Sympathy

One particular excursion to New Orleans lasts longer than most of their trips. At first she is kept in her room, pacing like a cat, restless. When she is allowed to leave the rented flat, escorted as always, she marvels at the jazz, is entranced by the lounges and the beignets sold in the Vieux Carre.

One evening, her instructor takes her out of the flat and leads her through the streets on a path she has not previously taken. When they arrive at their destination, in a dimly lit corner of the city, there is already a small crowd assembled around the spectacle.

The spectators step aside, parting like water as she and her instructor move up to the front.

In the glow of several candles a voodoo queen holds up a doll, the size and shape of a corn dolly, with a lock of hair secured tightly to it with a red string.

“What is it?” the girl asks, but her instructor shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips.

She watches, silently, as the voodoo queen takes a pin and gently prods the arm of the doll. A yelp of pain comes from the audience and the spectator steps forward. Their hair is the same shade as that of the lock tied to the doll

The voodoo queen takes another pin and sticks it into the doll’s leg, with a small smile.

The man in the audience cries out again and clutches his leg.

The audience is abuzz with murmuring when the voodoo queen removes both pins, unties the hair from the doll, and hands it back to the gentleman, who quickly gathers it into his hands.

The voodoo queen bows to some hesitant applause.

“Je vais prendre sa revanche sur votre ex-amants, maris infidèles, les hommes qui trichent au jeu, si vous me donnez quelque chose en retour,” he announces.

When he begins pulling amulets from his belt and bargaining their prices, her instructor leads her away from the crowd and back to the flat.

They do not discuss the affair until they are seated in the parlour with their tea.

“What is the name of the performance we just witnessed?” he asks her.

“It is called Louisiana voodoo, or gris-gris,” she answers.

“And what kind of magic-,” he says the word disdainfully. “-would it be classified as?”

The girl thinks for a moment. “Sympathetic magic. Magic that acts upon a subject using an aspect of the subject.”

“And how does it relate to your resurrection?” he asks, then sips his tea while awaiting an answer.

She frowns, unable to form a response immediately. She recalls the principles they have discussed in her lessons.

“Something is required, in both voodoo and resurrection, from the subject, in order to have an impact,” she says. “Like the hair on the doll, or like using the same eyes in one body as in another.”

“Very good,” her instructor says, and offers nothing more.

“Is voodoo real?” she asks, after a long pause.

“It depends on your definition of real. If you are asking if superstition can influence a subject, the answer is yes. Whether or not the subject is physically connected to the doll or poppet, is another matter entirely.”

Her instructor leaves her alone, and the next day they take a train back to New York.

While there are other trips to New Orleans, the girl is not taken to see any more voodoo queens.

Text by Lucie MacAulay