“He makes everything himself, including building this house,” Cobra informed Suave. “My mother convinced him a few years ago to get electricity. The television which was my grandmother’s and the cell phone I gave him are the only things in this house that use electricity.”
“You guys coming?” Prophet yelled from somewhere in the back of the house.
Cobra and Suave followed the direction of the voice to a tiny bathroom. Prophet stood in front of a high vertical wooden box without a door masquerading as a shower. In a corner of the room was an inside latrine. There wasn’t a face basin or any windows.
“He doesn’t use running water,” Cobra whispered in Suave’s ear.
“Mr. Suave, please take off your clothes and get in the shower,” Prophet instructed.
“I don’t think so.” Suave’s face turned ugly in anger. “Man, you funny or something?”
Prophet chuckled deep down in his throat, and Cobra roared with laughter.
“He’s going to give you a ‘bath.’” Cobra wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Just relax. Prophet has been doing this for years. I’ve gotten a few baths myself.”
Prophet weaved in and around Suave and Cobra in the cramped space, placing red candles all around the bathroom. “Cobra, please go back to the living room while I work.” He exited the bathroom into another room.
“That’s the kitchen. I think he’s finishing up the stuff he boiled for your bath when I called him,” Cobra explained. “Suave, please just do as Prophet says, and you will get better. Cool?”
Suave took a deep breath before he nodded. “But he better not try anything funny. I would really hate to kill the old man.”
Cobra grinned and walked back out into the living room, leaving Suave to get undressed.
Suave left all his clothes in a heap on the floor and gingerly stepped into the shower that came to his shoulders, glancing around skeptically.
“I’ll start in a minute, Mr. Suave,” Prophet said upon his return, lowering a big, heavy-looking plastic bucket on the wooden floor by the shower. He then went around the room, lighting the candles. He flicked off the light switch by the door, plunging the bathroom into darkness with tiny flickers of candlelight.
Suave’s heartbeat sped up. He hated to admit it, but things were getting creepy. “Hey, Prophet?”
“Not a word, Mr. Suave. I’m going to grab a chicken, and I’ll be right back.”
Why in heaven’s name does he need a chicken? Suave looked over the top of the shower and watched as Prophet left to return shortly with one of the fluttering birds. Prophet lowered the chicken into a bucket and covered it with a broad piece of wood.
“I’m about to start my work, Mr. Suave.” Prophet stood at the side of the shower, where Suave’s naked body was unseen by him. “I don’t want you to say or do anything that will disturb me or the spirits.”
“The what? Man, I’m getting out of here.” Suave began to tremble. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Pastor Ralph. Now Prophet was calling for more spirits. “Listen, Prophet, I don’t deal with spirits. I don’t like them, I don’t talk to them, and I sure don’t want anything to do with them. So, let’s just call this whole thing off.”
“Nothing to fear, my brother,” Prophet assured him. “These spirits will be here to protect you and get rid of the evil ones that are tormenting you. Just let me help you.”
Suave stared over the top at him with growing skepticism.
“I’ve been doing this since before you were born, Mr. Suave,” Prophet continued. “I have people from all walks of life coming to me for deliverance. If you don’t believe or trust me, then this thing won’t work. What is it going to be?” Black eyes peered at Suave.
An image of Pastor Ralph and Pat chasing him popped up in Suave’s mind. I need help. “All right, but please just make this quick.”
Prophet nodded and said, “Please turn around with your back facing me and stoop down.”
Suave did as directed, consciously crossing his hands over his groin.
“Hold your breath,” Prophet warned before pouring some warm liquid that smelled like rotten eggs all over Suave’s head. He began to chant in an unknown dialect as he splashed some of the nauseating mixture on Suave’s back.
With his eyes closed, Suave bit his lips, while trying to hold his breath to keep from throwing up.
“Please repeat the Twenty-third Psalm and don’t move.” Prophet walked away.
Suave mumbled some gibberish under his breath. He didn’t know Psalm One much less Twenty-three. If he wasn’t dealing with God, why would he want to read some book about Him?
“Now we make a sacrifice to you, the dark one, asking for thy protection,” Prophet’s deep voice seemed to echo around the small bathroom.
Suave, frightened when he heard the word “sacrifice,” jumped to his feet. He quickly spun around to see Prophet holding the flapping chicken by its neck, high into the air, with one hand, and a long, sharp knife in the other.
“Acaramba, Cabaramba, Dacaramba, Ecaramba.” The light from the candles reflected in Prophet’s beady eyes, giving the impression they were shooting fire.
Suave stared in shock as Prophet recited his version of the alphabet as he called on the spirits. “No no no, don’t—” Suave flinched and looked away when the knife sliced across the chicken’s neck, sending its head to the floor, the body still quivering in Prophet’s hand. Eyes closed tightly, Suave tried to swallow the bile that now filled his mouth.
“Spirit of the dark one, grant Mr. Suave thy protection! Protection!” Prophet yelled into Suave’s ear.
Suave’s eyes popped open, and he almost fainted when Prophet held the bleeding bird over his head, covering him in chicken blood.
“We need protection!” Prophet yelled, rubbing his hand that was smeared with chicken blood all over Suave’s
