They call her Dana (3 page)

'Tm all right now," she said.

**Ma, is there anything I can—"

"No—no, my darling. I think—I think I'll just rest for a while."

"Will you be—"

"I'll be fine, dailing."

"I'm going to Mama Lou's right away. I'll bring the medicine back. It'll make you feel better."

She managed a tiny nod. I looked into her eyes.

"I—I love you. Ma."

"And I love you, my darling."

"You're going to get well," I said hoarsely. "I—I intend to see to it. I—" My voice broke.

Ma attempted another smile, the comers of her lips fluttering weakly, and she lifted a paper-thin hand to stroke my cheek. I leaned down and kissed her brow, and then I left the room, closing the door quietly. I went to the larder and fetched the basket of brown eggs and the block of hard cheese wrapped in oilcloth that I had set aside earlier. I fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me, and I fought back the tears as well. I left the house, moving resolutely past the bam, the shed, the filthy pigsty with the snorting beasts roiling in the mud. I moved past the cypress trees, strands of frail gray Spanish moss brushing my arms and face. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't. I knew if I allowed myself to cry I'd never, never be able to stop.

Chapter Two

THE SWAMP WAS A DANGEROUS PLACE, but it held no fears for me. I was familiar with all its dangers, knew how to avoid them, for I had roamed freely through these parts since I was a small child. There were snakes, yes, but the cottonmouths lived in the water, and the other ones didn't bother you if you didn't bother them. The alligators were lazy, sluggish creamres who nestled in the mud along the water's edge like scaly brown-green logs, and they never snapped unless you disturbed them. There was quicksand that could suck you right up and swallow you whole, but anyone who knew anything about the swamp was able to spot those gummy gray-brown bogs immediately. The swamp was a damp, misty place, pale gray and green and tan, with thin yellow rays of sunlight filtering through the thick canopy of limbs above.

There were wildfiowers, too, clusters of fragile pink and mauve blossoms growing in the shade and, here and there, long vines studded with bell-shaped crimson blooms. Loveliest of all were the wild orchids, hard to find but exquisite. Most were milky white with delicate mauve and red specks, but once, deep in the swamp, I had found one speckled with gold and bronze, the petals a pale yellow-white. There was beauty in the swamp as well as danger, if you knew where to look for it, but most folk were spooked and stayed away. I was at home here amidst the gnarled old cypress trees with their exposed roots and twisted limbs draped with ghostly gray moss, amidst the mud and profusion of damp green plants.

The ground was spongy beneath my bare feet, and the swamp was alive with the hum of insects and the cawing of birds. Sounds were strangely distorted here, giving ofl^ weird echoes that some-

times reminded you of tormented cries. Some said the swamp was haunted, full of evil spirits who called to each other, but I knew that was nonsense. I had roamed here all my life without ever seeing a ghost, though sometimes after a rain the mists grew thick and waved in the wind, taking on strange shapes that might remind you of spooks. I knew I didn't have to worry about supernatural beings. Those who had two legs with a dong dangling between 'em caused me worry enough.

I skirted a small brown stream with cattails growing tall on either side and turned and hopped over a muddy rivulet. The swamp was laced with these rivulets and streams, filled with ponds and lakes. A person really needed a small boat or a canoe to get around properly, as there was far more water than solid ground, but I moved with a sure foot, for I knew every inch of ground in these parts. Far from being uneasy, I felt safe and secure in the swamp. It was as though the damp, living gray-green walls protected me from the world outside. Here I could be free and drop those defenses I had to keep firmly in place at home. Randy and Jake never penetrated into the swamp if they could avoid it, nor did Clem. No one could find me here. No one could harm me.

I forged ahead, moving confidently, completely at ease.

Ma was going to be all right, I told myself over and over again, and after a while I almost believed it. Some things are so terrible to think about, you have to hide from them, have to trick yourself into believing they aren't so, and that's what I'd been doing with Ma's illness. Mama Lou would give me another bottle of the medicine and Ma would take it and the terrible coughing would cease and the feverish glow would leave her eyes and she would soon be strong again. I couldn't face the truth. I wouldn't. Ma was going to be all right. All she needed was some rest and some more medicine. How silly of me to get so upset just . . . just because she had coughed up a little blood and talked about seeing a redbird.

