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This is a different, clearer version of this story.
All hail Papa Legba, Legbara ashe, madupe Legbara,
Ah-shay Orunla, Discerner of Fate and Fortune,
Ah-shay Obatala, Weaver of the World’s Destiny.
Ah-shay Shango, Bringer of Justice.
This is a tale retold, may the Spirits be honored in the retelling.
© 1999 Charles R. Butler, III
The stranger stands in the corner, covered by an awning from the rain. Humidity makes his smoke stay in the space so he is obscured and only his gnarled and liver-spotted hands show. He fingers a coin, a bright copper penny.
He tosses the coin into the busy intersection and whistles, and his obscurity is momentarily revealed. An old black suit, ratty at the corners but still starched to a fine seam show a performer’s grace gone to seed.
Leo, the children call him, and they feed him candy. His teeth have rotted over the years but his smile is ready. He watches from under the awning, whispering an odd word, "ah-shay"!
*****
As if caught in a fisherman’s net, a young man struggles against the cords, the fabric of the universe. They are as wispy as fog, yet they bind him tightly. He looks down through the fog, seeing the interior of an old shop, filled with fabrics. A single coin falls from his hand onto the counter top, making a sharp crack as it hits.
*****
Mama Rosa sits in the back of the shop, looking through a beaded curtain from her cubicle. Next to her on a tiny altar is a red candle in tall glass jar. She pours rose oil carefully into the jar, being careful not to snuff the candle in a ritual she has maintained for over 70 years. The candle gutters and begins to smoke, almost going out, but then catches itself again. She whispers "ah-shay" and smiles.
Suddenly, she hears a sharp crack on the counter top beyond the cubicle and sees a coin bounce off it onto the floor at her feet. What is this? A penny, bright as fresh-minted, but the date is 1920, the year she opened her shop.
*****
The net grows tighter. Ian, the young man, looks down from the air in wonder at the old shopkeeper. What had he done to deserve this? She must hear me? Why doesn’t she respond?
*****
A bus turned the corner in front of old Leo, its wheels tossing his coin onto the sidewalk. It screeched to a halt just in front of the awning.
"Momma," said the small boy as he ran off the bus, "are you sure this is the right place? It seems spooky?"
"Yes, son. It is an old custom of these people to not be showy with what works, but hide it behind old rags and broken windows."
"What works, momma? I don’t understand?"
"It was here that I met your father, and here he disappeared. I am hoping that maybe there will be some clue with someone who may have known him. He slipped away and only left a note with an odd word on it. ‘ah-shay’ and then he was gone."
The little boy reached down and picked up the penny from the sidewalk. "Look at this momma, this is so shiny but it’s older than you are. 1920 it says!"
"So it is, son. Maybe we will have the luck of the road today. Here’s another like it from my purse. Keep it safe."
The young woman had worn her most conservative clothing. This was not her neighborhood, an Anglo woman in Spanish Harlem would stand out. But what could she do. This was the first place she had met her husband, stranded in the rain when the bus broke down. When he disappeared just before their baby was born, she had no clue where to find him. Now five years had passed, and in desperation, she decided to retrace her steps to their first meeting place.
She knocked at the broken window of the store and was let inside.
The inside of the store attempted to belie its broken-down exterior. There were piles of brightly-colored fabric of every description, bride’s trims and pearls. Behind the counter were jars of buttons, and there were a couple of containers of candy next to the cash register. The smell of a flowery incense filled the air. Oddly enough the combination smelled somewhat like old hand lotion and mildew. "Must be the humidity", she thought, "maybe that’s why it seems dim in here, even with the lights on.
Momma Rosa came from behind the counter. "Señora, we have not much today. It has been a long time since an Anglo came to the store. Some candy for the little boy, perhaps?"
"Yes, please, show the woman your nice pennies, son."
The boy handed Mama Rosa the pennies. She glanced at them, looked again, and a pallor suddenly touched her.
"Begone, Señora, he left so long ago! How did you know?"
The young woman’s face brightened, "then you are the same woman. My name is Cara, Mama Rosa, and Ian is—was—my husband! I thought…"
"Señora," gasped Mamma Rosa, catching her breath, "could you wait just a moment, I must go back to my office."
*****
"Coins, old coins," thought Momma Rosa. "Where could this gringada have gotten them." She remembered the young man, a stranger to the ghettoes who had sought her when she opened the shop—70 years ago. His Spanish was broken, but there was a light around him that made her do a consultation just to be rid of him.
She thought back to the day she opened the shop. Here was this young boy in cast-off clothing, an Anglo boy, out of place. Everything was being unpacked, nothing was ready for consultations. The old coconuts shards were the only thing she could find at the time that seemed right, so she tossed them and it came up Obatala, Shango, Orunla, Legba, an odd combination. All the stories wrapped themselves in her head. What story could put all four together?
