The Egunguns
I listened to the telephone ring on the other end of the line, thinking to myself that I must be a freaked-out coward. Surely, I thought, I was not a person who would call on other people to help with my problems. If a thing or person proved to be a problem or an obstacle, I'd step up to it and handle it by any means necessary, lying my way through ferociously if that was what was necessary.
Yet, here I was, calling my Padrino, otherwise know as my godfather, for help. Padrino is called Osunlade, the Babalawo, which means Priest. My Padrino is a spiritualist of the Ifa faith, a devotee of the deity Osun. Yeah, he's a diviner and all that good stuff.
To be truthful, I never believed in any of that hocus-pocus. I've always been a man of scientific fact and not of blind faith. However, the very foundations of my reality and all I believed in were falling from under me. Crazy shit was happening! So here I was calling him, trembling, grasping the phone tightly with knuckles white from strain. The cheap plastic creaked, ready to break.
"Hello? - " Thank God. He had finally answered. I did not give him time to say his name.
"I need you Padrino." I listened for a moment.
"Yes, there is trouble. It's beginning to happen. Bring your bag of tricks."
He hated when I spoke like that, with what would be thought of as disrespect for his Yorubian faith. In reality, it was awe and fear of something I knew nothing about, fear of a magical religion that had such realistic, but unexplainable, potential, the potential to affect nature and all the forces seen and unseen. My rude manner of addressing it was a defense mechanism that allowed me to shrug off something which creeped me.
"I'll be there in five minutes." He said and hung up.
I stood immobile, holding the receiver to my ear, unaware of the seconds, which ticked by. I swear I could hear voices just below the static saying, "We're coming for you, Gabriel." I heard more whispering and laughter, more voices belonging to the dark regions of the dead. Or was I just buggin' out? Yeah, it was that. It had to be. "It's only static." I mumbled to myself, wiping sweat from my bare scalp. I replaced the receiver gently.
It had all started when some friends and I, quite inebriated, went to a tarot reader to have our fortunes read, just for fun, you understand. Madam Julissa was known as a really sexy, not to mention weird, gypsy. The mischief ended as we entered the darkness of her house and seated ourselves around the huge circular oak table.
As she dealt the thick worn cards, two of the five of us repeatedly drew the card of death from her slow-moving hands. Her hooded eyes were without expression.
"That's bullshit!" I spat out disrespectfully to the robed lady at my side. The room grew darker with each passing moment. A single candle flickered at the center of the table, casting shadows on our faces, lurking under our eyes, our noses and our lips.
"That's bullshit!" The others muttered, agreeing with me with their soft words and solemn nods of their ghostly heads. Only the first man who drew the death card reacted differently from the rest.
"It's true." He croaked with absolute horror written on his face. "Nothing is the same. I feel changes all around me." His eyes were wide as he looked around. He clearly saw things we could not see. His voice shook. "The entire world is dissolving. There are things, shadowy forms - "
"Shaddup!" I snapped in disgust and embarrassment. "You're drunk! Palo Viejo has that affect, y'know?" Rob shook his head in fake agreement. He was at the verge of tears. Madam Julissa, no longer sexy in our eyes, sat silent and impassive. Unmoving, she watched as we struggled into our coats. I opened the front door for the men and watched them walk out into the cold dark night. In the chilled air, their breaths formed white puffs that floated heavily towards the icy earth.
The gypsy stopped me at the door, a haunted look on her once-pretty face. She grabbed me by the bicep, her claws digging into my leather jacket. The urge to bash her face in surged through me. It was the liquor talking to me, I knew, heightened by the fact that she had just told me I was a dead-man walking.
"Release me, woman." I hissed venomously.
She looked straight into my eyes, saw something that frightened her, and released her grasp.
"One of the spirits had a message for you." She said.
"I don't want to hear anymore of this nonsense," I growled at her. I watched my friends walk down the steps and followed behind them. To my back, the gypsy woman said, "You must see Okitibiri, a-pa-ojo-iku-da. He has a special interest in you."
"Up yours lady," I said without looking back.
I got in my car with Dom, one of my buddies. Two others got into Rob’s car with Rob driving.
Two blocks later, just down the road from the gypsy’s house, that car was hit by a tractor, instantly killing Rob and leaving the other two in critical condition.
That was five days ago!
