Growing
up in the '70's, Geoffrey Holder was a fixture on the TV set as the pitch man
for 7-Up, the uncola. What most people don't realize is he was recreating a
character he had brought to life in the James Bond
thriller, Live and Let Die. Geoffrey Holder didn't have to do
much to thrill me. All he had to do was smile his engaging, Cheshire cat smile,
speak in his Trinidadian calypso accent, and doff his panama hat while sipping
a 7 Up as if it was the elixir of the gods. I was even more mesmerized by his
no-holds-barred performance as the villainous Voodoo witch doctor Baron Samedi
in Live and Let Die. The way he danced across the screen with his
writhing, twisting movements so typical of West Indian performers I had grown
up with in the Virgin Islands ignited in me a life-long fascination with the
history and culture of the West Indies.
 |
| Geoffrey Holder as Baron Samedi in Live and Let Die (1973). |
Geoffrey Holder
was the perfect foil for James Bond. While Bond reflected the posh, orderly
world of Great Britain, Holder typified the exotic, mystical world of the
Caribbean. His performance as Baron Samedi made such an impression on me that
it continued to haunt me decades later. When I decided to write "Island
on Fire", a novel about the eruption of Mount Pelée in Martinique, I knew
I had to include voodoo in the story. Even in the 21st century, voodoo is an
inescapable part of life in the Caribbean. From Cuba to Haiti and down to
Trinidad, black magic and superstition still affect day-to-day life. In
Martinique, the discovery of ritualistic voodoo objects in the public square
still makes headlines in local newspapers and is the source of much fear and
anxiety among the population.
 |
| Even today, voodoo ritualistic objects can still be seen in Martinique. |
I felt that any novel set in Martinique had to contain a voodoo
theme. Quimbois, as voodoo is called in the French West Indies, has existed for
centuries. I based my character, Gaston Faustin Jacquet, aka the Grand Zamy, on
an actual voodoo sorcerer called the Gran-Zongle who terrorized the island in
the 50's and '60's with his lethal brand of voodoo that allegedly killed up to
402 people. His killing rampage was finally put to an end when he committed
suicide in 1965 due to remorse. The voodoo scenes in my novel are based on the
work of two French investigative journalists who documented the practice of
voodoo in the French West Indies in a shocking exposé. While my novel is
fictional and the characters are products of my
imagination, I based the techniques on eye-witness testimony. Please read a
sample from "Island on Fire", where natural disaster, black magic,
and political intrigue collide in a brand new work of historical fiction.
 |
| The Gran Zongle was a real voodoo quimboiseur in the 1960's who may have killed up to 402 people with his particularly lethal brand of black magic according to his suicide note. |
Emilie
found the shop easily. The sign read, “GASTON FAUTON JACQUET, HERBALIST AND
HEALER.” After leaving the carriage, she collected her nerve, but all
she could see was Sister Marie’s stern but loving face flashing before her
eyes. She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but pushed it away and continued
with her plan.
Pushing
open the door, she entered the shop. Almost immediately she spotted a handsome,
well-dressed older gentleman with stern eyes, tufts of white hair, and an
imposing presence sitting behind an imposing mahogany desk. He was writing in a
ledger with neat, elegant script, but as soon as she entered, he fixed his eyes
on her, as if sizing her up. She felt slightly uneasy, but browsed around the
shop for a few minutes, pretending to peruse various objects. Bu when the
pounding of her heart became too great, she turned and was halfway to the door
when a deep voice called behind her: “Bonjour mam’selle, may I help you?”
Emilie
stopped short, her heart pounding. Slowly, she turned and said, “Thank you,
monsieur; I was just…ah…just looking.”
The
gentleman invited her to continue browsing with a gracious smile that disarmed
her. He was smooth in his manner and handsome enough to beguile her. She walked
around the store with as much casualness as she could muster, as if browsing
through the shop of a notorious voodoo witch doctor was the most natural thing
in the world to do. From time to time she would catch him studying her while he
pretended to be perusing his ledger books. He had an almost paternalistic
quality about him, but he was suave and elegant to a fault. Although she
couldn’t say for certain, she was sure the man behind the desk with the
penetrating eyes and wizened face was the Grand Zamy. She had a strong
intuition about it. Was this handsome, kindly gentleman the infamous
quimboiseur who held the people of Martinique in his grip?
Emilie
turned to meet his gaze. He smiled, showing a row of gleaming white teeth, yet
there was nothing particularly friendly about his smile. As she continued
browsing through the store, Monsieur Jacquet’s eyes followed her every move.
But Emilie sensed another quality lurking beneath the surface. Whether it was
cunning or deviousness she couldn’t say for sure. There was something haughty
and domineering about him, as if he could see right through a person to his
core and then use his cunning to control him.
