The Rebel's Revenge Page 13

  ‘Lot of Diabs goin’ around these days, Tyler said.

  According to Keisha, Sallie Mambo kept herself isolated from the sinful hubbub of modern civilisation. She lived in the forest, gathered herbs to eat and to prepare as medicine, communed with Loco and the other benign spirits and existed in a state of harmony with nature. As a high priestess, she was protected by a band of devoted followers who formed a tight ring around her and were picky about allowing visitors. A whole community had sprung up in the remote area she called home, whose job it was to keep her safe.

  ‘Will they see us?’ Ben asked. Privately he was wondering whether any of this was worth the effort. But if there was a chance that Sallie Mambo could shed light on the mystery of Peggy Iron Bar, it couldn’t hurt to give it a try.

  ‘I hope so,’ Keisha said.

  After an hour’s journey along one winding backroad after another, Keisha went quiet as she watched for landmarks. ‘You sure you remember the route?’ Tyler said. ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘Trust me,’ she said. Then a while later, ‘Here. Turn off here.’

  Tyler shrugged and pulled the truck off the narrow road onto a rough track. Now Ben could understand why they hadn’t used Keisha’s Mazda, as the Jeep bounced and lurched over ruts and rocks, shaking them all around inside. There was a lot of squeaking of suspension and something was clattering ominously from under the floor pan.

  ‘Is this ol’ beater of yours gonna hold together?’ Keisha said to Tyler. ‘It’s an awful long walk back if it don’t.’

  ‘It’ll hold together.’

  Ben thought, so much for the gift of prophecy. The moment the doubt had come into his mind, he scolded himself for thinking negatively of his generous hosts. They were committing a felony and risking serious jail time by helping him like this. He knew he would soon have to part ways with them, if only for their own good.

  The track led on and on, growing wilder and less passable with every mile. Tyler could handle the Jeep expertly, but even he seemed to balk at times when they had to negotiate massive knots of exposed tree roots that lay across their path, or had to squeeze under overhanging branches that raked the roof like giant claws trying to crush them. The forest was an eerie place, dark and forbidding. The trees were thick with creepers and drooping Spanish moss, some of their trunks so twisted and gnarled that it was easy to imagine them as looking like tortured spirits. The dense overhead canopy of foliage allowed only a shaft of sunlight through here and there, so that the bright afternoon turned into twilight.

  Nobody spoke for a long time. Then Keisha announced, ‘We should be gettin’ close now.’

  A prediction that came true minutes later when Tyler muttered, ‘Uh-oh,’ and brought the Jeep to a halt.

  Ben had already spotted them: four dark figures that seemed to have materialised from the shadows of the forest as if out of nowhere. Just as suddenly, they were joined by four more. They stalked silently through the trees and encircled the Jeep.

  ‘Y’all let me do the talkin’, okay?’ Keisha said.

  The eight were all African-American. Tall, lean, gangly, men with gaunt features and intense eyes. Mama Mambo’s personal guard of Voodoo devotees, though there was nothing particular about them to denote it. They weren’t wearing weird robes or necklaces of shrunken heads, and hadn’t chalked their faces to look like skulls to frighten away unwelcome visitors. Their means of intimidation was more direct and practical. Ben counted four twelve-gauge shotguns and four hunting rifles. The purposeful way they were clutching their weapons, they could have been a squad of irregular militia fighters. Ben found himself momentarily transported back to the jungle war zones of his past experience, and he felt a pang of vulnerability for not being armed.

  The men surrounded the Jeep. Their weapons stayed pointed at the ground, but they were ready to be deployed if a threat should arise. One of the men stepped up to the driver’s window. He took one hand off his rifle and made a circular motion for Tyler to wind it down, like a traffic cop who’d pulled someone over.

  ‘Lost your way, folks?’ the man said. He spoke in a rich bass voice. He wore a ragged baseball cap with the visor pulled low over his eyes and sleeveless vest that showed the glistening muscles of his arms and chest. The bolt-action Remington dangled loosely from his grip. He shot keen glances around the inside of the Jeep.

