The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag (34 page)

Billy
no longer held the prod to my face. He had dropped it on the rooftop. He stood
and stared at her too.

Because
she was truly something to stare at. She must have been more than seven feet in
height. Willow slim and ebony black Her cheek-bones seemed carved, her slanted
eyes showing only the whites. Her mouth was broad, the lips full and
passionate. Her hair was arranged in complicated coils that rose to spires and
seemed to vanish into air. Of the clothes that covered her slender frame I had
an impression ‘of colour but not of fabric. Darting colours that weaved and
moved and flowed and drifted. Her right hand weighed heavy with golden rings.

In her
left she held a handbag.

‘Maîtresse,’
Billy whispered. ‘Maîtresse Ezilée.’

‘I am
displeased with you,’ said the goddess.

‘No,’
said Billy. ‘I’ve not displeased you. I have kept the faith, maintained the
vigil. Venerated the icon.’

‘My
bag?’ Maîtresse Ezilée raised the handbag. I saw the skulls and I saw again
Golgotha. The thousand million bones of the angry dead. ‘You have brought
torment to the mind of God,’ said Maîtresse Elizée. ‘You have brought torment
to the world of men. You must be punished for your sins.

‘No,’
said Billy. You’ll not punish me. I serve one who is greater than you. I serve
Ogoun Badagris.’

Now I
remembered this name, and I did so without the aid of my digital memory. Billy’s
mother had mentioned this name when she’d spoken to me in my shed of the voodoo
pantheon. There was Damballo Oueddo, the wisest and most powerful, whose symbol
is the serpent; Agoué, god of the sea; Loco, god of the forest; and Maîtresse
Ezilée, incarnation of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

And
there was Ogoun Badagris, the dreadful and bloody one.

An
ideal choice for Billy, I supposed.

‘Ogoun
Badagris walks the earth,’ said Billy. ‘His time is now.’

‘Our
time is always now,’ said Maîtresse Ezilée.

‘Our
time?’

‘Our
time, Billy.’ And the goddess opened her handbag.

And
they stepped out.

Grew
into form.

The
gods. A pair of gods.

‘Agoué,
god of the sea.’ And I looked and it was the old boy. The ancient mariner. And
it was my father. It really was.

‘Loco,
god of the forest.’ It was Roger Vulpes. Stealth fox/dog/ horse/human hybrid. A
god of the forest, indeed.

‘And
Damballo Oueddo?’ asked Billy. ‘Where is he?’

‘He is
all around you, Billy. You are inside the mind of the great one, Damballo
Oueddo.’

‘A mind
now addled,’ Billy said. ‘Ogoun told me how we should inflict the jabbering
masses upon Damballo. Possess his mind and drive him insane.

Maîtresse
Ezilée laughed. ‘You fool Billy. Damballo gathers all souls to himself. Here in
this world of thought. This world of dreams and inspiration from whence spring
all ideas we choose to offer mankind.’

Maîtresse
Ezilée turned to me. ‘Arthur Thickett told you all about this, didn’t he?’ she
said.

‘Yes,
I, er, yes. He said that he thought the gods reincarnate. Renew themselves and
choose new locations for their renewal.’

‘As is
written,’ said Maîtresse Ezilée. ‘The cycles of the gods are shown in the
symbol of the serpent with its tail in its mouth.’

‘And so
Ogoun is—’.

‘He is
Satan. Shaitan. Ebilis. Lucifer. Billy knows him as Henry Doors, god of the new
religion: science.’

‘I’ve
never got on much with computers,’ I said.

‘Enough,’
said Billy. ‘I’m not interested. I shall be out of here in a minute. And when I
go I’m taking this twat with me. And you lot, you can go on dreaming. No-one
worships you any more. You’re yesterday’s news.’

‘If I
might just have a word,’ said Agoué.

‘Hi,
Dad,’ I said.

‘Hi,
son,’ said my dad. ‘Now, Billy,’ he continued, ‘I know you’re going to be
leaving us in… My dad looked at his watch. It was a Rolex. I used to have a
watch like that. An image thing, I don’t want to dwell on it. Well, actually
perhaps I do. I never really had a Rolex at all. I just make this stuff up. I
can’t help it. I don’t know why I do it, but I do. It’s the tall-story thing, I
know it is. ‘… about thirty seconds. But as Henry Doors told you and my son
has learned to his cost, time moves differently here. Usually much faster, but
we have the power to shift it about somewhat. We can make your last ten seconds
an eternity in hell.’

‘You
can,’ said Billy. ‘But remember, I know the secret.’

What
secret?’

‘The
secret of the voodoo handbag.’

What
secret is that?’ I asked.

‘That
it is the
transitus tessera,
the ticket of passage. That it allows
beings to move from one world to the next.’

‘I knew
that,’ I said. ‘Your mum told me.’

‘But
she didn’t tell you that the beings were the gods. That it’s the only way by
which they can physically enter the world of men. Men can meet the gods in
dreams and visions, and receive the ideas and prophecies they are offered. But
the voodoo handbag is the portal by which the gods can enter the physical world
of men. The Virgin Mary never gave birth, she merely opened her handbag.’

‘But
what about the skulls, all those demonic skulls?’

‘Guardians,’
said Billy, ‘to prevent men reaching this world, the world of the gods. Ogoun
Badagris chooses who will guard and places them on the bag. He’ll choose you, I
think, once I have done with you.’

‘Off to
hell with this shitbag,’ I said.

‘It’s a
fair cop,’ said Billy. ‘But let me say one more thing before you despatch me.’

What is
that?’ asked Maîtresse Ezilée.

‘Time’s
up,’ said Billy.

And he
vanished, just like that.

Black Projections

He cursed the black projections as they grew,

He knew it wasn’t quite the thing to do.

