Marybeth
A New Orleans Magick story
by Tal Greywolf
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*Jingle jingle*
Hear that?
*Jingle jingle*
That's old Marybeth coming this way.
*Jingle jingle*
You know Marybeth, don't you? Couldn't miss her for the world, walking down the
streets in her slow shuffling way, the beads and bangles around her neck making
a sound you could hear a block away. Skin black as the night, but with eyes so
green and piercing she could read your soul the way a child reads a book. Ever
humming, ever moving, the clothes she wore as bright as summer afternoons, she
was always doing something, keeping busy, giving her time to folks who ask.
Once she passed, though, the whispers would fly. She's heading towards the old
cemetery, talking with the dead. Witch queen. Voodoo queen. Gris gris woman,
spreading her magic. No one makes trouble for her, stay clear of her.
Was it true? Who knows? No one's willing to find out, not when Marybeth starts
chanting, or waving her arms as she talks out loud to the air. A crazy woman,
touched in the head. Most would think that when they see her sitting in
Armstrong Park, feeding the pigeons. Or would think she's homeless, shuffling
down the narrow streets of the Quarter.
Others knew better. In Treme, the neighborhood between the Quarter and the
Lower 9th Ward, folks were used to seeing her walking down the streets. Or
would stop and talk with her as she worked her garden, the only color along a
street filled with brown and black, the colors of decay and despair. Folks
would come to her asking for advice, and the older ones, the ones who had seen
her for years and years, they might whisper into her ear something. She might
smile, and shuffle off into the house, then come back with a little packet of
herbs in her hand. Or she might shake her head, mumbling to herself in Creole.
Marybeth? No one makes trouble for her.
*Jingle jingle*
Summertime in New Orleans. Sunshine pouring down on the city, heat and humidity
combining to smother activity, the idea of being outside pushed from the
thoughts. The sane stayed inside, venturing out only when necessary. Even in
the evening hours, the heat remained, a blanket that covered the region.
Marybeth slowly made her way along the streets, the sound of her shoes making a
clackity clack noise in counterpoint to the jingling of her beads. Slowly she
walked down the old streets, her movements almost random in nature, turning down
one corner, then doubling back and taking a different street. Aimless
wanderings, the walk of a lost, homeless soul.
She muttered to herself, fragments of conversation that seemed to make no sense.
"And a bay leaf," she said to herself, "dressed with no home to be. Lost ways,
lost life. Finding the white cloud of heaven."
A hiss came from an alleyway, and she broke off from her ramblings. A youth
stepped from the shadowy passage, tall and lean, with a look of hunger in his
eyes.
"Heyla, granny, let's see what you've got."
Two more youths stepped out, moving around to her sides. In the shadows,
Marybeth could see a fourth, the look of fear in his eyes.
The leader stepped closer to Marybeth, a false smile on his lips. "Granny
shouldn't be out walking these streets, don't know what you might run into,
right?" The other two laughed, reaching and grabbing Marybeth by the shoulders.
A switchblade appeared in the leader's grasp, and he held it up in front of her.
"All we're looking for is a little cash, and no one will get hurt."
The younger one spoke up. "Matt, don't do this. We don't..."
"Shut up!" the leader roared back. "You want to run with us, you'll do what we
say." He turned back to Marybeth and gave her a purely dangerous look. "Now,
give us your money and you walk away alive."
"Alive? What you know about being alive?" Marybeth's eyes flashed suddenly.
"What you know about living, learning, loving? You think you know these things?
You don't know nothing, nothing at all."
Thunder echoed in the air, a sudden gust of wind swirling around Marybeth. Her
hair flew upwards, giving her an aura of power, the other two letting go in
surprise. Her eyes became blood red, and her voice rang in the air as she
spoke.
"You take, and take, and never give to anyone. Friends, family, they mean
nothing to you. Not even life itself has meaning to you. Living like jackals in
the streets, stealing what you can, destroying what you can't. Making a mockery
of yourselves. Believing money and power to be all there is."