  Keisha leaned across the centre console to talk to him through the open driver’s window. ‘We come to see Mama Mambo,’ she said with a pleasant smile. ‘On account of our friend here. He needs help.’ She nodded in Ben’s direction.

  Eight pairs of suspicious eyes turned on Ben through the Jeep’s dusty back windows. It was clear what they were all thinking.

  ‘This cracka needs he’p, he go get it from his own people,’ the man said in his rumbling bass. ‘You folks done come to the wrong place. Now you gotta turn around and haul your asses back where you come from.’

  ‘Please,’ Keisha said. ‘I’m askin’.’

  The man shot another hostile look at Ben. ‘What kinda he’p he lookin’ for from Mama anyways?’

  ‘He’s in trouble.’

  The man shook his head. ‘We don’t want no trouble here.’

  ‘Come on, podnuh,’ Tyler said. ‘We come a long distance to see Mama Mambo. Don’t be turnin’ us away.’

  The man shook his head again, more emphatically. ‘Mama Mambo don’t see nobody. ’Specially not no strangers.’

  ‘I ain’t no stranger,’ Keisha insisted. ‘I met her once. She spoke to me. Laid her hands on me. I was called Keisha Beverote then. I was just a girl, but I reckon she’d remember me.’

  The man raised an eyebrow, as though he was not unimpressed, but remained suspicious and guarded. ‘Mama don’t see no one,’ he repeated. ‘She old.’

  This was getting nowhere. Ben decided he might as well join the conversation. Carefully opening his door he stepped out of the Jeep. A couple of the armed men raised their weapons to point his way.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said, and raised his open palms to shoulder height to show he was no threat. He turned to address the leader. ‘Listen to me. My friends here are putting themselves in harm’s way by trying to help me. They’re good people, and right now I’m in a situation where I can’t do without good people. I came to ask Mama Mambo a question. Just one question, that’s all. Then I’m out of here.’

  ‘What you wanna ax her?’

  ‘It’s about Charlotte Landreneau,’ Ben said. ‘The woman who was murdered two days ago in Chitimacha. And about someone called Peggy Iron Bar. I need to know who she was, and why she died. They tell me Mama’s the wisest of the wise. If she can’t help me with the information, I don’t know who else can.’

  The man’s hard gaze lingered on Ben for a protracted moment, then he chewed his lip and seemed to soften a little. At a wave of his hand the weapons pointing at Ben were lowered. He said, ‘Wait here.’

  With that, he and his seven companions retreated into the forest and disappeared as though they’d never existed.

  Ben leaned against the side of the Jeep and lit a Gauloise. Tyler and Keisha opened their doors and got out. ‘Protective, ain’t they?’ Tyler said. The sweat beading on his brow wasn’t just from the intense heat and humidity. ‘Holy guacamole, brother, you got some balls steppin’ out of the vehicle. I thought they was gonna shoot.’

  ‘You can’t blame them for bein’ cautious,’ Keisha said. ‘These are bad times we’re livin’ in.’

  ‘It’s not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me,’ Ben said. ‘And not the worst. They weren’t going to shoot. Like he said, they don’t want trouble. The weapons are just for show. Probably not even loaded.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Now what?’ Tyler said.

  Ben replied, ‘This might take a while. I’d understand if you want to get back to the kids.’

  ‘And leave you here alone?’

  ‘You’ve done more than enough for me already.’

  ‘Nonsense,
’ Keisha said. ‘We’ll wait right here with you. Besides, this might be the last chance I get to meet Sallie again. I couldn’t leave without speakin’ to her.’

  ‘If they let us in,’ Tyler said dubiously. ‘Ain’t lookin’ good, if y’all ask me.’

  Thirty minutes went by. Then an hour. Ben was ready to give up and say to Tyler and Keisha, ‘Okay, we tried, now let’s go back’ when he heard the soft crack of a twig in the shadows of the forest and turned around to see the men returning. The same eight, emerging from the trees like before and spreading out around Ben and his companions. Nothing seemed to have changed in their terse expressions.