And then it came to her. The story of Obatala’s argument with Orunla, the fable of Choice and Fate, decided by Justice, with the Trickster holding all the cards. But who was which in this story? No matter--he would find his way it seemed. The light around him was white, the color of Obatala. What could she do? She couldn’t sent him away empty-handed. Ah…pennies for the Crossroad. It wasn’t much….but.
"Hijo," she remembered calling him that even then, "son", as if he were one of her own. "Take these three pennies to the intersection out in front of the shop and toss them for luck. Your way is guarded, and the open way is very narrow, so don’t turn aside. Now go!"
She watched him walk out the door, look around, pocket the coins and turn as if to catch the bus. He went to the alcove under the awning outside, and then—"fogo"—smoke, he was gone!
And here is this woman with two pennies, claiming to be his wife. "¡Shango—what is to become of me!"
Could she remember in time?
It had been so many years. Old Leo, that fool, had poked his head in here every day this week to buy a white candle. She looked through the beaded curtain at the woman cooling her heels and the little boy. A coin, a little boy, a desperate woman, an old man. She made her decision.
*****
"Señora, could you come here to the back? I think you need a consultation. Can the boy be trusted not to get himself in trouble."
"Yes." She turned to the boy, "Sean, please stay out of the fabrics, I’ll be right back."
*****
Cara followed Mama Rosa to the tiny cubicle behind the bead curtain. Though the store had long carried fabrics, the place had originally been a Botanica—an herb, candle, and spiritist shop. Mama Rosa had slowly given away most of her supplies over the years, but only one thing had she kept. Her old teacher had given her a red candle in a tall jar and a bottle of rose oil. "Never let this candle go out, Rosa. While it burns, you will succeed. When it smokes, the world is troubled. Add some rose oil and the light will keep you safe."
Mama Rosa waved Cara to a tuffet, and she seated herself in her chair next to the candle. It flickered, but maintained its flame.
"¿Señ ora, how came you by these coins?"
"The first—from my husband, he gave it to me just before he disappeared. The second—only a moment before we came in the door, tossed by an old man."
"Ah, my good lady, you are blessed and you are cursed in the same moment.. The coin your husband gave you carried the curse. It is only in the chance catching of that coin by your son that a blessing may break through….¿como? …what of the boy?"
"He is our only son, he was born after his father disappeared. He is but turned five and we have searched for so long. The police were no help. Finally, since it was the boy’s birthday, I thought to seek out this shop. I had met Ian here on a rainy evening when the bus broke down and the only shelter was your store. You may not remember me, but you looked very strangely at Ian when he greeted you with the word ‘ah-shay’. For some reason I never linked the two events until now."
"That is the way of Fate, Señora, we forget unless the spirits intervene. ‘¿Ah-shay?’, your husband left you with a clue and that may give us a chance. Look at this third coin."
"It is the same as the other two? Where did you find it?"
"It landed on the counter top only moments ago. I gave these coins to a young man who came into my shop 70 years ago. It seems that they finally returned."
"¿Sabe..do you know the story of Obatala, Señora? I fear it is your husband’s journey, and it is a difficult one to break through. It is Justice, and Fortune, and Destiny interwoven. What do you seek, Señora?"
"I seek justice—to know what has happened to my husband, so that my son may have a father, or at least a memory."
Momma Rosa stared at the candle. It smoked. Trouble to be averted. "This is the candle of Justice, Señora, it only gutters when there is justice to be served. You have done your part by seeking me out, I must now do everything and nothing."
Cara looked bewildered.
"Perhaps I can save your son, your husband, and my own sanity. The story is woven with many years, a part I know, a part you know, and a part your son must play. Do you trust me with the boy?"
"He has always been taught to respect the elderly, and he has a way with strangers."
"That does not surprise me, if the spirit I think sits on his head is willing to guide him, he will do what needs to be done. If not, the spirits are cruel. Let us hope that they are not. The coins seem to say that the spirits are with us. Take the three of them now, young lady, and toss them in that bowl of water by the door to the shop. Then come back here and wait."
*****
The boy looked up as his mother came out. "What’s going on, Momma? I’m bored." I didn’t touch anything.
"Momma Rosa needs to talk to you son, she’s coming out but I have to go to the back. Please listen to her."
"All right, but I don’t understand?"
"She’ll answer your questions, but I have to go in the back." She dropped the coins in the water by the door and then went back behind the bead curtain.
*****
"It is time, Señora. Justice may be kind, but your son is just a little boy. Stay here and watch the candle."
*****
As Momma Rosa came through the curtain, the little boy was tugging on a piece of fabric. There were horses on it, black one’s against a red background. He pulled and pulled and it came loose, a piece about a yard long, not much wider than a tie, what could it be? The boy tucked the fabric in his pocket for the moment and picked up a piece of bark that had fallen down. It was oddly round, like it came from something, and it was hard and very smooth, but it wasn’t a button. There were two other pieces and he tossed them hand to hand."