The
store was unlike any other Emilie had ever seen. There were rows of bottles
filled with various contents such as scented oils, herbs, powders, bone
fragments, dried insects, flowers, holy water, eau de cologne, roots,
snakeskins, berries, nuts, and desiccated chicken feet. Each bottle was labeled
with a yellowed parchment on which mysterious symbols were written that could
have been Latin, Greek, Arabic, or Kabbalistic. There was also a large
assortment of candles in various colors and sizes, talismans, crucifixes,
charms, rosaries, statues of saints and African deities. On one wall there were
pictures of saints with eyes that looked curiously alive. It was enough to make
her skin crawl, but she had come too far to back down.
The
Grand Zamy laid down his fountain pen. “Is there something I can do for you,
mam’selle?”
“I
uh—” Emilie froze.
He
leaned forward and urged her to continue with a kindly, paternalistic voice.
“I…uh…need
some help,” she said, feeling strangely awkward.
The
Grand Zamy motioned toward a chair. “Please sit down, mam’selle. What is your
name? Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.”
Emilie
slithered into the chair and met his gaze. His face looked so normal, so
paternalistic, almost like a kindly grandfather. She could hardly believe this
well-mannered gentleman was responsible for so much death and turmoil, most of
which was only spoken about in hushed tones. She had heard a rumor from
Victorine that his first wife went insane and was shut up in the lunatic asylum
on the Rue Levassor, although no one knew for certain. She simply disappeared
one day, and the sisters of Saint-Paul de Chartres who cared for the patients
were notoriously tight-lipped about the patients. But Victorine’s face went
grim when she told Emilie that no one had ever seen or heard from his wife
again. But that was many years ago. Most people had forgotten about her.
No one knew precisely what went on inside the stone walls of the asylum,
although some people claimed they heard screams in the night. Others told stories
about restraining chairs and other forms of torture. Victorine said she had
heard of people who were poisoned by him. And some who were turned into
zombies. It was all terrifying to Emilie. Adding to the mystery, everywhere he
went he was trailed by an alluring servant girl, even when he went to mass each
morning. The exact nature of their relationship was always the subject of
gossip and innuendo. Still, Emilie reasoned that this sinister character was
her best chance for breaking free of Lucien.
“Bonjour,
my name is Emilie Dujon and I have a problem.” As she spoke the Grand Zamy
fixed his eyes on her, as if he was hypnotizing her. She shifted in her seat
and continued, “You see, I’m engaged to a man who is unfaithful…” She paused
for a moment to let that sink in. The Grand Zamy nodded, sphinxlike, and urged
her to continue. “Since I no longer love him or wish to marry him, I must find
a way to end our engagement without causing a scandal.”
The
Grand Zamy leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “So, if
I understand you correctly. You’re engaged to a man you do not wish to marry.”
“That
is correct.”
The
Grand Zamy regarded her through narrow slits. “Does this man love you?”
“Yes,
I believe he does, in his own way.”
“But
you don’t love him.”
Emilie
shook her head. “No.”
“Then,
mam’selle, you have a serious problem indeed.” The Grand Zamy closed his eyes
and rubbed his forehead, as if deep in concentration. “Let me think for a
moment. Love, you see, is a powerful emotion. Once it takes hold it is very
hard to uproot. But there are certain herbs that can help mitigate the
situation, provided of course you use the correct mixture and in the correct
dosage. Luckily for you I have great experience in these matters. As you can
see I have a well-stocked laboratory.” He motioned toward the shelves with the
assortment of bottles. “In addition, there are powerful incantations that can
increase the effectiveness of the potion. I recently assisted a young man from
the village of Pointe-Noir who fell in love with a young lady whose family
objected to their engagement. They whisked her away to the other side of the
island, which enraged him. He came to me in a state of great agitation, vowing
revenge against anyone who would take away the love of his life.”
“What
happened?” said Emilie.
The
Grand Zamy gave a mysterious smile, like the Mona Lisa. “I don’t think you want
to know the exact details of that case. Thankfully I solved the young man’s
problem to his satisfaction, and in the end that’s all that counts, correct?”
Emilie nodded. “The medicine I prescribe is tailor-made to suit each patient’s
needs. It takes years of experience to know the correct formula and spells.
That is the art of the herbalist. But it’s a mistake to think I alone hold full
control over the outcome. At most I am only an intermediary. I ask the spirits
to intervene on behalf of my clients. Some herbalists—my competitors, some of
whom are quite unscrupulous—think the best approach is to simply eliminate the
obstacle. But that is an extreme measure I rarely employ. First, let us consult
the cards and see what they have to say.”
Standing
up to his full height, the Grand Zamy lit the black candles on the chandelier
and said, “Spirits, I invoke you, tell me how to solve this young woman’s
problem.”