Talking together, we brushed it off, saying that the accident was due to alcohol. No one wanted to put in words what we were really thinking, that what the freak-lady had said was true, and that I was next. It had to be pure rubbish. We refused to believe any of this. Yet, there it was, towering over us like an ominous mountain, alive and threatening.
Each day following the death of my friend, I began to see things.
Nothing solid, mind you, gaseous shapes, people walking on a scorching desert path led on eternally - to nowhere. I accepted this, at first, as symptoms of trauma and fatigue. On the second day, I saw people in a forest, running in fear from hideous creatures that were once human. I myself got lost in this forest, yet I was in a supermarket on the brink of panic when, seconds later, all came back to normal.
On the third day, not able to take it anymore, I called my godfather, the Babalawo, and told him all that had occurred. My godfather was a loving man with a sympathetic ear, who was always there for me. He was silent as I relived the dreadful scenes. Finally, when I finished my rambling explanation and fell silent, he spoke.
"Tomorrow they will speak to you in person,” he said in his quiet strong voice. “On the fifth day, they will come to get you." He said this as if he saw these events happen daily, which really pissed me off.
"They will deliver you to Iku."
"Who the heck is Iku?" I shot back.
"Iku is death. Is there anything else you need to tell me? You cannot omit even the smallest detail." There was urgency in his voice.
"No. I think that was it. It's all nonsense." I said, annoyance loud in my words.
"Let me determine that, my son. Did she say anything in particular to you? Think, man."
"As a matter of fact, Padrino, she said some gibberish, like 'Okitibiri, a-pa-ojo-iku-da!' Yeah, that's what she said as we were leaving. That he had a special interest in me. To go see him."' There was a long silence on the line. Only static could be heard. I tried to hear the other voices. They were not there, or just listening.
"Hello? Padrino, you still there?"
"Yes. That was not gibberish. What she said was that 'you need to see the great changer who alters the date of death.' I know this gypsy at the turn of Beaumont Ave. She has no knowledge of the Lucumi tongue. It's an authentic message."
"Come on man, you're buggin." Nervous laughter came out with the words though I was in no way laughing.
"If you say so," returned the Babalawo noncommittally." "Either way, I'll begin to prepare for the journey now, calling out to all the Orisas for protection and guidance. Call me when it starts feeling real. Their reality must blend with yours in order for them to come get you."
"What journey?" I almost hollered. "I'm not going anywhere. No one is coming to get me. Okay? I'm just tired. I'm gonna take a few days off from work. I’m gonna just fall back and chill out. Listen to some Hurricane G tracks. All I need is rest."
"Fine," he said coolly. "We're going to go see Orunmila. Don't forget to call." He hung up the receiver as if he had not heard a single word I had said. For some insane reason, I thought of Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz. "We're off to see the Wizard."
"Shit." I muttered. During these past few days I felt very violent, just as I did at this very moment. I wanted to kill the telephone. I felt as if I were losing grasp on all my faculties. Who in God’s name is Orunmila?
On the fourth day, I saw phantasmagoric figures dancing, circling, and gyrating over an open campfire in a clearing in the woods at night. I was in my living room. They wore tribal clothes and paint on their bodies and faces. They wielded axes and spears while singing these words:
"Eni S' oju' se mu'; Orisa ni ma sin.
A-da-ni W o ti ri; Orisa ni ma sin. Eni ran mi wa';
Orisa ni ma sin.
I could not comprehend what the words meant except for Orisa. To my very limited knowledge, "Orisa" means, more or less, the deities of an ancient African religion of the Yoruba lands that is surviving today in many parts of the world. It is the same religion my godfather is a Babalawo of. I later learned that what they sang was this:
"He who makes eyes, makes nose; It's the Orisa I will serve.
He who creates as he chooses; It's the Orisa I will serve.
He who sends me here; It's the Orisa I will serve."
That is what they sang as they twirled and leaped circumambulating the campfire. They wore masks of unknown origin. Oddly, they did not seem to touch the floor at all but seemed to float around the campfire as they did their macabre dance. Even the campfire seemed unnaturally alive. As if it had eyes and was watching me in my living room from the great beyond. The flames grew larger as it accepted their guttural chants of supplication.