The youths tried to move, but couldn't, their muscles frozen in place. The
skies darkened, another echo of thunder rolling down the street. Marybeth stood
there, a dark demon with her arms held out wide, her hair now an angry halo
surrounding her head.
"Jackals and jackasses, braying down the streets, hearing the echoes of their
sounds." A sudden painful lance shot through the three youths, making them
collapse to the ground. Marybeth's voice boomed in their heads, the trumpets of
doom chorused behind her words.
"Learn to toil, to earn your keep, to serve others until your final days. Four
legs instead of two, hoofs instead of hands, the sound of your voices harsh in
your ears." The trio screamed in agony as their forms shuddered, twisted,
changed, hands and feet becoming hoofs, faces pushing out into muzzles, dark
horsehair covering them as they became mules. Muscles suddenly free to move,
they bolted and ran down the street, braying wildly as the storm overhead
started to break loose.
Marybeth turned and spied the fourth, shivering in fear at what had happened.
The anger inside of her vanished, dropping from her as the first drops of rain
splattered on the sidewalk. She walked over to the youngster, and touched his
shoulder.
"Aaah, the child," she said gently. "Your path should not have come this way,
to be with such as them. Bright spirit, the darkness of your past should have
taken you to others. Mother taken from you so swiftly, and you ran the wrong
way. But here you are, and here is where you should not be."
He looked up at her, fighting back tears. "Where... where should I be? I ain't
got a home, ain't got a family now," he said, choking on the words.
"Oh, you've got a home, you just don't know it. But Marybeth will get it
straight." Ignoring the rain, she reached into her bag, and pulled out a pouch.
She mumbled to herself, pouring out a bit of tan colored powder.
The youth watched her warily. "What's that for?" he asked plainly at her.
Marybeth looked up at him. "To send you home." Without warning the powder was
puffed into his face, making him cough violently. For a moment he looked angry,
then a blink; his expression suddenly dropping completely. The air wavered
around him like heat vapors and slowly he vanished, leaving Marybeth alone.
"Go home, child, where you belong. Go home."
*Jingle jingle*
Officer Thomas Rudd shook his head at the sight. Three mules seen running loose
down Elysian Fields in the storm, and it took an hour before they could get the
beasts under control. He looked at his partner and shook his head again.
"Man, can you believe that?"
Hal shrugged. "Who knows? Probably they got spooked from the storm and managed
to break down their stalls. I'm sure they'll be claimed by someone tomorrow,
all of the carriage companies keep track of their animals pretty closely."
"Yeah, you're probably right." Thomas slid into the driver's seat, Hal settling
in on the passenger side. "Besides, it's not our business any more, we've got
our own patrol to get back to."
Hal nodded. "Hey, I forgot to ask, how's Adam doing?"
Thomas smiled. "He's doing great, starts next month at Karr. Passed his tests
for the honor's program there."
"That's wonderful," Hal replied. "Bet that Patsy's really happy at that."
"Yeah, hard to realize he's only been with us for a few years." Thomas shifted
the car into drive and headed down the rain-slick street. "You know his mother
was killed, didn't you?"
"Drive-by shooting, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, a mess. I was the first on the scene, found him crying over her. Guess
it affected me, and it's still affecting me. Sweetest boy you could ever want.
We've tried hard to have a kid of our own, but when I found Adam, we just
responded."
"At least he had a chance for a new life," Hal pointed out. "A lot of kids
don't even get that much."
"Yeah, you're right there." Thomas turned onto S. Claiborne. "Lot of these
kids don't even get that much of a chance for a life."
*Jingle jingle*
Marybeth watched the police car pass her by, and smiled to herself. "Home where
you belong," she mumbled, and shuffled slowly down the street, humming to
herself.
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Marybeth
copyright 1998, 2015 Tal Greywolf
all rights reserved