Cardinals were rare indeed in these parts, so rare superstitious folk believed you only saw one when you were about to die. Nonsense, of course, just like the ghosts who were supposed to prowl the swamp. Ma hadn't seen no redbird outside her window this morning. She had imagined it. I'd been up and about since daylight, and I certainly hadn't seen one. Ma must of just

thought she was awake, must of dreamed it. I wasn't going to waste any more time dwelling on anything so foolish.

An alligator yawned nearby, making a curious hoarse sound that was followed by a splash as the creature slipped into the water. I moved on, shoving strands of moss aside, ducking under thick ropes of vine. It was very warm here, the air damp and muggy, and perspiration stained my pink dress, formed a sheen on my face and arms. I stepped over narrow fingers of water, like veins in the ground that swelled into rivulets and streams and evenmally flowed into lakes. Water everywhere, stagnant pools and sluggish streams, the pungent muddy smell mingling with the smells of root and bark and damp greenery to form an earthy perfume that was strangely pleasant once you grew used to it.

It took me almost half an hour to reach Mama Lou's, for she lived deep in the swamp, as far away from other people as possible. Her shanty stood beside a small, flat brown lake, sticky white and yellow water lilies covering much of its oily surface. Though old and weathered, the shanty was in surprisingly good condition, not falling down like most hereabouts. The moss-green roof didn't sag at all, and a small verandah wound around the front and one side, providing shade on sunny days. Wild-flowers grew in profusion in the yard leading down to the lake, and in back there was a large herb garden, walled with stone to keep out the swamp creatures. It was a cheerfiil-looking place, not at all gloomy or forbidding.

Mama Lou had lived here for as long as anyone could remember, making her potions and medicines, shunning other people, her only companions a series of large, furry cats. She must be almost a hundred years old, folk said, and it was rumored her old master had given her her freedom after she put a curse on him and almost caused his ruination. She had come from Africa in chains, the story went, a wild and savage young princess who had been a medicine woman in her native tribe and steeped in the dark magic of that continent. Folk around here were convinced she was a witch and left her strictly alone, venmring to her shanty only when they needed herbs or medicine.

As I stepped into the clearing in front of the lake, a cloud passed over the sun, shadowing everything with gray. Superstitious folk would have taken this as an omen and shivered with apprehension, but I wasn't superstitious and I wasn't afraid of

Mama Lou. Once, years and years ago when I was a very little girl and not yet famfliar with the swamp, I had lost my way and was very frightened and Mama Lou had come and taken me by the hand and led me back home, never saying a word. She had ' 'seen'' me lost, I knew, and had come to my rescue. After that, I had often slipped off to visit her, fascinated by the wizened old Negro woman who had the sight and was so wise.

I could smell the herbs growing in the walled garden and the overwhelming scent of the poppies that grew in wild proftision behind the house. Folk marveled that Mama Lou was able to make so many exotic things grow in the swamp, said it was black magic. She used the herbs in making her medicines, used the poppies, too, and the bark of several trees. I approached the verandah, carrying the cheese and eggs, and the screen door opened. Mama Lou stepped out onto the verandah. She was not at all surprised to see me. She was holding a small brown glass bottle full of thick liquid.

"I has the medicine," she said.

She knew. She had been expecting me.

"I've brought you some eggs and cheese, Mama Lou. I saved the best eggs, and I made the cheese myself."

Mama Lou nodded grimly and examined me with piercing black-brown eyes that always seemed to see so much more. She was small and stooped and gnarled, with a bony, nut-brown face that was a network of overlapping creases and wrinkles. Her lips were barely visible, her chin a hard, jutting knob. She wore a shapeless flowered blue smock, much faded, and a pair of cracked brown leather slippers that were too large for her feet.

"You doan have to bring me gifts, chile," she said in her raspy voice.

"I wanted you.to have the eggs and cheese," I told her. "I— I would have brought some sugar, too, but there was just a litde left in the canister.''

"All these years little Dana comes to see Mama Lou. She isn't afraid of me like the others."