The
black candles flickered for a moment and then mysteriously snuffed out. Taking
out a deck of tarot cards, he shuffled them and asked her to cut them. He
spread the cards out on his desk in the shape of a cross, then he turned them
over one by one, studying them with great concentration. Finally he looked up
and said, “You have recently discovered a painful truth, or perhaps you have
been betrayed. You feel lost, isolated and alone. Perhaps you have seen your
man in the arms of another woman. That is the Three of Swords. I see much
anguish and despair. You feel as though you have been pushed to your limits and
you’re going through a dark night of the soul. You are filled with worry and
sadness. You lie awake all night worrying and fretting. That is the Nine of
Swords.” He pointed to a card and gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “I sense
you are experiencing an upheaval, a sudden change, or perhaps you have realized
the truth about something. Something which was once hidden but has now been exposed.
You are in a crisis. This is evidenced by the Tower card over here.” He pointed
to a card that showed a tower that was struck by lightning and was in flames.
Emilie shuddered at the sight of it. “And look here,” he pointed to another
card. “This is the Nine of Pentacles. It represents a lady of refinement and
grace. She does not seek the easy way out but learns to take matters into her
own hands. She relies on herself to solve her own problems. This, mam’selle is
you. You must learn to trust your own abilities. And do you see the Ace of Cups
over here? This represents a new love or a fork in the road, a new path or a
struggle between two choices. Beware of overconfidence and the danger of
rushing in too soon. I see difficult times ahead of you. Great strife. I see a
maiden, bound and blindfolded, surrounded by danger and unable to see her way
out. She is overwhelmed. She feels trapped by her circumstances, lost and
confused. This is the Eight of Swords. Don't look worried, Mam’selle, I am sure
you will find your way out. Look here, there is a powerful, broad-shouldered
man carrying a great burden. That is the Knight of Wands. He is confident and
courageous. He carries the duty of responsibility on his shoulders. He will
risk anything without fear. That card is a good sign. Finally, I see an
awakening to a new and even greater challenge. I see a large goal ahead of
you.” The Grand Zamy looked up from the cards. “Unfortunately, that is all I
see. I believe your problem is not too severe and can be solved by a simple
ritual and potion.”
“Are
you sure?” said Emilie.
“I’ve
dealt with much worse cases.”
“Are
these potions dangerous? I mean, can they cause great harm?”
“My
dear, anything can be harmful if applied in the incorrect dosage. That is why
you must always consult with an expert. For ten francs I will prepare a powder
that will calm your fiancé’s ardor cause him to break off your engagement.
Perhaps it will set your destiny in motion. Have no fear that harm will come to
him. I assure you the effects are not permanent.” He erupted in house-shaking
laughter that sent a shiver up her spine.
With
quivering hands, Emilie extracted ten francs from her purse and handed it over
to the Grand Zamy. He placed the money in a strong box and locked it. He
explained to her that she must take three strands of her hair and three strands
of Lucien’s hair and wrap them up in a sheet of silk paper. Then she must go to
the cemetery and stand at the edge of an open grave and recite the following
incantation, Sator arepo, tenet opera, Rohas, Enam, Binah Jhedulah,
Teburah, Jiphereth, Netzah, Hod, Jesode, Malrouth, Meschache, Obdenego! Come
all to help me destroy the love that oppresses my heart! Emilie wrote
down all the instructions, including the spell. The Grand Zamy continued,
“Then, while still standing at the edge of the grave, you must light a candle
and say, Good souls of purgatory, I entrust my love to you in order to
let it fall asleep in the same way that you were plunged into your eternal
sleep. So be it. As you recite the words, throw the silk paper with
the hair into the grave.”
The
Grand Zamy stood up and strode over to the wall. He selected an assortment of
bottles containing various powders and herbs. After mixing them in a wooden
bowl, he added some crushed beetles, a drop of lavender oil, and a bit of
tafia. He poured the mixture into a vial which he sealed with a cork and handed
to Emilie.
“Here
you are, mam’selle,” he said. “This is the potion that will change your life.
Now give me the young man’s name and date of birth.” She gave him the
information. “Now listen very carefully. When he comes to visit, light a white
candle in front of a mirror. Place the powder into a glass of punch and serve
it to him. In a short while his behavior will start to change. He may seem a
little intoxicated at first, perhaps even a little erratic, but he will soon ask
for his ring back and your problem will be solved.”
“Is it
that simple?” she asked.
Eyeing
her, the Grand Zamy said, “For you, my dear, it is simple. For me it is a bit
more complicated. I will recite the appropriate spells, perform sacrifices, and
petition the spirits—that is the special task of the herbalist. I do not expect
a fine lady to sacrifice a chicken.”
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