Read Online The Lower Deep by Hugh B. Cave - Free Book Online
Authors: Hugh B. Cave
Tags: Horror
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mambos."
He took her in his arms again, this time without any hesitation. Kissed her again, thoroughly. Told her to be careful on the way back, and he would look for her to pick him up the following evening. "You know something?" he said when he was out of the vehicle and leaning in to kiss her good-bye after she slid over behind the wheel. "I think I'm falling in love with you, lady"
"And do you know something?" she replied. "I think I'd like it if you did."
She turned the Jeep around, and he stood in the middle of the dirt road, watched its solitary taillight dwindle to a drop of blood before disappearing. Then he walked to the gate.
It had been opened by a man who was apparently the gatekeeper. Beside that one, a middle-aged fellow in a black shirt and black trousers stood waiting with outstretched hand. "You are Dr. Spence, m'sié?" he asked in Creole.
"Yes, compère."
"Come with me, please. I am to take you to a caille that has been made ready for you." At least, that was what Steve understood him to say. The Creole varied in different parts of the island, and the man was obviously from some part Steve had not been in. The fact that his mouth was all but empty of teeth made a translation even more difficult.
As they walked across the compound together, the man continued talking, and Steve picked up snatches. "Will last a week" was one such frag ment. "Not leave" was another. Later, Dr. Steve Spence was to remember that walk and blame himself bitterly for not taking the time to question the fellow. Haste makes waste, he would remind himself. In this case, the proverb should have been "Haste makes horror."
He would probably not see anything very out of the ordinary in the short time he was to be here, Steve reluctantly had to admit when he walked about the compound later. True, there were more than a hundred persons present, including perhaps thirty women, but the ceremonies being held throughout the compound at present were apparently only preliminaries.
The later ones would be something else, without a doubt. Among the animals tethered for sacrifice were a huge black bull and the largest white ram he had ever laid eyes on.
At one of the night's events, however, he did see for the first time one of the fabled assotor drums about which he had heard so much. Nearly seven feet tall and played by a man on a platform, this was the largest, tallest, and deepest-voiced of all the voodoo drums. For more than an hour, entranced, he stood in the doorway of that particular peristyle and watched while the drummer filled the night with a rhythmic thunder.
Out of the dark came his houngan friend from the hospital—obviously a man of high standing, for at his appearance the thunder ceased for a moment while the player saluted him. That particular thunder, the houngan explained to Steve, was meant to awaken the gods or loa from their slum ber, wherever they might be, and summon them to La Souvenance. And they would come.
The faithful awaiting their coming were from all parts of St. Joseph, it seemed. In a country where travel was such a hardship, that seemed to say a lot for the power of faith. The houngan from the hospital, strolling about the compound with him now, introduced him to some of them. All responded politely to his greetings, though some were obviously startled to find themselves gazing at a white face.
From time to time during that eventful night Steve did return to his hut for a few minutes of rest and refreshment, though he had no intention of retiring while anything of interest was taking place. One look at the drinking water provided for him dissuaded him from tasting any. Green and slimy, it came from an ancient village well and probably would be fatal to anyone who had not built up an immunity to typhoid over the years. Instead, he sipped from a bottle of St. Joseph rum he had brought along, and sucked hard candy he had dropped into his pocket before leaving the hospital.
Then at daybreak, during a lull
He took her in his arms again, this time without any hesitation. Kissed her again, thoroughly. Told her to be careful on the way back, and he would look for her to pick him up the following evening. "You know something?" he said when he was out of the vehicle and leaning in to kiss her good-bye after she slid over behind the wheel. "I think I'm falling in love with you, lady"
"And do you know something?" she replied. "I think I'd like it if you did."
She turned the Jeep around, and he stood in the middle of the dirt road, watched its solitary taillight dwindle to a drop of blood before disappearing. Then he walked to the gate.
It had been opened by a man who was apparently the gatekeeper. Beside that one, a middle-aged fellow in a black shirt and black trousers stood waiting with outstretched hand. "You are Dr. Spence, m'sié?" he asked in Creole.
"Yes, compère."
"Come with me, please. I am to take you to a caille that has been made ready for you." At least, that was what Steve understood him to say. The Creole varied in different parts of the island, and the man was obviously from some part Steve had not been in. The fact that his mouth was all but empty of teeth made a translation even more difficult.
As they walked across the compound together, the man continued talking, and Steve picked up snatches. "Will last a week" was one such frag ment. "Not leave" was another. Later, Dr. Steve Spence was to remember that walk and blame himself bitterly for not taking the time to question the fellow. Haste makes waste, he would remind himself. In this case, the proverb should have been "Haste makes horror."
He would probably not see anything very out of the ordinary in the short time he was to be here, Steve reluctantly had to admit when he walked about the compound later. True, there were more than a hundred persons present, including perhaps thirty women, but the ceremonies being held throughout the compound at present were apparently only preliminaries.
The later ones would be something else, without a doubt. Among the animals tethered for sacrifice were a huge black bull and the largest white ram he had ever laid eyes on.
At one of the night's events, however, he did see for the first time one of the fabled assotor drums about which he had heard so much. Nearly seven feet tall and played by a man on a platform, this was the largest, tallest, and deepest-voiced of all the voodoo drums. For more than an hour, entranced, he stood in the doorway of that particular peristyle and watched while the drummer filled the night with a rhythmic thunder.
Out of the dark came his houngan friend from the hospital—obviously a man of high standing, for at his appearance the thunder ceased for a moment while the player saluted him. That particular thunder, the houngan explained to Steve, was meant to awaken the gods or loa from their slum ber, wherever they might be, and summon them to La Souvenance. And they would come.
The faithful awaiting their coming were from all parts of St. Joseph, it seemed. In a country where travel was such a hardship, that seemed to say a lot for the power of faith. The houngan from the hospital, strolling about the compound with him now, introduced him to some of them. All responded politely to his greetings, though some were obviously startled to find themselves gazing at a white face.
From time to time during that eventful night Steve did return to his hut for a few minutes of rest and refreshment, though he had no intention of retiring while anything of interest was taking place. One look at the drinking water provided for him dissuaded him from tasting any. Green and slimy, it came from an ancient village well and probably would be fatal to anyone who had not built up an immunity to typhoid over the years. Instead, he sipped from a bottle of St. Joseph rum he had brought along, and sucked hard candy he had dropped into his pocket before leaving the hospital.
Then at daybreak, during a lull
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