They were offering sacrifices to their Orisas Esu, Shango, and Ogun. A petition to clear the path, open the way and deliver the words and offering to Orunmila. From what my godfather told me of Esu, Shango and Ogun, they were all powerful Orisas. Esu was trouble if not appeased. He was the one at all the crossroads and pathways, waiting to cause the unwary trouble. He was feared by all the other deities due to his many powers and brute strength. Not only was he imposing, he was also known for his phallic prowess. Shango was the wielder of the thunder bolt, Jakuta; who administered the wrath of the main deity Olodumare, and Ogun, another fierce Orisa, was the one who would clear the path.
I watched this amazing ritual from my living room. Spell bound, I wanted to run, but could not move a muscle. I remained transfixed to the fire that held me, trembling, as a cobra would hold its prey before the attack.
From the fire emerged huge black shapes. Men! Warriors, naked except for their loincloths. Each wielding a different dangerous weapon my eyes had never seen before. They were walking towards me! I wanted to cry and pray but would not give in to the urge. I too was a warrior of the Black and Gold. If dying was the verdict, I would go bravely.
(That all sounded good to me. It didn't stop the shakes I suddenly got.) When I closed my eyes, I could still see them coming. They were closer. A couple of more steps and they would cross the threshold that divided the forest and my living room.
They were so close that I could now smell them, bitter-kola and palm oil. Lightening flashed. The lights in the living room went out. Still I could see clearly. Ozone was thick in my nostrils and acrid to my palate. I would have attacked them first, knowing they would easily slaughter me, just to end it all instead of enduring this unbearable scene. The warriors circled the couch I sat on. Glaring down at me as if daring me to move. Some kind of magic held me immobile. They circled five times. Each time saying, "Oni 1'ari, ari aorola, on ni baba' lawo send' Ifa' 1' ororun ("It is today we see, we do not see tomorrow, hence the Babalawo consults the oracle every fifth day.") After the fifth circuit, they walked back to the ritual site, then entered the fire and disappeared - to what ever strange "when" they came from.
Still, I would not accept any of this as real. I am a man of knowledge and facts. Surely, the problem was that I was going through some type of mental episode, trauma from the death of my friend. Fatigue. I've been working to hard. There has also been too much liquor. There just had to be a logical answer to all this!
Trembling, I fell asleep on the couch, hoping that perhaps by sleeping I could prove this was all a dream. I mumbled a quick prayer as I shut my eyes and sank into a dark dreamless sleep not even halfway through the prayer. On the fifth day, however, no matter how strong my denial, it occurred again right upon awakening. (I had slept all morning and afternoon. It was beginning to darken out.) They came.
Grotesque creatures of the damned known as Egunguns walked to me materializing from one of the walls. I was sitting at the kitchen table looking at my cold cereal (for I was not really hungry). There were three of them, smelling like rotting death. My stomach turned but there was nothing inside to regurgitate. This time, I refused with every ounce of my will to block and resist whatever magic that it was they used to paralyze me. It worked!
The creatures tried to surround me and grab me, I ducked, crawled under the dinner table, lifted it with all my strength, crashing it into the three Egunguns. Olu-Egungun was wielding a spiked club, Alapa Nsanpa had long deformed arms hanging down his sides. And Eteyeri, with long protruding ears affixed to its head. They all wore masks and rotting vegetation to cover their sore-covered bodies just barely.
It was the latter that spoke to me when I reached the kitchen doorway, curiosity causing me to halt in my tracks. "We will come get you, Gaby. You are not as smart as you think. Once you are given to us, we will feast on your limbs, your heart, and wash it down with your warm blood. Tell Osunlade that his magic will not work. For interfering, we are coming for him next."
I've never let people (or now, monsters-demons) pick on those I love. I protected them with my very soul. It was because of the threat to my godfather that I finally choked-out two words. (I had been holding my breath due to the stench.) "Fuck-you!"
The Egunguns retreated into the wall of which they came, leaving me at the kitchen door way perplexed. My Padrino must have been doing dome of his protection - magic to help me, I guessed. They definitely knew about him. I grew a little bit of courage and strength knowing that he was at my side. He has always been there for me when no one else was. For this, and many other reasons, was why I loved him immensely. Then another thought crept into my selfish mind. Fear for his life. I did not want to get him caught up in "my mess." I had no plans prior to today to call him as he requested.
That is, until those dreadful Egunguns came for me. I could clearly hear him say, "Call me when it starts feeling real."
