A person didn't have to go to his church to imagine him condemning the girl regularly from the pulpit, probably as soon as word got out about her relationship with Brian. It was a given that he had expressed his moral outrage every chance that he got.
Father Murray. . . . He was just like Father Moses. Mr. Community Outrage. God only knows things couldn't have been much different.
Dennis Duncan cried some more and fainted again, but this time no one but his parents moved to help. Mrs. Duncan had been holding the boy's hand and she followed him down to the ground. She too was crying and she looked like she was about to faint. Mr. Duncan looked like he wasn't sure what he could do to help, but he stooped down and appeared to be trying. The Duncans fanned their son on account of his grief, and the heat. They wiped his tears, and helped him up again.
Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. If the good and devoted Duncans had fussed over Christine half as much as they now fussed over this little boy, then maybe the girl wouldn't have even bothered to come to a certain spiritual person for help in the first place.
May, May, May. It was a sure thing that the Duncans also blamed her. The Village talk was sure to have gotten around that she was behind things. It seemed pretty clear that everyone knew that May was to blame for the girl's death. But so what? They needed her more than she needed them and no amount of whispering and talk could change that.
May smiled again.
The girl had known what she was doing. She had made her choice. She had known where to go for help rather than go to her parents. Or maybe she had gone to them and they hadn't given her what she needed. They were all ready to recite that May was to blame when she had done her best to help the girl get what she wanted. It should be clear to all of them that any one of them who had tried to help the poor girl with their own agenda could have responsibility for doing her in. But no. They were all sure that May was the culprit.
And to listen, no one would even think that any one of them ever had cause to come to her for help. May this and May that. And after coming to her for help. Well, if no one ever came for her help again, then she wasn't the one who was going to suffer. She knew how to help herself. But who else could they go to for help? Madboy? Father Murray? Both of them didn't know what they were doing. Madboy was too crazy, and he was never around. He was gone away to the Back Dam most of the time. And if they wanted Father Murray's help then they deserved it.
That sanctimonious Murray reminded her too much of Father Moses. It had been a while since she had thought about Father Moses. It was a long time ago, but she could see him like it was yesterday.
Just about time to lower the body. And if the height of excitement was going to be more of the girl's little brother crying and fainting and more of Francine playing around with Brian right there in front of his wife, then it was time to go. But this had been definitely worth it.
As May left her hiding place and strolled towards the gate, she could feel eyes boring into her, and she knew that by now they had all spotted her.
"Dust to dust," May whispered to herself. "And even the good Father Murray can't do anything to change that fact."
The Obeah Woman May looked back and smiled as she strutted on her way out of the Burial Ground and set off back towards the Village, her long skirt swishing and swaying with every stride of her long legs.
BRIAN SQUEEZED HIS wife's hand and stared hard at the departing May.
Things were already in the works and it was only a matter of time before he settled up with this woman, Brian thought.
With a fine display of flourish, Brian pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He let go of his wife's hand and touched his tie briefly without missing a beat.
That witch was as cold as the sun was hot. But it was only a matter of time.
Maybe it had been a bad idea to wear his full dress uniform in all this heat, but he had to remind them who he was. This way there was less likely to be unacceptable talk and gossip centered around him.
"Everybody, all together, on my mark," Father Murray said.
"Aaaamaaaaaazzing Grace, hooow sweeeet the sound that saved a . . ."
Witch. Obeah witch. She didn't know who she was dealing with when she decided that she would mess around in his per-sonal business. Witch witch witch. But he knew how to deal with interfering witches.
Brian glanced quickly at Dawn.
And if that Obeah witch thought that he was afraid of her, she had better think again. Maybe she didn't know who he was or who his father was? But she would soon find out. There was no question about that. Justice had to be done, for everybody's sake. And who better to put her in her place and show her about some good old fashion respect. Then everyone would fully appreciate who it was that she had been playing around with.
Brian touched his tie briefly again.
"Thhaaaat saaaveed aaa wrrretch liiike . . ."
Everybody knew what was going on. He didn't have to prove that there was something fishy about Christine's death, officially or otherwise. It was clear that her death was fishy and who was behind it. And he didn't even have to really believe in all that Obeah nonsense to know what was going on. No, not so at all. One way or another it was clear what was going on.
