Chapter 18 #3
Ma O studied me closely. “So, what trouble you bring me this time?”
I smirked, trying to dodge it. “Damn, I can’t just check on you without me having to be going through something?”
“Your father came here whenever he couldn’t sleep. You?” Her crooked finger pointed accusingly in my direction, a playful yet firm gesture. “You only show up when death starts breathing down your neck.”
My jaw tightened again, a grim acceptance of her words.
I leaned back in the old wooden chair, the weight of my troubles pressing heavily on me, and let out a long, tired sigh that felt like it came from my very bones.
"I gotta marry somebody I don’t really know,” I finally admitted, the words slipping out as if they were a confession. “Don’t trust her and probably won’t ever love.”
Ma O remained quiet, her features revealing little, but her pause carried the weight of someone who understood far more than she said.
I continued. “She’s the woman who’s supposedly carrying my child.” I rubbed my jaw slowly. “I don’t wanna marry her, though. But if that baby really mine, then I gotta do what I gotta do.”
“The bylaws,” Ma O muttered knowingly.
I nodded. “Right.”
She leaned in slightly, her sharp focus piercing through the haze of my turmoil. “So, you came here in hopes that I could stop that from happening?”
I hesitated, then produced a half-smile. “Well… yeah. If you can.”
That laugh of hers came out low and amused. “You are your father’s son.”
Ma O reached beneath the table between us and pulled out a small wooden bowl darkened with age and wear.
“Merge, my gift isn’t just for breaking curses; it’s for discernment. I see light where it hides and rot where it dresses itself pretty. Let’s consult the ones who see clearer than you.”
I frowned. “I ain’t here for no hocus pocus.”
She chuckled then leaned back. “Then what in the world are you doing in a conjure woman’s house, baby?”
I didn’t answer because she was right.
Ma O always was.
So, instead of arguing, I leaned back and watched as she worked. “Continue.”
The sound of her bracelets clinking together filled the still air as she leaned over the bowl, her movements deliberate and rhythmic. One by one, she dropped silver coins, dried herbs, and tiny bones from some creature I couldn’t name.
Then, in a voice so low it felt like it belonged to another era, she began to whisper. The words flowed through the room, heavy and ancient, evoking a sense of time before time itself. The air grew dense and the flickering candles around us seemed to lean closer to Ma O as if drawn in by her voice.
When she finally lifted her head toward me, her eyes appeared transformed. They no longer looked old but rather exhausted, like they'd witnessed too much life already.
“Merge,” she muttered softly, her voice tinged with concern, “you’re tangled in something unnatural.”
A sudden feeling of unease settled over me.
“You talkin’ about the surrogate?”
She nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Her expression took on a somber depth.
“That girl is carrying more than what was given to her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pressed, demanding clarity.
Ma O studied me for a long, drawn-out moment, before answering, “Not everybody around you is coming empty-handed. Some folks bring baggage… others bring hunger.”
She tapped the edge of the bowl once.
“And some carry blood that already belonged to you before they even set foot through your door.”
My brows furrowed deeper. “The hell does that mean?”
Instead of responding directly to that question, Ma O picked up a small notepad nearby and began scribbling something in a hurried scrawl, then slid the paper across the table toward me.
"If you want answers, go to that place Saturday… seven o’clock sharp.”
As I read the words, the frown etched deeper onto my face. “Emergency room on Claiborne? What the hell am I supposed to find at a hospital?”
A sly, knowing smile crossed her lips. “Not what… who,” she corrected, softly.
I stared at her, confusion still clouding my thoughts.
“Everything gon’ make sense that day. Don’t go too early and definitely don’t be late. Just be where I told you,” she urged.
“So that’s it? You can’t tell me nothing else?” Desperation laced my voice, wanting more than vague warnings.
Ma O shook her head slowly, her expression serious.
“If I reveal too much, your pride gon’ start interfering with your ears.
” She pointed a finger in my direction. “And men like you? Y’all only hear what doesn’t threaten your ego.
Sometimes God doesn’t show people the entire picture until they’re standing directly in front of it because if he did, half of y’all would run from your destiny before it ever had the chance to introduce itself. ”
The candles flickered again, as if agreeing with her.
I exhaled hard and then stuffed the folded paper into my pocket.
“Now go home,” she muttered, her voice suddenly quieter. “And keep your gun close.”
“You sensing danger?”
Ma O glanced toward the flame of a nearby candle, seeming to look beyond the flicker and into something unfathomable.
“I’m sensing movement,” she replied cryptically. “And movement usually means either blessings… or blood.”
Of course, she would answer me in riddles, leaving me with more questions than I arrived with.
I stood slowly, leaned down, and pressed a brief kiss to her cheek.
“Appreciate you, Ma O,” I said, my voice a confusing blend of gratitude and dread.
“Anytime, baby. Don’t be a stranger.”
As I moved toward the door, her voice flowed softly behind me.
“Merge… you always think you’re the hunter…”
I stopped at the threshold.
“But sometimes,” she continued quietly, “the thing you’re hunting already found you first.”
I turned slowly to look back at her. “You always gotta talk in riddles?”
A toothless smile flashed across her face, brightening her features. “Only when the truth is too heavy to swallow whole.”
I stared at her for a moment longer, absorbing the layers of wisdom in her words, before finally shaking my head in disbelief. Then, I stepped out into the thick New Orleans night, the folded paper burning in my pocket like a warning I wasn’t ready to understand yet.