Save the Universe Inc. Chapter Two

Simplicity and routine describe my life before the storm.  How I miss that even now!  Mama and I lived in New Orleans with Granny in our tiny two bedroom rental.  It wasn’t much, but Mama’s and Granny’s love enveloped me in warm security.  I never noticed our poverty.  Where I lived it was the norm.  Our meager home kept me safe me from the harsh world of New Orleans crime and with the help of family, sustained me.  

Inside our home bright orange and yellow throws hid stains on our second-hand furniture.  I loved the way my body sank into the sagging seats, and if there were spills, Granny just popped the furniture covers into the wash.  We kept our home tidy, but we never had to be careful with fine furnishings because we didn’t have any.  Our days seemed easy and quiet then (no bratty little boys screaming all over the place). 

Mama worked.  Granny cooked and took care of me.  In my old life, I did my chores, went to school and hung out with friends.  It filled my needs perfectly. 

Since Granny watched over me while Mama was working, she butted into my life whenever she saw fit.  I loved old granny, but we had our differences.   I liked to stop with my friends for a soda and pommes frites on the way home from school.  If I was too late or talked back to Granny, I surely got a scolding.  Granny could talk on and on when she thought I needed correcting, and Heaven help me if I didn’t listen respectfully.  She expected to hear “Yes, Ma’am” with no rolling eyes after she finished (come to think of it, Auntie Tess was a lot like her mother). 

      It was Granny who warned me about Mrs. Bouvier’s shop.  Mrs. Bouvier had a little Magic shop that I passed almost every day.  When I asked Granny about it she said it was all black magic and work of the Devil.  She told me to stay away from Mrs. Bouvier’s shop or God would punish me. 

      At the end of a street filled with bars and fast food joints, a neon blue sign hung over a small store front printed with the words, “Magic”.  Every time I saw the sign, my body would tingle.  When I glanced into the window, I could see all sorts of amulets, crystals and potions in cluttered piles within the window.  According to the signs, these items could ward off evil or make your wishes come true.  Little voodoo dolls in a dark corner seemed to grin at me.  Something about the place gave me cold shivers and yet, I always stopped to look.   

      In my head I heard Granny’s words, but curiosity overpowered the warning.  One windy rainy summer day, Ms. Bouvier saw me look into her shop window and invited me in.  I jumped when I heard her voice.  Granny’s warnings suddenly sounded loudly inside me.   I expected the Devil to pounce on me and swallow me up, but he didn’t or at least, not yet.  Thinking I really shouldn’t, yet feeling as if a tractor beam tugged at me, I slowly entered the shop with my heart beating ninety miles a minute.  I could barely breathe and thought I’d  pass out or fall down dead at any second.                                                                                                                           

As I stepped inside, I expected to see more musty clutter, but it was really tidy and smelled sweetly of a fragrance I couldn’t quite identify.  Behind the counter I saw a curious-looking woman.  Her smiling face, white hair, short stature and round body reminded me of a dark-skinned Mrs. Santa Claus.  She stood on tiptoes leaning across her counter to stare at me.  It’s hard to say how old she was.  She might have been Granny’s age.  Her face had as many wrinkles, but unlike Granny, an electric energy seemed to radiate from her body. I could feel it right away.  That energy permeated the shop and penetrated my body.  I couldn’t tell if it originated from her smile or her eyes.  

She was obviously of African descent with her dark skin and short kinky hair.  Her chubby little body was considerably shorter than mine, and I am only five feet one inch tall!   I felt drawn to her, yet my fear wouldn’t calm down.  Her scrutiny felt like an inspection.  Would she stamp me “grade A”?  Neither of us spoke. 

Sounds of electricity filled the shop.  I could hear a loud humming that reminded me of telephone wires.   The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, as I waited for the devil jump at me from one of the dark corners.  My heart continued pounding in my chest, and I wondered if she could hear it.  Did she sense my fear?  Did she know I half wanted to run out of that shop and continue running until I reached home if only my legs could move?  At that moment time had stopped.  I stood for an eternity.  She smiled and moved towards me.  I made an effort to relax but was still on edge.  I noticed her long silky caftan.  The ovular sparkly designs on a black background moved as she walked.  The patterns made me think of galaxies soaring through space.  As she approached me, the swish-swishing of her robe had a calming effect on my nerves.  I relaxed a bit and realized the scent in the shop was some sort of incense.  The smell made me feel light-headed and dizzy.  Perhaps she had enchanted me.  As if she could read my thoughts, Ms. Bouvier assured me that no harm would come to me and that I needn’t feel frightened.  Her soft voice had a trace of French accent.  I thought perhaps she might be Creole.  I attempted to speak and realized that my dry throat prevented that.  So I stood there and stared rather rudely with my mouth hanging open waiting.