So what if the police insisted that they hadn't found any evidence? The whole Village knew who had done the crime. Who was really stupid enough to believe that anyone would find anything? And even if the police would come to their senses and stop saying that the case was open and shut and order an autopsy, who was stupid enough to believe that an autopsy would uncover anything with someone like that involved? That witch wasn't stupid and she knew her nasty business very well.
Father Murray's voice bellowed over the rest, ". . . waaas loossst buuut nooowww aaammm foouunddd . . ."
Witch witch witch. Obeah witch. She truly didn't know who she was dealing with. But soon it would be clearer than crystal.
As the assembled crowd concluded the last hymn and Christine's body was being lowered, little Dennis screamed, then he fainted again.
Sure, Christine had started the whole thing by going to see that witch so that he would leave his wife. But she didn't deserve to be dead for that. She was just being a woman. Jealous and emotional and possessive, and who knows what else by nature. She did what she had to do. Who could really blame her? In her place he might have done the same. After all, men like him don't grow on trees.
And to make matters worse, this little boy might soon hear that he, Brian, was responsible for the entire thing. No . . . she had to pay. That May was a dirty wretch dealing in all kinds of nastiness and she had to pay.
Brian gritted his teeth.
And to make things worse, she was laughing at the whole thing. There was no mistaking that she had been lurking behind that tree laughing and that she had turned back just now and laughed on her way out of the Burial Ground. She was prob-ably laughing at him. She had the gall to show up at the funeral in the first place and then she had been laughing at him the entire time. Nothing but eyepass, as they would say around here. Nothing but eyepass. There was no doubt that she had to pay. The details still had to be worked out, but things were already in the works.
"Oh God, oh Christine, oh God!" Mrs. Duncan screamed. "Christine! Criiisstiiiine!!"
Mr. Duncan comforted his wife. He did his best to restrain her as she tugged at him and pleaded some more and reached out to grab the coffin as it was being lowered into the ground.
"Christine, Christine, Christine!" screamed little Dennis Duncan, as if taking his cue from his mother.
In short order, the last bit of earth would be shoveled in by the gravediggers to embrace Christine in her final resting place, and a wooden cross would be planted atop the grave to mark the spot.
Brian gracefully touched his dress uniform and moved his hand over the place where his sidearm would normally be. He walked over to Father Murray.
"A very moving ceremony as usual, Father Murray." Brian shook Father Murray's hand vigorously, and then noticed that Dawn had not followed him over. He looked around quickly and spotted her with Francine.
She never knew when to stay put. But the least she could do was pay some respects to the Duncans.
"Thank you, son." Father Murray started to smile then seemed to remember the occasion. "It's good to see so many people here at a time like this. I hope that I'll be seeing you again in Church soon. Maybe tomorrow? I know you haven't forgotten that Sunday is the Lord's day, have you? I'm sure that your family raised you in the right way. It couldn't be any other way with your father, eh Brian?"
"Yes, Father Murray. Yes. But you know how things can be with my own family now? And the Force keeps me pretty busy. I never—"
"Now, now Brian. God is important. Family is important but God is important too, and I want to see you in Church with Dawn before we baptize the next one. I've known Dawn all her life, and we were all happy to welcome you to the Village family. But everyone would like to see you in Church some more. Yes, Brian? We in Salvation are a God-fearing village. There's not a more God-fearing people in the entire country. And you can ask anybody."
"Yes, Father Murray. Yes. I know. I know. Salvation people are good people. There's no doubt about that. And I couldn't be made to feel more welcome. . . . But . . . I should pay my respects to the Duncans."
"You do that young man, you do that. And I'll be looking to see you in Church soon. This Sunday I hope? Remember to give my regards to your father when you see him next, eh Brian." Father Murray shook Brian's hand firmly.
"Yes, Father Murray. Yes."
Brian walked in the direction of the Duncans, who at this time were receiving condolences from a host of people gath-ered around them.
Just what his father was looking forward to. Regards from a country preacher. That man is a nuisance if ever there was one, but a nuisance that it pays to stay acquainted with around Salvation. Too many people crowded around the Duncans, and the little boy is still crying and fainting. But it's now or never.
"Excuse me, Sir. Lieutenant Hughes? Lieutenant Brian Hughes?"