*****
Ian watched from the air as the little boy tugged at the fabric. "How can I get his attention?" He whispered softly.
"A-shay" said a voice in the little boy’s ear, and he turned around startled. A drift of tobacco smoke came down, but there was no one there.
*****
"Niño, what do you have there, weren’t you supposed to stay away from the fabric?"
"It’s just bark, auntie, they must have been wrapped up in something. I was bored."
"Niño, let me tell you a story.
"There was an old man, Obatala, who thought that no one could tell him what to do. Orunla, the fortune teller had told him that one day he would forget who he was and he would have no one to blame but himself. He laughed and ignored the warning, thinking that he could never be fooled. One day Elegba, the Trickster, got him talking, got him distracted, got him drunk. As soon as he fell asleep, the storyteller stole all his clothes and when he woke up he was ashamed. No one believed him, no one recognized him. And who could he blame? Only himself, because he would not listen. Finally his son Shango recognized him, restoring his fortunes, and helped him recover, but he never forgot again. Little boy, do you want to be ashamed?"
"No. No." he looked embarrased. "Well, there was this piece of fabric sticking out and it wasn’t very big. I didn’t think you’d miss it. Here it is!" He pulled out the red cloth.
The old woman sighed. An honest child. There was just a chance.
"Niño, tie that on your head. We get to change that story."
"What, I don’t understand!"
"Just trust me, niño, your mother is watching, but this is our story together."
"I’m only a little boy. I didn’t mean any harm."
"That’s why we can change the story. You are only a little boy. Old men tend to forget and young men forget their promises. Do you still have those shells?"
"These button things…shells?" said the little boy.
"They are carved coconut shell, and we use them to change things. Toss them in your hands--one, two, three times--and watch what happens."
******
Old Leo listened at the door. The boy must have been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He listened to Mamma Rosa tell that story she had told a thousand times to other little boys, but this time it seemed different.
Pennies…he had tossed them for years. Why did this time make a difference? He had to get inside.
*****
The little boy tossed the shards once, and a thump was heard outside the shop door. A sound like ripping fabric was right above him. He looked up but there was nothing there. Old Leo came banging in the door.
"¡Obatala! No!" shuddered the old woman.
"¡A second time, niño!," she urged him.
"I’m afraid Auntie." He tried to toss the shards again but his hands were frozen in place. They couldn’t seem to open, it was if something covered his hands like damp fabric. The air was foggy with tobacco smoke from Leo’s cigar. He struggled. There was the sound of thunder outside. His hands snapped open.
"¡A third time, niño!," she cried.
The smell of the shop disappeared and was replaced by a foul odor, as of something long dead. Roses and old rot fought each other in the boy’s lungs until he could hardly breathe. His hands faltered.
"¡Shango! Justice!" cried Mamma Rosa. Cara, waiting in the other room, saw the red candle suddenly explode. She cowered, but the scent of roses suddenly grew stronger.
Leo suddenly reached up with his cane and battered at the smoke.
*****
A rip appeared in the net, just when Ian had thought he could stand it no longer. He tossed and turned and the threads continued to unravel. He had no knife, but it was as if a great sword cut his bonds.
*****
All at once the boy’s hands snapped apart. What had happened. The shop seemed cleaner somehow. The mildew is gone, that’s what it is. He could smell the rain outside.
The fog cleared. The sun came out. A lingering odor of cigars remained, and old Leo stood there, holding a blanket with a young man wrapped up in it.
******
Leo laid down his burden and shook Ian gently. "Wake up, my friend, you are home!". Niño, this is your father, he whispered to the little boy."
"Daddy?", he said tentatively. "I knew I had a father, I’ve dreamed about a Daddy. Are you real?" He touched him gingerly.
The beaded curtain snapped aside. "You’re alive, I knew it!" cried Cara as she joined Mama Rosa and Leo in welcoming her husband.
"I’m real son, I know you never knew me, but I have been away and only you and your mother could find me. It seems that the old magic still works. I was almost faded away, but the old man reached in, and took the threads apart and pulled me through." Ian smiled at the young boy he had never met. "I don’t even know your name. Who are you?"
"My name is Sean. Why don’t you know my name, aren’t you my Daddy? And where were you?"
"I was caught up in a story just like Momma Rosa said, I am hoping that you just changed the ending."
"A story? I don’t understand."
"You thought she was just telling a story. So did I. I was in a place Momma Rosa told me about when I was young. A place your mother came close to once, just under that awning out front, though she didn’t know it. A place where Momma Rosa had seen me go when she was young .. and which pulled me back before you were born."
Momma Rosa began to shake her head. "It’s all true, even the smallest detail. Now I know why my teacher gave me that candle, it was just for this occasion. Justice was served."