I still refused to believe any of this was really happening to me. Though I could not deny that it was feeling too real! Again I thought about the journey he said we would embark on, and likened it to Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz. I rubbed my baldhead and thought of two logical facts:
1. If they continued to come for me, nothing would stop them from getting me unless "we" did something to stop them.
2. If I did have to face these creatures, and what ever else it was calling them to fetch me, I did not want to face-up alone. The obvious truth is that only my Padrino, the Babalawo, knew what it was he had to do to possibly save me. It seemed I was a victim caught in the middle of a struggle of two powerful forces.... "Why me?"
If I die, I concluded with a moronic smile unfit for the moment, at least I'll have good company coming with me. My Babalawo. Now that's love.
That thought quickly vanished as I thought of the demons who had begun to harass me from the three spots I felt they would storm out of at any moment to tear me apart -- my room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. No where felt safe anymore.
I heard silent footsteps creep-up to my door and pause. There was somebody standing at my door. I grabbed a bat and braced myself for whatever. Then there was the familiar knock I was fond of -- 3 quick knocks and then a fourth, which resembled the famous tune of the 5th of Beethoven.
I ran to the door and swung it open. There was my Padrino, the Babalawo wearing his white priest robe, lion teeth (or what ever they were) protruded through the middle cartilage of his nose, beads of all colors and trinkets galore. I smiled. In his left hand he carried a roughly - woven raffia sack which assuredly contained his Ifa paraphernalia. He smiled back, hugged me tightly with his right hand and kissed my forehead with a prayer sent up to his deity Oshun.
"Godson." He greeted. "Padrino." I replied. "You still look alive." He said still smiling. Then he changed the subject and started speaking about the foul weather, his other godsons, and his duties as a producer at Yoruba Records (and some) as soon as he entered the apartment closing the door behind him. He spoke about these mundane matters as if he had not a care in the world. Here I was, scared to death, ready to be hand delivered to only God knows what sort of hell, and there he was speaking casually about this or that.
"Come! He ordered gesticulating towards my room with his free hand. "We have a few hours left." Once in my room, he emptied out the raffia sack and set to work. He put on his tape recorder. It played Yoruba music - drums and spiritual chants, lit candles, burned incense, whispered archaic things to unseen forces, filled clear cups of water (5 of them) and placed them in intervals along with white candles around my entire bed which now lay in the middle of the room. With a white powder, he circled my bed clockwise. With a red powder, he circled counter-clockwise.
All the while, as he worked, he spoke of inconsequential matters having nothing to do with our dire predicament.
"Padrino, aren't you scared?"
"Yes,," he replied hunched over still working on the powders. "Gabriel, you better remember this if you want to keep me and yourself alive." He finished laying down the red powder. Both powders now circled my bed. He stood up straight, stretched his back, and brushed off his white robe, looking me eye to eye with a serious look on his face.
"As soon as the spirits sense fear in you, they will swarm into you through every hole in your body. A legion of foul spirits. They will drive you mad and slowly eat you up devouring your insides.
"The excruciating pain you will feel can be resembled to being burnt alive. However, unlike burning to death, this pain will never end. Yes! I'm scared. I have never embarked on one of these journeys. I've seen and opened the passage way, but never entered the cave that leads to heaven."
The Babalawo, seeing that I was going to say something (something probably stupid) raised his hand to silence me.
"We are going - must go - to the unknown regions, a place which can be more dreadful then Oshuns calamitous waters. We are going to see the Orisha Orunmila, or we'll die trying. To remain here without this attempt, will spell out certain doom."
"Padrino, why are you going through all this, knowing that chances are we will die?" I choked out the last words.
The Babalawo looked down at his feet then back at me, a single tear glittered from the candle light on his left eye. The tear ran down his cheek and landed on his heart. There was an awkward silence.
My room appeared eerie. Flickering candlelight cast shadows everywhere. The flames danced and swayed with an unfelt breeze.
"You are my godson, who I have promised to protect -- promised to your father, who has passed-on, and to Oshun and Ogun: 'Bi omode' ba da - 'le, ki o ma da Ogun, oro Ogun V ewo'. ‘If one breaks covenant at all, it must not be with Ogun.’ The matter is strictly taboo where Ogun is concerned. And even if I didn't make this oath, I would stand at your side at the dark regions of death because I love you." At this point there was more awkward silence.