Brian interrupted his walk in mid-stride and turned around upon hearing his name.
"Sergeant Major Singh. Sergeant Major Ranjit Singh. Inspe-ctor Persaud asked me to look you up, Sir. He says you have a problem?" Singh's voice was dry, his handshake polite, and his face expressionless.
Brian looked Singh up and down cautiously as the two men shook hands.
Nothing out of place. Sharp press on uniform. Even ribbons pressed. Buttons polished. Perfect shine on shoes. Singh belonged in his Unit. He belonged in the Army not the Police. Easy man to spot during the funeral service, but no way to know that he had anything to do with Iron Harry.
"Pleasure to meet you, Sir. If you have the time now, we can—"
"Yes yes, I have the time. Of course I have the time . . . Sergeant Singh. It's good of you to make time for this matter on a Saturday. I don't know if you're on-duty today or not, Singh? But one way or another, I know you're probably busy. Let's step off to the side here. How's old Iron Harry treating you?"
Just like Iron Harry to send Singh. Probably one of his best men. Stood up straight like he too had iron in his back. Looks tough too. He must wax that mustache to have it curl up like that.
"Inspector Persaud is a superior senior officer, Sir. I am fortunate to be serving with him."
Sergeant Major Singh remained expressionless. He made no pretence at slouching to offset his much greater height against Brian's well under six foot frame. He stood erect, feet slightly apart with his arms clasped behind his back.
"You see that little boy over there, Singh? The one who fainted all during the funeral? The one who still can't help himself now? Do you see him? Well, he's who you'll be helping. And his mother. And his father. And all the people that you see here today." Brian pointed and waved his hands about with masterful stabs of dramatic punctuation.
"Sir . . . ?"
"Are you with me, Singh? Are you with me?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"We're talking about murder, Singh. We're talking about foul murder. As sure as we're standing here now, murder. Murder, murder, murder."
"Sir?"
"You know where you are Singh. And you must know that technically speaking you're out of your jurisdiction here. But we're talking about a murder that the local people here just don't want to investigate. They don't even acknowledge that a murder happened, when every chick and chile in this Village knows that a murder happened. I knew the girl, Singh. And I know a murder happened here. I mean . . . , the girl wasn't the type to kill herself and everybody around here knows that certain other . . . ah . . . things were going on. Things involving . . . Obeah, and what not." Brian's last few words had been barely audible.
Sergeant Major Singh hadn't shifted his pose, and he cont-inued his expressionless stare at Brian.
"Well, Singh? Are you with me?"
"Yessir."
"Well . . . well. . . . Do you follow what I'm saying?"
"Yessir."
"Well, Singh . . . . What . . . what do you make of all this? You don't seem that surprised by anything I've said? Even regarding things . . . peculiar? Do you have anything to say? A recommendation to make?"
"Sir, before I make a recommendation I'll need to conduct an investigation with cooperation from the local members of the Force. But first I'll need to hear from you certain facts regarding who you believed committed the murder, and when and how you think Obeah is involved."
"Singh, I don't know if you can count on any cooperation from the local Force because I couldn't get them to do a thing. I could probably get some action if I threw my weight around a bit, but frankly I wanted to keep this thing as quiet as possible. That's why I arranged for some involvement from your Chief Inspector."
"Well, Sir. The truth is that some in the Force don't like outsiders telling us how to do our job. But we might more tend to listen to one of us."
"As you can see Singh, I'm with the Force." Brian fixed his uniform.
"Begging yuh pardon, Sir. But the Army is not . . . ah. . . the Police Force. And Inspector Persaud—"
"I never said that the Army was the Police, Singh. But when I can't get brother officers in the Police Force to show me the consideration I'm due then it's a sad day in this country."
"Yessir. I'll do my best to get some cooperation. But who do you believe committed the murder? And why? And when? And how is Obeah involved?"
"May." Brian looked around.
By this time, most of the gathering had dispersed, and there was no doubt that the graveside service was over because Father Murray himself was now hurrying out of the Burial Ground, and the Duncans were nowhere in sight. Dawn and Francine were still chatting away, and the gravediggers stood off to the side in conversation, too, waiting around politely so that they could put the finishing touches to their day's labors, and maybe even prepare for more toil.
"Sir? I'm not clear. If this . . . murder happened in May then how—?"