Mrs. Bouvier offered a generous amount of New Orleans hospitality towards me.  With a beaming smile, she came around from the counter and beckoned me to sit beside a little table near the wall. She stepped inside a curtained doorway and reappeared with a teapot, a covered basket, two cups and two plates which she placed on the table.  When the woman uncovered the basket, the sweet aroma of warm beignets replaced the scent of incense and awakened my hunger.  She pushed the basket towards me.  The smell of the pastries made me hungry.  Mrs. Bouvier poured me a cup of tea and filled my plate with beignets. I began to relax and conversation flowed as we ate and drank together. Eating helped me loosen my tongue.  Mrs. Bouvier wanted to know all about me.  She leaned towards me and listened as if not to miss a single word. I described my home with Granny and Mama. Then she shared a little about her life.

      “I come from Haiti.”   As I listened to her lilting rhythmic voice I closed my eyes. I found myself in a small Haitian fishing village. Soft tropical breezes swirled about me while ocean waves splashed against the sand.  I smelled the salty air and heard the shouts of villagers as men loaded their boats with fishing nets.  Among the people in my picture stood the young Ms. Bouvier helping her husband with his fishing gear.

      The scene shifted. I saw Ms. Bouvier awake in a cold sweat. “Maurice,” she implored, “don’t go out today.  Stay home with me.  I fear for you if you leave.” 

      The young man held his wife and smiled.  “Don’t fret, Cherie.  Kiss me for luck.  I will stay safe.  You will see my catch will be plentiful.  Soon we shall have saved enough money for a larger home.  We can plan for a family.  Go back to sleep and dream.”In spite of the warning, Mr. Bouvier went fishing. 

      Mrs. Bouvier reached out her arms as she watched her husband leave; his heavy boots clopping across the dirt floor of their hut.  She tried to sleep more, but the terrible scene of the boat capsizing and her husband drowning returned when she closed her eyes.

      Later, she heard the cries of the villager, and she knew.  He was dead.  They carried his body to the beach. Ms Bouvier screamed, and fell into deep mourning.  When she recovered a bit, she decided  to leave her island home.  She retrieved the box where she and Maurice stored their savings, and purchased a ticket to America.  After saying goodbye to her family and friends, Mrs. Bouvier came to New Orleans, a city where people practice magical arts.

      When Ms Bouvier talked about her husband her eyes got a faraway look, but when she spoke about magic, her face came alive, and the electricity buzzed loudly.

      She told me that the world was a magical place, yet most people knew nothing about it.   Keeping it hidden became necessary.  In the wrong hands magic could create much evil.  I involuntarily shuddered upon hearing that.  She continued explaining that anyone could do simple magic if they wanted to, but some folks had a gift for it and could do amazing things.  These people were special and blessed.  Again, my body shook.

      I wasn’t sure how to think about what she was telling me.  My brain was on the verge of short circuiting. Granny thought magic was evil.  I respected Granny, but Ms. Bouvier seemed so kind and sincere.  Why, I asked myself would she speak of evil practices?

      She said she came from a family of magical women.  In her family, the mother passed down magical knowledge to the youngest daughter.  Ms. Bouvier, being the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, had the potential to create very strong magic.  Mother and child studied together until the daughter became more powerful than her mother. The bristles on the back of my neck stood up even more upon hearing this.

      I told Mrs. Bouvier that Granny thought magic came from the Devil and was a sin.  “Why child,” she smiled, “it’s not a sin at all.  It’s a blessing from God, a gift to use if you are properly taught.  Of course, you have to use it carefully or it can turn on you”.  Her words confused me, but I knew two things.  First, it would be best not to mention anything more about Mrs. Bouvier to Granny or Mama.  I also knew that I wanted to come back and hear more, but just to be safe; I looked around to make sure no demons lurked in the corners.