"Sean, I will tell you the story you only heard a little of, again. It is a tale of how Obatala, the Weaver, who in the old tales is the One who Chooses, met up with Orunla – Fate personified. They decided to have an argument about how the world works. Do we have choices to make? Or is it all planned out ahead of time. To make sure that the judgment was fair, they appointed Obatala’s son, Shango the Lawgiver, to be the judge, without his knowledge, leaving the final outcome to the toss of a few coins. Fate did the fortune telling, tossing the coconut shells, and saw Obatala poor, abandoned, and in jail without clothes, and only Shango able to free him, but only if he did not know who he was. Obatala laughed, ‘me, in jail, and my own son unable to recognize me, I don’t think so.’"
"Shango? Shango? My name is Sean? Is that me?"
"Listen more, niño. Obatala left the reading and forgot about it. Many months later, he drank too much and fell asleep at a crossroad. Legba, the Trickster, took his clothes while he slept and he woke up naked, without any of his usual regalia. Soldiers came by and threw him in jail as an indigent. They thought he was a street bum. Finally, after a week of torment, he appealed to the chief of the village.
The chief, clad all in red, came to the jail and saw this bedraggled man, wearing not even a scrap of cloth and took pity on him. "Clean him up," he said to the jailors, maybe he can entertain us once he recovers his senses."
"And so the soldiers cleaned him up and he sat by the fire waiting the chief’s pleasure. His ravings has subsided and he sat drinking only water. As the chief came in, the villagers hailed him, "Shango, Shango" and Obatala blinked. His memory returned of his contest with fate. He cried "Orunla, you have bested me." Shango then recognized his father and restored his clothes."
Ian broke in. "When I first came into this shop, I was all bedraggled. I was an orphan and living on the streets. Mamma Rosa took one look at me and almost turned me away, but then she stopped and told me the story of Obatala and gave me three coins." "Toss them to the crossroads when you leave the shop, young man, your luck will change."
"I walked out of the door with the coins in my pocket and promptly ignored her instructions. It was raining, and the bus came up. I turned under the awning to get onto the bus and suddenly disappeared with the coins in my hand."
"That was 70 years ago, Sean" said Momma Rosa, "some stories last a long time."
"Something happened about 10 years ago," continued Ian, "because I found myself on the corner waiting for the bus in a rainstorm like nothing had happened. Cara was there, stranded in Harlem just like me. We stepped onto the bus and took it to a shelter. The cars had changed, but the world seemed just as dingy as I remembered it so somehow I never noticed that it wasn’t 1920, and for some reason Cara never asked. Every once in a while I would get on the bus, and almost come back to this shop, but something kept me away. Finally, five years later, Cara and I were married, and that day we came back to the shop. I introduced you to her, Momma Rosa. You looked at me very strangely and acted as if you didn’t know me. Something kept clouding my senses, because all I could see was the young Rosalita who ran the shop when I was 15. Cara and I went home, but three days later I returned during a thunderstorm. The bus broke down in front of the shop and I stepped off to say hello. I walked under the awning and disappeared."
Leo smiled. "I was watching all three times, Sean. I am 90 years old and have been an entertainer all my life. I have been here, playing with the children, on each of those days. But who would believe a young boy, and then an old drunk, who sees a young man disappear and then reappear and then disappear. I thought I was dreaming. But the last time he disappeared, the young man dropped a coin, 1920, a shining penny. I kept it to prove to myself that it actually happened. Only an hour ago I saw the bus coming and something said to toss the coin to the crossroad. When you ran off the bus--with a face like your father’s--I knew that the story was retelling itself."
Look at the fabric you chose. It is red with black horses, one of Shango’s favorite cloths. Mamma Rosa was wise to have you put it on as a headband, almost a crown. Look at the coins that fell out, there is Orunla playing with the world. And finally, look at your father, here without his clothes, there is Obatala come to his senses."
"But how did my Daddy escape?"
"Because your mother asked for Justice, niño, and her voice was heard," Momma Rosa interjected. "Even Orunla cannot deny a mother who asks for her son."
"When you tossed the shards," continued Mamma Rosa, "Legba took over Leo, and he just followed directions. He could see your father struggling in the net and knew just what to do. I couldn’t see it, but Legba, the Trickster who started the story, could. I could only see a cloud of smoke, but something let me know that Leo knew what he was doing. You were doing all you could. All I could do was pray."
"I felt like I was being woven away," murmured Ian. "I never knew you could become the story. How innocent I was."
"Was it Orunla’s shells that said no," asked Cara?
"No, it was the love of a woman, and a boy, and a chance coin." Mamma Rosa’s voice altered—as if strangely prescient, "Orunla was bested at his own game."
All hail Papa Legba…honor to the Orishas.
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Orisha Story copyright
© 1996
Charles Butler
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