"Not in May, Singh. May! That witch May. The Obeah Woman May. She's got to pay for what she did and I'm just the man to make her pay. Everyone around here is afraid of her but I'm damn sure not. Now let's get down to brass tacks, Singh. This May woman—"
"Excuse me, Brian," Dawn said. "I don't mean to interrupt. But—"
"This is my wife, Sergeant Singh."
"Ma'am, a pleasure to meet you." Singh shifted easily from his military-style at ease position and offered his hand politely in greeting.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Singh." Dawn briefly lost her hand in Singh's. "Brian, I don't mean to interrupt but I have to pick up Rudy. I promised that I would be gone only a few hours." She didn't meet Brian's gaze.
"Singh, I'm afraid we have to set up another meeting to discuss this matter properly. I want to get things started as soon as possible. Now, let's see: Today is Saturday, right? Are you going to be on duty on Monday?"
"All day, Sir."
"Good. Then I'll stop by your Station. And then maybe we can finally get some police-handling of this matter. Can you get back? How did you get here from Fort Andrews?"
"I can manage, Sir. Inspector Persaud provided a vehicle. I left it out by the main road and I know the way back."
"Carry on then, Singh." Brian snapped off a smart salute. "Carry on."
"Sir!" Singh snapped to attention and saluted. "Good to meet you ma'am."
As Sergeant Major Singh marched briskly away, only Brian and Dawn and the gravediggers were left of the living, and the gravediggers set to patting moist earth before it was baked hard by the sun, and then set to planting a wooden cross to mark the site of the planted corpse.
"Francine left?" Brian said.
"Francine left," answered Dawn. "Let's go get Rudy."
"Yes, let's go get Rudy."
Maybe now was a good time to try to ease some tension, Brian thought. Nothing like death and a funeral to make a woman remember how lucky she is. Dammit, she couldn't find a better husband. And who was it who had given her the son she wanted?
"I know I made a mistake with Christine, but the girl didn't deserve to die like that." Brian glanced quickly at Dawn then looked away.
Brian and Dawn walked side by side as they exited the Burial Ground. Unsheltered stretches of the unpaved road were baked white by the afternoon sun, and the two were glad for the occasional shelter cast by trees, even though the heat was still a force to be reckoned with in the shade. Dawn looked at Brian but didn't say a word.
"I mean, did you see that May at the funeral laughing?" Brian fished out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
"I don't know if you heard . . . ?" Brian glanced quickly at Dawn again then looked away. "But everyone's saying that she had something to do with what happened?"
Well, so much for that. If she doesn't feel like talking, then she doesn't feel like talking. Who could make a woman talk if she didn't want to talk? But there was enough time to work on all that later. May was the important thing now. And Dawn couldn't be any help with that. She was a good wife but she didn't know anything about people like May. She might be from this godforsaken Village, but she didn't know about people like May. She and May were as different as—
"I'd have to be on Mars not to hear what's going on," Dawn said. "But you shouldn't believe everything that yuh hear about people."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I don't really know, but I don't think that May is the type to go around being responsible for anybody dying."
"But you know what they say about May. That woman is a seefar woman and everybody knows that she does all kinds of Obeah wuck. How could you even say anything good about her? Everybody knows about her."
God. Now she's defending May. Talk about one naive woman. Everyone knew that May had something to do with Christine's death. And the least that May was responsible for was in trying to do Obeah work on them both for Christine. Whatever nastiness it was that she had put Christine up to. But the best thing with Dawn was probably to let the whole thing drop. She really didn't know what the hell was going on. One meeting with Singh on Monday and the whole thing would be settled very soon after.
"Well, I was just telling you what I heard." Brian spoke with a note of finality.
Her hands couldn't be more cold. But the best thing to do was not to let go no matter how awkward it felt to hold hands with her. To let go would only make things worse. She could already barely bring herself to look at him. It was clear that there was no point in trying to have an intelligent conversation with her. She wasn't ready yet.
Christine was gone, and now his own wife was acting like they were strangers. There was no question who was to blame. Monday would come around soon enough, and he would meet with Singh and get things going. It would soon be time for that Obeah witch to pay. Everyone was waiting to see what he would do about her. And they weren't going to be disappointed.
Excerpt ends.
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