“Now, de beau’s lawful lady is come for someting to get e husband back. Well, I declare. I got to make a charm to fight a charm. Black hand is got to squeeze black hand. Dat ain’ no easy ting, gal. I got to study a minute.”
Then Mary told him July was not the only thing giving her trouble. Cinder had put a hand on everything in her house. The fire was conjured so it muttered and popped red coals out on the bare floor scorching black spots in the clean boards around the hearth. Food stuck to the pots. Water would hardly boil in the kettle. Wind flew down the chimney in hard gusts driving smoke into the room and fanning up the ashes, scattering them in the victuals. Her baby was in mortal danger too, for he cried out in his sleep, frightened by evil things he saw in his dreams.
“I’d like to kill Cinder, Daddy—kill em dead. If you’ll gi me a pizen I’ll feed it to em till e is stone dead.”
Daddy shook his head kindly. “No, honey, you wrong. Pizen ain’ to be trusted. Sometimes, it works backwards as well as forwards, you might be de one to dead. Hatin ain’ good for you, neither. It’ll pizen you breast milk an’ make you baby sick. It’s better to go easy wid conjure. You must stop frettin an’ bein scared. Keep you belly full o victuals, make you mouth smile, laugh an’ be merry if you can. Don’ never let people see you downhearted, or a-hangin you head, an’ lookin sorrowful. Dat ain’ de way. No. Mens don’ crave a sorrowful, sad-lookin ’oman. Don’ never let a man feel sorry for you if you want em to stick to you.”
He got up and went out of the door into the yard and Mary could hear him puttering around, scratching in the earth as if he were digging up something. Presently he came back smiling and poured her out a cup of tea from another one of the several pots boiling on the hearth.
“Drink dis, honey. It’ll do you all de good whilst I fix you someting to try. If July ain’ conjured too bad already e won’ never get shet o’ de spell we’ll work on em. I ain’ never seen no man get loose from a ’oman what wears dis mixtry. It’s de powerful-est one I knows.”
Daddy took a needle and stuck the little finger on her right hand and took a drop of her blood on a wisp of cotton. “You right hand is de strong hand, honey,” he said. “It’s de hand what catches an’ holds.”
Then he took a bit of skin from her left heel. “Dis is de foot what walks fastest, honey.”
A bit of toenail from a toe on her left foot was added to one hair plucked from her left armpit as near to her heart as she could get it. These were all mixed with some sort of conjure root and tied into a tiny scrap of white cloth with a string long enough to go around her neck. Daddy Cudjoe was excited. His eyes shone and sweat ran down off his forehead as he handed the bag to her with a high crackling laugh.
“Put em on, gal. Wear em day an’ night. If e don’ work, den I’ll quit makin’ love-charms for de rest o’ my life. Dat charm is a man. Great Gawd, yes. ’E’s a mans o monkeys, honey.”
As Mary took it her heart began beating violently. Lord, yes, she could feel it was strong! Now she’d hurry home with it, for July might by some chance come back on the regular boat this afternoon instead of waiting for the excursion boat tonight.
“How much I owe you, Daddy?”
“Honey, you don’ owe me a Gawd’s ting but a sweet smile. An’ I wish you all de luck in dis world. I hope you will get you husband back an’ keep em de rest o you life.”
The old man really seemed grateful to her for coming to him. Perhaps he was lonely, living so far off by himself.
“Come see me sometimes, Daddy.”
“Gawd bless you, chile, I’ll do it. But befo you go let me get you some fresh eggs to take home. When you eat em, hang de shells side de mantelpiece so de fire’ll keep em warm. Dey’ll make you hens lay good. Come look at some fine new layin stock shut up in a pen.”
He hobbled ahead of her toward the back of the cabin where a rickety hand-split clapboard fence enclosed a small yard. Taking down the props of the hingeless gate, he showed Mary six straw-necked pullets and a young cockerel.
“Dey’s fine, Daddy,” Mary praised.
“Is you like em?” he asked with pride. “I sent all de way ’cross de river an’ got em. Le me know when you got a hen settin an’ I’ll gi you a clutch o eggs for seed.”
A tall black rooster on the outside walked up close to the open gate, and stretching up his neck gave a long shrill crow. The smile left Daddy Cudjoe’s face.
He picked out a stick and threw it violently, stammering and spluttering and shaking his fist threateningly at the offending fowl, declaring that any rooster old as that ought to know how to settle down and behave himself. He had ten grown hens running loose outside with him in the open yard; all he could say grace over, to save his life; yet, instead of attending to his own business and helping those hens scratch and find worms for themselves and for the children they had for him, there he was, running up and down by that fence, peeping through the cracks at those pullets, calling them