"You're my friend," I said simply.

Mama Lou nodded again, still examining me. Something seemed to be bothering her. One of her cats, an enormous, furry marmalade, came around the comer of the verandah and curled itself against her legs, looking up at me with visible hostility.

Ebenezer wasn't black, like the last one had been, but he was just as intimidating. Folk said Mama Lx)u's cats were her "familiars" and could transform themselves into different creatures. All witches had cats who acted on their orders.

"You knew I was coming," I said.

"Mama Lou knew.''

"Ma had a bad turn, and—"

"I has the medicine you came for."

"Ma—Ma's going to be all right, isn't she?"

She ignored the question, those black-brown eyes aglow as she continued to study me. Several long moments passed, and I felt vaguely uneasy, gripping the handle of the basket, tiny streams of perspiration dripping down my back. Mama Lou grimaced and, reaching out, lightly touched my cheek. Her fingertips were as soft as velvet and seemed to vibrate with power.

"You is growing up," she rasped softly. "You is no longer a chile. This is good. This will help."

"What do you mean?"

"You is strong," she told me. "Inside you have the hidden strength, the will to overcome. This will see you through."

Mama Lou nodded as though in agreement with herself, her head bobbing up and down, and then she shooed the cat away from her legs and gave me the bottle of medicine. I slipped it into the pocket of my skirt.

"The last bottle helped a lot," I said nervously. "She was able to get some sleep. I—I feel sure she'll get better."

Mama Lou's eyes were sad. She didn't say anything, and I was afraid to ask her any more questions. Some things you didn't want to know. You wanted to keep them a secret as long as possible.

"Come on in, chile," Mama Lou said gently. "They's honey cakes. You always did love Mama Lou's honey cakes."

She opened the screen door. Her old leather slippers flopped noisily as she shuffled slowly inside the shanty. I followed, setting the basket down on the littered worktable. It was cool and dim inside. Drying herbs hung from the beams overhead, and a tall shelf along one wall was filled to overflowing with boxes and canisters. There were two battered old bamboo chairs, a small leather-bound chest between them. Mama Lou lighted a candle in a battered pewter holder and set it down on the chest, settling herself into one of the bamboo chairs. In the flickering

candlelight I saw the strange masks hanging on the wall opposite the shelf. They were wonderfully carved and extremely ugly, one of them encircled with long dry grass like a lion's mane. The three savage faces seemed to grimace as the light wavered. They had been here ever since I could remember, and I wondered how Mama Lou had obtained them.

"You fetch the honey cakes, chile. Mama Lou doesn't get around as good as she did. These old bones are a-gettin' weary."

"I really don't want any honey cakes. Mama Lou."

"No," she said, "you wants to talk. Sit yourself down."

I sat down in the bamboo chair opposite hers, the candle flame leaping between us like a tiny yellow-orange demon trying to escape its captivity on the tip of the candle. Ebenezer jumped through the open window and perched on the sill for a moment, then jumped onto the old rag rug and marched over to sit at Mama Lou's feet. His yellow-green eyes glared at me, daring me to attempt any harm to his mistress. Through the window I could see that the cloud was still covering the sun, everything gray, dim, even though it was only midmoming. I looked at Mama Lou, and in the light of the candle her withered old face had a strange beauty, like one of the masks.

"Tell me, chile," she rasped.

"I—I've been having this dream, Mama Lou. I've been having it for some time now, and it—it's always the same."

She bobbed her head, waiting for me to continue, and I told her about the dream: the mist, the man I sensed was tall and handsome but couldn't see clearly, the great river nearby. I didn't tell her about the feelings I had when I woke up, for some reason embarrassed to speak of them. Mama Lou listened carefully, leaning forward in her chair, and when I had finished, she bobbed her head again, nodding.

"You has the sight," she said.

"The sight?"

"Everyone has it, chile, in one degree or another, only most folk, they's never even aware of it. It come and it goes, like a flash of lightning in the mind, and they just puzzled for a moment and forgets it."

"This dream—"

"It comes in dreams, too, chile, only most folk, they forgets they dreams as soon as they opens they eyes. Sometimes the