Frances’ face was smoother than it ought to be for a woman so old, but more weathered than Malvina ever remembered it being. Her eyes looked tired to Malvina-not just tired, but troubled. Maybe angry. Or maybe neither, but something else with a smidgen of multiple others whirling about.
Malvina wanted to speak but didn’t. Neither did she look away.
“Put down that knittin’, old woman,” said Frances Latour. Malvina was so taken aback by the simple directness of the statement that she complied without thinking. It was Frances who’d cried uncle by speaking first, and Malvina felt sudden remorse that she had not done so herself.
Frances lifted a hand, then the other. There was something different about the hands, different but familiar. Something Malvina had seen or heard in a dream, now forgotten-but not forgotten…
The hands reached up to Malvina’s throat.
If her sister meant to kill her, Malvina would not stop her-she was ready. There
She doubted Frances even had the strength to strangle her or break her neck or do whatever it was she intended to do with those hands.
But the hands of Frances Latour slipped past Malvina’s throat. Past and around, fingers interlacing behind Malvina’s neck. Frances lifted a leg onto her sister’s lap, then pulled herself the rest of the way up, resting her head against Malvina’s bony shoulder with a sigh. Malvina placed her own arms around her sister’s thin waist, holding her tightly as her own eyes filled with water.
Malvina rocked Frances gently, effortlessly. Frances’ weight was insubstantial and caused Malvina no discomfort.
This was peace.
And with peace comes answers; and such answers are of sweet dreams, but not of dreams. The answers are only lost memories, recalled at last.
In this moment she sees clearly the sum of her life and of things that come after, the good and the bad of it all. A light shines on consequence both past and yet suffered, some near at hand and some farther along. Manman Brigitte has seen her through this journey in her roundabout and mysterious way, though the cost has been dear and the penance hard. There are trials still to come above ground, larger ones in which waters of green and brown must rear up to reclaim and cleanse through destruction for sake of new birth, to set things right by hammering down wrong, to reinvigorate the living through cruelty of death. She knows that a greater peace will come to those who survive the coming of deathly tide and for those who follow after, but first, but first…
Remembering: A message to deliver.
“
“Time for us to get on now.” She feels Frances tremble in her arms, just as she’d trembled in her arms as a small child so many years ago. Frightened of the dark, of things unknown. “Shhhh,” coos Malvina. “None of that, now. I’ll be with you shortly. That’s a promise, and one I intend to keep.”
A whisper in return:
“
Malvina holds Frances ever tighter, stroking her sister’s hair as she sings:
Chapter fifty-two. Clippings
VOODOO QUEEN MALVINA LATOUR DEAD AT AGE 100
Body remained undiscovered in Treme neighborhood for 10 days, says coroner
THE BODY of famed Voodoo Queen Malvina Latour was discovered in her Sixth Ward home on Monday. Badly decomposed, the Orleans Parish Coroner estimated that it remained undiscovered for up to ten days.
At 100 years of age, Miss Latour had become reclusive during the latter half of her life due to failing health. Malvina Latour had gained mild fame as the successor to the better known and more flamboyant Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, Marie Laveau. Miss Latour was the last of the great Voodoo Queens, an institution which has contributed significantly to the city’s tourism trade.
Miss Latour died with no surviving kin, her last living relation being a sister, Frances Latour, who died 53 years previously during the great yellow fever epidemic of 1853.
Services for Malvina Latour were carried out on Wednesday by Father Tony McFee, a Catholic priest, before a small group of neighbors and tourists at the Girod Street Potter’s Field. A light brunch was served afterwards featuring regional performers who donned Mardi Gras masks, danced with snakes, and played drums to commemorate the passing of this celebrated regional character.
STRIKES MOTHER WITH PITCHER
Thinking that he was being drugged by his mother, Charles Bolden, a negro, living at 2302 First street, jumped out of bed yesterday afternoon while in a state of dementia and struck her over the head with a water pitcher.
Bolden, who is a musician, has been sick for some time. His mother was by his bedside yesterday afternoon giving him what succor she could when suddenly his mind was carried away with the belief that she was administering some deadly drug to him. Grabbing the water pitcher, he broke it over his mother’s head, inflicting a scalp wound, which was pronounced not serious.
In all his years on this earth, Marcus Nobody Special could not remember a more beautiful sunrise.
Deep orange clouds hung low in a frozen swirl to the east, with elaborate spatters flung overhead like wisps of disembodied flame, the sky itself bruised and yellow in streaks as if from the brush of a brilliant madman. The swirl of clouds did not look natural to Marcus, or perhaps looked