The unnatural darkness cast by the five candles laid out around my bed within the white and red powdered perimeter, made my nerves jump. I wanted to yell. All was silent. From the mirror on my bureau, I could see both the reflections of my godfather and me. We looked wax-like, haunted, pale, with dark shadows on the deep curves of our faces. The Babalawo broke the silence. A silence that wasn't a silence for in the background I could always hear the chants, "Orisha ni Ma Sin!" (It's the Orishas I will serve).
"You must lay on the bed and wait till we are visited again. There is nothing more for us to do."
A groan came from my stomach. Granted, I am no longer a child and it's been a very long time since I've been afraid of the dark, afraid to be left alone in my room. Nonetheless, all of my childhood fears swarmed me. The boogieman was under my bed. No doubt waiting to grab me by the ankles and drag me under. The hairs on my back stood on end. I struggled with the childish urge to jump on my bed. I looked at the closet. Its door was closed. But surely there was something in there waiting for my Padrino to leave so it could attack.
I spoke in an exaggerated brave tone. "You're not going to leave me here alone, are you?" I prayed he'd say "no." My godfather smiled.
"No. I have to be with you at all times. Come. Careful now." We stepped over the powdered lines. "These will keep the demons away. They can't breach its magical properties. Esu and Ogun will guard our paths. Break the lines however, and it's like opening the door full and wide, inviting the demons to enter."
I jumped on the bed a little too quick to look cool. The Babalawo followed behind me. Fully dressed, we laid back and waited for whatever drama was coming at us. We neither spoke nor moved. An hour and a half passed. My mind wondered to other things in my life. I thought of Anna, the Reyes' and said my almighty prayer as I drifted slowly into a life-like dream.
In the dream, I was laying naked on the bed with an erection. An opaque shadow materialized over me - Sylph-like. It grew in shape and definition. It was an African woman. Or was she only a girl? I could not say for certain. She appeared no younger then eighteen but could pass for a well cared for thirty and anywhere in between. She too was naked, slim, and very beautiful. Her hair was very short, dark and wooly. Luscious full lips on a small mouth seemed to pucker for a kiss. Almond-shaped eyes. Tiny inviting breasts which ended in pointy nipples. My eyes went down her petite frame to the small fuzz on her pubic area.
She drifted closer - she looked familiar. The expression on her face was serene; almost melancholy. I fell in love with this Sylph immediately. Sylph. That's what I took to calling this strange but marvelous amorphous being. If she was a malignant spirit, I was doomed and did not care. She could not be resisted. I shuddered in anticipation as she drifted over me then descended upon me - squatting - sitting on me. My manhood entered her. She was warm, wet, and good. She was so real.
She bounced up and down on me, swiveling her hips in little circles. I held her by her narrow waist, guiding her, picking up speed while pumping my own hips upward for deeper penetration. I was ready to burst. She suddenly lifted, taking me in her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down my pole, taking me deep into her throat, all the while looking at me, holding eye contact. My seed burst into her mouth.
As she drifted away, I saw her spit my semen into a white cloth. This, she folded then dematerialized at the foot of the bed. All went black.
Someone was shaking me roughly. Upon opening my eyes, I witnessed to my horror, the entire room filled with these decaying Egunguns. Messengers of the dead. The smell was gut wrenching. These looked like dead bloated bodies just pulled out of a swamp. Seaweed clung to their hands, shoulders and heads. They were indeed dead. Yet in their eye sockets, where eyeballs should have been, shone brilliant red sparks that spoke of evil knowledge and of the untold terrors, which awaited me at the great black beyond. These creatures of the doomed quietly stared at me. Still, not moving, encircling the perimeter of the bed. The powder, for now, held them at bay.
What now? I thought in despair. My Babalawo, whom I forgot all about was singing an ancient protection chant. To my amazement, the bed slowly began to spin and sink into the darkness, leaving the Egunguns behind in my room.
We no longer sat on my bed, I noticed, but on a sort of flattened boulder on an open plain under an azure sky. Before us was a road that led directly into a large sphere of light. On the right side of the road there were four hundred divinities. To the left there were two hundred. The Babalawo, besides me, paid homage and worship to the four hundred and sixty divinities who actually line-up the road to heaven. (Do not let the sayings of the numbers confuse you, he later told me).
From what I now know, his constant prayers were chants for protection to these very deities to allow us passage. I guessed, in my own opinion, they were like guardians of the road to heaven, ready to swarm on any unworthy visitors. At thought of that, my heart jumped, for I realized I was unworthy.