But the natives from the town

Turned their backs upon his gown

That he’d won off some old Hindustan guru.

He cursed the black projections that he found,

He ripped them off and flung them to the ground.

But the natives played at jacks,

With their hands behind their backs,

And sold little bags of white stuff by the pound.

He cursed the black projections on his arm,

When he saw them there he cried out in alarm.

But the natives turned away,

They were not inclined to stay,

And they went and got new jobs upon the farm.

And when the black projections had control,

He found it very difficult to bowl.

But the natives in the slips,

Stood with hands upon their hips,

And dined on cottage tea and Dover sole.

I thank you.

23

Everything has to be somewhere and nothing can ever be anywhere
other than where it is.

HUGO
RUNE

The doctor said I was a
paranoid schizophrenic. Well, he didn’t actually say it. But we knew he was
thinking it.

‘Tell
me about the Necronet,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s a paradise. A world of bliss,’ I
said. ‘A world of bliss?’ The doctor viewed me through his bifocals. I had
never worn glasses like those. An image thing. I’m very conscious of my image.

‘A
world of bliss?’ The doctor consulted his notes. ‘And yet in previous
interviews you have railed against it, claiming there were beings inside who
are out to get us.’

‘There
are beings inside. But they are benign. It’s a paradise, a world of bliss. I
have to make a phone call, please release me.’

‘Early
days for that,’ said the doctor. ‘Early days.’

‘You
have to let me make that phone call.’

‘Urgent
matter, is it?’

‘Very
urgent, yes.’

‘Sorry,
no can do. I know that the condemned man is entitled to a hearty breakfast and
all that. But you refused your breakfast, didn’t you?’

‘I’m
not hungry. But I must make a call. You don’t realize what you’re doing. You
don’t. You really don’t.’

‘My
role is quite clear,’ said the doctor. ‘You are a revolutionary. You are
condemned to public execution. It will be broadcast live all over the world.
My job is to record your final statement and try to assess your mental state.
You’re quite a prize, you know. Mental illness is very much a thing of the
past.’

‘Because
mental patients are a thing of the past.’

‘What
was that you said?’

‘Nothing.
I said nothing. The phone call. Please let me make it’

‘I don’t
think so,’ said the doctor. ‘Let’s return to the Necronet.’

‘I’ve
said enough to you about that. Get me out of this straitjacket, let me free,
you bastard.’

‘Easy
now,’ said the doctor. ‘Don’t upset yourself.’

‘You’ll
get it,’ I said. When I get out of here, you’ll get it. I’ll make you pay. You’ll
suffer. You’ll burn.’

‘I don’t
think the tablets are helping,’ said the doctor. ‘Your rage is as pronounced as
ever.’

‘Call
Henry Doors, make the call for me.’

‘Now,
Henry Doors.’ The doctor consulted his notes. ‘This name’s come up before. You
say he is the mind behind Necrosoft, is that right?’

I
nodded.

‘Yet
there is no record of such an individual. People seem to recall the name. But
the more they try to remember, the more they become convinced that they can’t.
Henry Doors seems more like some urban myth. How do you account for that?’

‘He
stays in the background. That’s what he does best. He’s a god. A god who walks
upon the earth. Henry Doors is Ogoun Badagris.’

‘Ah,
yes,’ and the doctor flicked through further notes. ‘One of this pantheon of
gods you say inhabit the Necronet. Something to do with this handbag you keep
talking about. This voodoo handbag. Now this was when you were in your Lazlo
Woodbine persona, wasn’t it?’

‘I was
never Lazlo Woodbine. I’m
not
Lazlo Woodbine.’

‘Ah,
sorry. You’re someone else now, are you? Who might that be?’ More note-turning.
‘Carlos the Chaos Cockroach, is it? Or Barry the Talking Sprout?’

‘You
know who I am! You know who I am!’

‘Let’s
have a look.’ The doctor closed his case-note folder. ‘But I don’t need to
look, do I? Because you shout it out again and again. All night and all day.
You shout it out. And what do you shout?’

‘I
am Billy Barnes!’
I shouted.

‘That’s
right, “I am Billy Barnes.” And yet when I look at you, when I look at this
raddled wreck, with its missing limbs and its gnawed-away features, I say to
myself, this is definitely
not
Billy Barnes. I saw Billy Barnes on the
television only this morning being interviewed about the forthcoming execution.
Your execution. Sir, you are
not
Billy Barnes.’

‘But I
am!’
I shouted. ‘He tricked me. He tricked me.’

‘This
other self of yours? This Lazlo Woodbine person?’

‘Him
and Roger Vulpes.’

‘Ah
yes, Roger Vulpes, the stealth fox/dog/horse/ human hybrid who is also a god.
He was in on this conspiracy too, was he?’

‘You
don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Let me explain.’

‘Go on
then,’ said the doctor. ‘Explain to me once more. But this must be the very
last time. Your execution is scheduled for noon today.’

‘All
right, let me speak. Let me tell you how he tricked me.’

‘Go on
then, but hurry it up.’

‘All
right. Firstly, you must understand that I am Billy Barnes. Inside, me, in this
head. This body is
not
mine. It’s the body of the revolutionary, my
adversary, a man whose memories and personality I downloaded into the Necronet
ten years ago. He tried to escape. He discovered that the Necronet occupies the
same space as the dream world. He entered my dreams, tried to get at me. But I
woke up each time, he couldn’t touch me.’

‘So you
entered the Necronet yourself to get him, is that right?’

‘That’s
right. That’s what I did. To give him a serious kicking before I uploaded him
back into his body for execution.’

‘I
follow this up to a point,’ said the doctor. ‘But I can’t follow how you say
that you, that is, your personality, memories whatever, the you that is Billy
Barnes, is now inside the body I see before me.’