  The leader stepped closer. Ben tried to read his face but could see nothing in his eyes. Tyler was probably right in expecting bad news. Ben was already planning forwards, trying to think what his next move could be.

  Then the man said, ‘Mama Mambo will see you. Follow us.’

  Chapter 23

  They left the Jeep on the track and followed the men through the forest. The long drive and the time spent waiting had consumed much of the day; what little sun filtered through the trees was beginning to fade as twilight approached. Keisha and Tyler walked together, clutching hands. Keisha’s nervousness was obvious, Tyler’s slightly better concealed under a mask of confidence.

  Ben quickened his step and drew level with the leader at the head of the group. ‘Let’s start over,’ he said. ‘My name’s Ben.’

  The leader gave him a sideways glance and after a moment’s hesitation reluctantly grunted, ‘Carl.’ Still full of suspicion, but a connection had been made. Ben left it at that.

  The beaten track wound on for some distance through the trees before they came to a circle of huts. No attempt had been made to create a clearing for the settlement, if that was what it was. The people who dwelt here lived in full contact with nature around them. The place reminded Ben of the tribal village he’d known in the depths of the Amazon jungle.

  As they got closer he made out a hut that was larger and slightly at a distance from the others. A young African-American woman emerged from one of the smaller huts, darted a glance at the strangers and waved shyly at Carl. He nodded back and she went running to the big hut.

  Ben had already guessed that was where they were all going, so it was no surprise when Carl ushered them inside. The dwelling was constructed like an ancient roundhouse or a primitive yurt, out of sticks and thatch. There was no door, just an open arch which Ben had to duck low to step through. The interior was dim and shadowy, and smelled of smoke from the fire that crackled in a circular hearth at its centre, beneath a stone chimney raised on blocks that went up through the middle of the roof. The other smell was harder to pinpoint and came from a bubbling cast-iron pot, like a small cauldron, that hung over the flames. The young woman Ben had seen outside hovered near the fireplace, stirring the pot.

  Carl said, ‘Mama, these are the visitors.’ His whole demeanour had suddenly changed and he spoke in a soft tone, like a devoted grandson.

  A crackly voice from the shadows replied, ‘Let them be welcome here.’ Blinking to accustom his eyes to the darkness, Ben followed the sound of the voice.

  Sitting on a simple mat of rushes in the dull flicker of the firelight, swaddled in a shawl, was one of the oldest women he had ever seen.

  Sallie Mambo’s features were like a dark, wrinkled prune and her hair was pure white. She wore a simple dress made of some rough material that looked like sackcloth. Heavy bead bracelets and charm pendants adorned her wrists and neck. Stepping closer, Ben could see the flames dancing in her eyes as she watched him with an intensity that belied her wizened face.

  She said, ‘Come, children, don’t be afraid. Sit close where I can see you.’

  Ben and his companions knelt close to the old woman. A small, thin hand reached out, the bead bracelet rattling, to touch Keisha’s cheek. Sallie nodded sagely and said, ‘I know you, girl.’

  The emotion was clear on Keisha’s face. ‘Yes, Mama. It was a long time ago, but I was hopin’ you’d remember me.’

  ‘Mama remember everythin’,’ the old woman chuckled.

  ‘Mama, this is our friend Ben. He’s the one that needs your help.’

  The old woman’s strangely penetrating gaze turned on Ben and seemed to drink every detail. ‘I can see that. Trouble be followin’ you, child. You got bad, bad juju. What is it you need from me?’

  Ben began by thanking her for seeing him. She just nodded graciously. He went on, ‘I need to know about a person who might have lived here in Clovis Parish a long time ago. Her name was Peggy Iron Bar. I think she might have been murdered, and it’s important for me to understand why, and by whom. I can pay money for information. Not a lot, this is all I have.’

  Sallie Mambo said, ‘Child, you can keep your money. I have no need for it.’

  ‘Will you help him, Mama?’ Keisha asked, close to a whisper.