"Come." My Padrino said with a nod of his head. He too was bald like myself. Except, where I was short and stocky, he was tall and slim. My skin, the color of caramel, his was of light chocolate. I was a fighter, him a Yoruba priest. Together we walked side by side into the unknown. On his left hand he carried the roughly woven raffia sack.
There were a million questions fighting in my head to come out first in my mouth. However, I felt compelled - obligated to hold my tongue out of respect for these sacred grounds we now tread. If these huge and silent Orishas didn't speak, then why should I? Indeed, they were as silent and still as stone statues. I am one who also believes that curiosity killed the cat -- at least premature curiosity unchecked by caution.
We passed betwixt the Orishas on either side of us. They were truly big, fierce looking warriors. All were dressed in majestic African battle garb. Not all were black. I noticed that some appeared to be Oriental or Caucasian. All of them were imposing and godly. Their smooth skin glistened from oil and sweat, giving their powerful muscles acute definition. One would think they were chiseled out of onyx stone and painted life-like by a master sculptor. They were so still. Neither looking at us or flinching as we passed them by. They looked straight ahead, holding what appeared to be eye contact with the Orisha standing opposite them.
Yes, they looked like statues, but were real. Alive. Every so often, you'd catch one or another blink. Their mighty chests heaved with the fluctuations of breathing. Three quarters of the way to the golden sphere, the Babalawo halted in his tracks sensing danger and holding me still with one hand. I saw nothing to cause alarm and gave him a questioning look, which he ignored.
The Babalawo placed the roughly woven raffia bag on the floor before us, opening it wide. From within, almost timidly, the Sylph swirled out of the bag in a cyclone motion. Without looking at us, it drifted up the road to the last deity who was easily seven-feet tall and most likely the strongest of all the divinities. He even looked like a mischief-maker. The ends of his moth curved into a slight, very slight, grin while his eyes were hard and mean.
The Sylph appeared to be pleading with the fiercest of the divinities for our passage. My godfather whispered, "That is Esu. The deity to be feared at all the crossroads. He is not evil, per se, but loves playing mean tricks on people and altering their plans. We can not allow him to alter our plans. Our lives are at stake. What ever you do, don't offend him."
The threatening figure spoke back to the Sylph. She then nodded, turned around and dropped on all fours. Right before our eyes, the deity entered her. He was huge, so huge that the Sylph wailed in agonizing pain as plunged into her ruthlessly. I could see blood on the floor between her legs. This made me question my own sanity and morals. Here was a spirit, bleeding and getting sexually bribed by a deity. I stepped forward to help the Sylph. The Babalawo, who was ashen faced and in apparent agony, cursed at me for the very first time in my life knowing him. Holding me back firmly.
"She's buying our passage. I knew this would appease him." I was both shocked and hurt. I shook my head slowly. Upset at even God for what I saw being done to that beautiful creature I loved and called "Sylph.”
The Orisha Esu, good at his word, backed up. The Sylph drifted weakly into the raffia sack.
"Give me the bag!" My Padrino said stiffly. He was in great pain, which worried me. I gave him the sack remaining silent. I understood none of this.
Esu appeased, did not molest us as we passed him and entered into the golden light.
"A.D.R." I mumbled to myself.
Entering the golden light was like diving into a golden clear pool. Everything around me was tinged with a golden brilliance. I felt lighter, almost weightless. All kinds of confusions seemed to momentarily vanish from my mind as if I now had the answers to all great mysteries of the universe.
There before us sat the Orisha Orunmila on an ivory throne with statue lions on either side of him. He was apparently expecting us. What I expected is not what sat before me. I expected a great thunderous type of Zeus figure. A spirit-like being. If it had twelve eyes, it would not have surprised me. What sat on the ivory throne did surprise me. What I saw was a little frail old black man, dressed majestically in some type of ancient garb. He smiled at me. His even white teeth cast a golden glitter. He scratched his white curly hair and brushed down his beard apparently waiting for us to speak.
My godfather, noticing the same, quickly stepped forward mumbling some kind of prayer of acceptance and forgiveness. He laid the raffia sack on the floor. The Sylph swirled from out of the bag to stand beside my godfather. Then she drifted closer to the Orisha. Both the Babalawo and Sylph spoke in unison.
"Here we offer you a sacrificial gift. We offer more then taking the life of a creature, but the life of a creature intact so as not to defile your spotless and sacred floor of which your blessed feet tread."