       It felt as if Mrs. Bouvier had been giving me lessons to which I needed to pay attention even though I didn’t really understand why.  She told me while tapping my head with her finger that one had to be very careful about using magic.  I sat taller and listened more attentively.  I heard all sorts of axioms of magic that I only partially understood, yet I nodded politely as she told me more. 

      Making magic provided special challenges. You couldn’t interfere with destiny (whatever that meant), but you could fix certain problems when necessary.  Finally, I mustered up the nerve to ask a question.  I asked how one determined the difference between interfering and helping.  “My child, you must be carefully taught by a good teacher.  Then you have to rely on your imagination to show you the way.  That’s why we keep it hidden from most folks.   Few people have the talent to follow the truth. 

      I didn’t really understand what she meant, but I was afraid to hear more.   I changed the subject. I asked her if the potions she sold in her shop violated one of her “divine laws” since they promised to change people’s fate. “Oh, pah”! Those things are harmless.  I sell them to give hope to their users.  Hope is the only magic they possess. ”

      “Don’t you feel guilty about deceiving your customers?” I asked without wanting to look into her eyes. 

      “Honey child, I am giving them a great gift.  They come to me in despair, and I give them the faith that things will work out.  I have no misgivings about that.  Real magic is something else.  Its power lies beyond anything you can imagine.  We always look for the special ones who are ready for training.

 “What special ones?”  I felt my heartbeat accelerate again and wished I hadn’t asked that question.        

“Some people come into this world ready to practice magic. Others, whom we name the “special ones”, receive a call when needed.  Teachers look for signs so we can recognize our new apprentices when they find us. Then we must teach them everything we know.” 

      There must have been a reason why she told me all this.  Did she think I could do magic?  I didn’t dare ask out loud for fear of hearing something I didn’t want to know.  Certainly, I didn’t possess any magical powers.  Anyway, magic didn’t really exist; right? 

Eventually, Mrs. Bouvier said, “As much as I enjoy your company, you must go home now.  A strong storm heads our way.  When she said that, I heard rain drops pelting the roof.   I agreed.  I needed to hurry on home.  Granny would worry and fuss if I returned any later.  I certainly didn’t want to explain about my visit with Mrs. Bouvier.  As I left, Ms. Bouvier took my face in her hands and looked straight at me.  My whole body heated up as she did that.  Afterwards, she smiled with satisfaction.  “The next time we meet, Lucinda, you’ll understand.  Look for me when you are ready.” 

I left the shop feeling puzzled.  What did Ms. Bouvier mean?  It was as if she were telling me something in a foreign language that I didn’t speak, and yet, I kind of wanted to learn it.  My curiosity grew as I walked home.  Thoughts of magic whirled about my head as unsettling as the violent rain and wind that blew my coat open.  I barely noticed the weather as I braved the storm within my head.

I came home soaked.  Mama had already returned from work.  She and Granny sat in front of the TV with grim concentration.  Instead of the scolding I expected, Granny released a huge sigh and said, “Thank God!  We worried about you being out in this weather!  Come sit with us”.  Relieved at not receiving one of Granny’s “lectures”, I sat down on the sofa between the two women.  None of us even noticed my dripping wet clothing.  A news commentator said something about a hurricane alert.  We had them all the time in the summer.  I didn’t usually pay much attention to those reports, but as Mama and Granny watched their brows wrinkled with worry. 

“Lucy”, said Mama with a scratchy voice, “the news says a big one is headed our way!”  I shivered and snuggled closer to Mama.  Granny said that we didn’t dare leave home.  So we listened to the news and waited. 

When the hurricane blew into New Orleans, we lost electricity.  Too afraid to leave the house, we stayed huddled by our battery operated transistor radio.  The fridge stayed closed as much as possible so the food in it could keep for a while.  We sat together and watched like the children in the Dr. Seuss story.  Your mind can imagine a lot of terrible things when you wait helplessly like that. 

      Outside, powerful winds and floods tore up our neighborhood.  Granny and Mama prayed a lot.  I did too.  I also thought about Ms. Bouvier.   I decided to pray for her safety too.  I needed to see her again.  I imagined her eyes as I prayed.  They held a secret about my future. 

Those eyes didn’t warn me about Granny’s death or that Mama and I would become homeless.  After the storm, Mama and I left for Minneapolis at the invitation of Auntie Tess.   I never went back to Ms Bouvier’s shop in New Orleans.