  The old woman closed her eyes and fell into a deep silence, sitting slumped and so immobile that Ben was suddenly concerned she might have expired of old age at just the perfect moment. Then she reopened her eyes and fixed on him with a clarity and sharpness that were almost frightening.

  ‘Peggy Iron Bar,’ she said. ‘How’d you suppose a person could get a name like Iron Bar?’

  ‘I thought it was a nickname,’ Ben said. ‘Something to do with her personal strength, or her spirit.’ He added, with a smile, ‘Or else maybe her father was a blacksmith.’

  Sallie laughed, a sound like rustling paper. ‘That’s good. You’re a smart boy. But you’re missin’ somethin’.’

  ‘Tell me what I’m missing,’ he said.

  Sallie said, ‘See, Peggy Iron Bar go back a long, long time. Back in them days a lot of the negro folks was still second or third generation African. They still had their old surnames. Problem was, the white folks didn’t like to speak ’em. Like mebbe they’d get dirty sayin’ it. Or else because they couldn’t get their tongue around them strange words. Or mebbe they just liked controllin’ the poor negroes just for the hell of it. They’d already done robbed’m of their freedom and their dignity. Why not take away their identity too?’

  Ben was struck by the lucidity of her words. The logic was so obvious, he should have thought of it himself. ‘You’re saying Iron Bar is a corruption of her original African family name?’

  ‘Eyumba,’ Sallie said. ‘Peggy Eyumba. That was her name.’

  ‘Then you did know her,’ he said. His heart was beginning to beat faster. This could be the key to unlock the whole mystery. He glanced at Keisha, whose glowing expression was screaming out Didn’t I tell you?

  Old Sallie Mambo shook her head. ‘No, no, I never knew her,’ she said, and Ben’s heart fell.

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Hell, child, I ain’t that old,’ she said. She paused to click her fingers at the young woman, who came over to hand her the long wooden spoon she was using to stir the pot with. Sallie poked the spoon around in the boiling liquid, then brought it under her nose to sniff it before returning it to the mixture. Ben waited impatiently the long silence, sensing more was coming.

  ‘Met her sister, though,’ Sallie said at last. ‘Mildred. They was twins.’

  ‘Mildred Iron Bar?’

  ‘She’d gotten herself married and was Mildred Brossette when I met her. That was 1935. The year she passed, I reckon. Yes, that’s right. Long time ago. I was just sixteen. She was eighty-eight, a lot younger than I am now.’ Sallie found this amusing and gave another papery chuckle. She added, ‘Mildred was famous around these parts. Oh yes, real famous.’

  Ben did a quick mental calculation. Eighty-eight years of age in 1935 would make the twin sisters’ birth year 1847. He asked, ‘What did Mildred do to become famous?’ The thread of the conversation seemed to be wandering away from one sister to the other, and he could only hope this would lead to something.

  Sallie shook her head. ‘Didn’t do nuthin’. She weren’t famous for herself. For her twin s
ister Peggy. Peggy was a legend. Bin gone a long time by then, of course, on account of she’d passed so young. Back in the year ’seventy-three, I think it was. Most Southern white folks had quit talkin’ about her by the time I met Mildred all them years later. Didn’t take too kindly to what she done, I reckon. But black folks, they still talked about it. Sure did.’

  ‘Talked about what, Mama?’ Ben asked. ‘Why was Peggy Eyumba such a legend, and why didn’t the Southern white folks like her?’

  The old woman shot him a disparaging look. ‘Hell boy, don’t you know nuthin’ ’bout history? She helped win the war for the Yankees.’

  ‘She what?’

  If the twin sisters had been born in 1847, Peggy would have been just eighteen at the end of the Civil War in ’65. Ben had an absurd vision of a young black girl on horseback, leading a mounted charge against a fleeing horde of Confederate troops, the US Cavalry following in her wake, banners waving, sabres flashing.

  Sallie must have seen what was in Ben’s mind, because she shook her head in amusement. ‘No, child, she didn’t fight in the war. She was just a poor slave girl workin’ for a rich white plantation boss.’