The Sylph opened, or rather unwrapped, the white cloth which I immediately recognized as the same one she had spit my semen on. A small infant lay on the cloth cooing and trying to grab his toe with both hands. My God! I couldn't believe my eyes. Did this child belong to me and the Sylph? Impossible. Yet, I believed it was so. I've lately had my share of the astonishing.
The child was on all fours now and crawled to the Orisha, Orunmila, whom bent down and scooped up the child from where he sat. The deity spoke to .the child in an ancient tongue, smiling and tickling the laughing infant. Suddenly, he froze taking a deep breath. His face became a mask of rage as he looked down at the Sylph.
A whip materialized in his free had of which he used to whip the frozen Sylph. Blood ran down her open cuts each time the whip made contact with her. She wailed in agony but was held immobile by some magic. I heard the deity shout, "You dare come before my throne reeking of sexual impurity?"
"Esu still played-us out." I heard my godfather groan through tightly clenched teeth. For some reason, not only was the Sylph bleeding, but my Padrino was as well. His white priest robe was now stained in many places a dark red.
I could not take anymore of this. "Stop!" I yelled. Pushing in front of my godfather and the Sylph, I said, "Is it me you want?" I glared, banging my chest hard. "Take me, but leave them alone!"
The Orisha looked at me incredulously, not believing my outrageous act of defiance. All kinds of deadly emotions ran through his face. Then, just as suddenly, he roared in great laughter. Tossing the child high in the air and catching him on the rebound. The child laughed too.
"Indeed, Oba-Ina." Boomed the old man with a voice that did not match his small frame. "I like you. So I've granted your request for prolonged life. Now leave before I change my mind."
The deity laughed even louder, ignoring us and playing with the child. I wanted to say more, but was pulled away by my godfather who was now weakly leaning on me for support. I looked worriedly at his abused condition and did not argue. Somehow, we struggled back to the boulder unmolested by the four hundred and sixty divinities who actually lined the road to heaven. Imposing giants. Shocking, yet silent. We sat on the boulder - on the middle. It descended into darkness - and my bedroom arose into a dark candle lit room empty of the frightful Egunguns.
"Where's the Sylph?" I asked my godfather concerned. "She is not a Sylph!" He shouted at me, raged. Twice in a short period I received an outburst from my Padrino that he had never done before. I remained cool knowing that he was under intense pressures.
"She is Ochun!" He hissed.
"Nonsense." I replied. "Ochun is an Orisha, a deity, that there is not." I reached for the raffia sack. He forcefully pushed me away.
More calmly now he said. "Yes, correct. She is not an Orisha. She is a human spirit I call Ochun; in recognition of my protecting deity. Have you ever heard that all humans have a feminine and masculine side in them?"
I shook my head, yes. Absorbed. "Well, she is my other half. I have the gif t to release her at will from my body and allow her to take on urgent tasks." My Padrino paused, looked at me and saw that I was skeptical, but continued.
"Do you recall in the scriptures how the prophet Elijah gave Elisha a double portion of his spirit? It's in 2 Kings 2:9, or don't you know what Proverbs 25:28 says. 'Whoever has no rule over his own spirit is like a city broken down with no walls.' Well, I do have control over my spirit."
I thought of my dream when I first saw the Sylph flitting over me. I thought how Esu abused her. How my godfather bled when the Sylph was whipped. I now understand but for my own selfish reasons I said, "Nonsense." That infuriated my godfather who jumped off the bed, collected his things and left slamming the door behind him.
I did not understand why he was so upset with me. After he left, I stood up until the sun came up chasing away the night. All I could think of was the two great unknown powers that were struggling for my soul. My earthly life had been prolonged for how long? Today? Tomorrow? I rubbed my baldhead in frustration. None of this was the type of thing I believed in. I was being forced to remodel my beliefs quick - faster than hurry.
The Orisha Orunmila holds special interest in me. Why? Who was behind the other force, this dark evil that also wanted me?
My godfather had all the answers I needed and wanted. He was the one who would have to teach me how to defend myself if he was not around. What was I to do when the Egunguns returned?
With all this on my mind, I went to his house, a lone house on a hill. The door stood wide open. Alarmed, I ran up the knoll. Inside the house, all was in shatters as if a tremendous struggle taken place. A fight for dear life!
Now what? I thought as sadness, fear and fury danced around in my soul. What now?
END OF PART ONE
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