“I’ve just been hungry, that’s all. Stress from papers and exams and Model UN, you know?” Laila remembered that response verbatim, almost as if Amara had rehearsed it. Amara paused and shot a glance at Laila, whose hands were now on her hips.
“I understand you’re in college, but you have responsibilities here too, Amara. You’re my goddaughter. Think about how this reflects on me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Okay.”
“Do I have enough time to eat my biscuit? I bought one for you.” Amara raised her Popeye’s bag, and all three of them laughed.
“You know what, stay here. I have to make a run right quick. I’ll be back. Don’t you move,” Landon said.
“I won’t.”
When Amara saw that Landon and Laila were leaving together, she stared inquisitively and mouthed a question to Laila as to what was going on when their eyes caught each other. Laila smiled and shook her head, indicating that it was nothing important, and Amara nodded.
Landon checked to see if there were any parishioners hanging around the block as soon as they exited the church. When the coast was clear, they walked to the corner of 134th and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, where he hailed a cab. They made their way to West 145th and Frederick Douglass Boulevard, and Laila took a deep breath. A large wreath of gooseberries in green, burgundy, and cream foliage adorned the front door of a brownstone on a quiet, picturesque block. A sienna-colored rug with the calligraphic letter M bold and centered lay on the porch. Fleur-de-lis spearheaded the wrought-iron gate that made the entrance inaccessible, the only brownstone of the entire row that bore this feature. Since Landon was on the side nearest to the sidewalk, he exited first but closed the door in Laila’s face before she could leave the car. She didn’t know whether or not to move, so she watched the meter run. She heard Landon’s voice and that of another woman conversing with each other. Moments later, Landon returned from the brownstone with a few bills in his hand and opened the door for Laila.
Standing in a pin-striped dress with pumps and a set of pearl earrings, Josephine was at the threshold of the entrance with that same lovely smile adding even more luster to her appearance. As soon as Laila reached the top step, Josephine gave her a large hug that caught both her and Landon off guard. She pressed a hand on Laila’s shoulder to guide her inside, and the two women turned their backs on Landon, who was not permitted within the intimate space and bond that they shared with each other. This separation was made quite clear when he followed them both into the living room and Josephine eyed him down until he backed out into the hallway.
There was a ceramic pot of tea along with two cups placed in the middle of the coffee table. Josephine sat on an upholstered chair and Laila on the living room sofa. As Josephine fetched some sugar, honey, and milk from the kitchen, Laila admired a large painting of three women—including Josephine and what looked like her mother and sister—and a child hanging above the fireplace. The living room was aesthetically pleasing, with its warm-colored design, books, and furniture, but there was something off that Laila could not quite place. The floor-to-ceiling window curtains rustled slightly, but the air was so stale that her eyes watered. There were small holes in random spots on the walls, but they weren’t large enough for any rodent to crawl through.
When Josephine returned, Laila sat upright even more and smiled.
As Josephine poured the tea into Laila’s cup, she said, “This is rooibos. It’s great for pregnancy.”
“Thank you.” Laila sipped her tea and placed her cup on a coaster. “Josephine, I have to be honest, I’m a skeptic about all this, and we don’t know each other.”
“I know. I just . . . wanted to help, that’s all. It’s not often that we help people from the community and—sorry—” Josephine waved her hands in front of her. “I’m saying too much, pardon me.”
“It’s okay. Does it work? Does it really work? Please don’t lie to me.” Laila half frowned and leaned back in her seat to prepare herself for what she expected to be a disappointment.
“Of course it does,” Josephine said. “I’ve been doing this for years, trust me. It’s for protection and healing. If you have an illness, you’ll be cured. You got a wound, it’ll get better. You have a baby in utero and—”
“I get it. I get it. And so I—I guess you . . . cut yourself? I mean you literally”—Laila held out her arm and made a diagonal motion across her skin—“cut yourself and give me a piece of you? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You cut yourself each and every time? Why can’t you just cut pieces off it ahead of time to save the trouble for yourself?”
“The caul needs to be kept close to the body. So when we cut, it needs to be transferred to another’s skin as soon as possible or it’ll lose its potency.”
“Oh. And I . . . wear it like a necklace?”
“You can. We’ve heard from previous clients that it’s the easiest place since you always know where it is.”
“Do I take it off in the shower?”
“I wouldn’t. We encourage people to keep it close to their bodies at all times.”
“And it can only be used for me, or can I take it off and give it to someone else?”
“Why would you want to take it off? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of why you bought it in the first place?”
“True.”
“But to answer your question, the caul and its properties bind to the first person it’s given to. It could theoretically work on someone else, but it may be less effective.”
“And what happens to you?”
Josephine was in the middle of sipping her tea when she inadvertently burned her bottom lip at the question. “What
