Dr. Reser was discussing tides and the movement of ocean current for a while. Then somehow we got off on determining the sex of children before birth. He stated positively that it could be done by means of a gold ring suspended on a chain. From there he went precipitately into the occult and the occult in Haiti. He offered as justification for his firm belief in the power of the Voodoo gods several instances of miraculous cures, warnings, foretelling of events and prophecies. Some of them were striking. He told of visions of Prepti. He promised to introduce me to Prepti but we never did arrange it. Prepti was secretary to Charlemagne Peralt, one of the leaders of the Caco rebellion. Prepti was an educated and cultivated man and had no desire to perform any such service for Charlemagne Peralt, but he was kidnapped by Peralt and tortured and forced to serve him for three years as his secretary. He was forced to accompany Peralt during all of the fighting in the rebellion. Running away from an engagement with the Marines, Prepti fell over a cliff into a crevice from which he could not extricate himself. The sides were too sheer and steep. He struggled until he realized that escape was impossible. Then he cried out but there was no one to hear him. He grew hungry and thirsty and after the second day resigned himself to die. But during the night as he lay against the rocks in his extremity, came a vision of Ogoun with his red robes and long white beard. He assured Prepti that he would not die there, and that he would be found and rescued. Then came a vision of Erzulie, the goddess of love, who comforted him and also promised him that he would be rescued. Prepti stayed there several days. He was dried up and starved when they found him, but so much alive he completely recovered from his exposure and starvation. He had another vision also in which God sent two angels with needles and thread to make dolls and the movement of these figures showed him what would happen. And it all happened that way.
Dr. Reser began to tell of his experiences while in the psychological state known as possession. Incident piled on incident. A new personality burned up the one that had eaten supper with us. His blue-gray eyes glowed, but at the same time they drew far back into his head as if they went inside to gaze on things kept in a secret place. After awhile he began to speak. He told of marvelous revelations of the Brave Guedé cult. And as he spoke, he moved farther and farther from known land and into the territory of myths and mists. Before our very eyes, he walked out of his Nordic body and changed. Whatever the stuff of which the soul of Haiti is made, he was that. You could see the snake god of Dahomey hovering about him. Africa was in his tones. He throbbed and glowed. He used English words but he talked to me from another continent. He was dancing before his gods and the fire of Shango played about him. Then I knew how Moses felt when he beheld the burning bush. Moses had seen fires and he had seen bushes, but he had never seen a bush with a fiery ego and I had never seen a man who dwelt in flame, who was coldly afire in the pores. Perhaps some day I shall visit his roomy porch again and drink his orangeade and listen to him discourse on Aristotle, but even in the midst of it, I shall remember his hour of fire.
Ah Bo Bo!!
CHAPTER 18
GOD AND THE PINTARDS
With all of their ineptitude for certain concepts that the Anglo-Saxon holds sacred, the Haitian people have a tremendous talent for getting themselves loved. They are drenched in kindliness and beaming out with charm. They are like the pintards of God that Dr. Reser told me about. That is a Haitian folk tale that somebody told to him. A pintard is a guinea-fowl.
God planted a rice field one year. It was a rice field that was equal to His station and circumstances. It began to ripen and God began to look forward to the day of reaping.
One day a message came to God saying, “God, the pintards are eating up all of your rice. If you don’t do something about it, there won’t be any rice to reap.”
So God called the Angel Michael and told him, “Here, Michael, you take this gun and go down to my rice fields and kill those pintards. They are eating up all of my rice and I did not plant rice for them. Go and shoot enough of them to scare off the rest. I meant to have a great crop this year.”
The Angel Michael took the gun and went on down to God’s rice fields to shoot the pintards as he had been told. When he was about there the pintards saw him coming with God’s gun and they all flew up into a huge mimbon tree and began to sing and clap their wings together in rhythm. Michael came up to the tree and pointed the shot-gun at the great mass of pintards crowded into the tree singing and making rhythm. But the song and the rhythm were so compelling that he forgot to pull the trigger. With the gun still pointing he began to keep time with the wing clapping. Then he went to dancing and finally he laid the gun down and danced until he was exhausted. Then he took up the gun and went away and told God saying, “God, I could not shoot those pintards. They were too happy and made too beautiful a dance-song for me to kill them.” With a shamed face, because he had not done what God sent him to do, Michael put the gun down and went away.
God called Gabriel and said, “Gabriel, I don’t aim to have all of my rice eaten up by those pintards. You take this gun and go down there and shoot them, and otherwise drive them away from my rice fields. I sent Michael and he never did a thing. Now you go and hurry up. I want some rice this year.”
So Gabriel took the gun and went on down to God’s rice field to shoot the pintards, but they saw him coming too and flew up into the mimbon tree and began to clap wings and sing, and Gabriel began to dance and forgot all about God’s rice field for a whole day. When he saw the sun going down he remembered why he had been sent and he was so ashamed of himself that he couldn’t bear to face God. So he met Peter and handed him the gun and said, “Please take God His gun for me. I am ashamed to go back.”
Peter took the gun and told God what Gabriel had said. So God sent Peter and told him, “You go and kill those pintards! I do not plant rice for pintards and don’t intend to have my crop all ruined by them, either. Go and clear them out.” Peter took the gun and went down in a hurry to do God’s will. But he got all charmed by the song and the dance and when he went back with the gun he was too ashamed to talk.
So God took the gun and went down to His rice fields Himself. The pintards saw Him coming and left the rice and flew up into the tree again. They saw it was God Himself, so they sang a new song and put on a double rhythm and then they doubled it again. God aimed the gun but before He knew it He was dancing and because of the song He didn’t care whether He saved any rice or not. So He said, “I can’t kill these pintards—they are too happy and joyful to be killed. But I do want my rice fields so I know what I will do. There is the world that I have made and so far it is sad and nobody is happy there and nothing goes right. I’ll send these pintards down there to take music and laughter so the world can forget its troubles.”
And that is what He did. He called Shango, the god of thunder and lightning, and he made a shaft of lightning and the pintards slid down it and landed in Guinea. So that is why music and dancing came from Guinea—God sent it there first.
APPENDIX
SONGS OF WORSHIP TO VOODOO GODS
MAITRESSE ERSULIE
Ersulie nain nain oh! Ersulie nain nain oh!
Ersulie ya gaga gaaza, La roseé fait bro-
dè tou temps soleil par lévé La ro seé fait bro-
dè tou temps soleil par lévé Ersulie nain nain oh!
Ersu lie nain nain oh! Ersulie ya gaza.
FÉRAILLE
Féraille oh! nan main qui moun ma quité baquiya
laquain moin ré tem songéogoun Fé raille ma conso
lé ma prendconrail oh! relé nan qui
temps ron sima lade oh cor wa non yé nan qui
temps nan qui temps oh! Cor wa nonyé ma con so
lé ma prend con rail oh! so bé guim as sura.
RADA
Coté ma prend Coté ma prend Médi
oh! Aanago Coté ma prend Coté ma
prend Médi oh! Ana go Cotéma go.
RADA
Bonjour papa Legba bonjour t
imoun moin yo Bon-
jour papa Legba bonjour ti moun moin yoma pé man dé
ou con man non yéma pé man dé on con man non
yé bonjour pa pa Legba bonjour ti moun moin yo Bon.
JANVALO (JEAN VALDO)
Adia ban moin zui potó tou félé
Adia ban moin zui poté tou félé Adia ban moin
zui zui ya ma qué félé Adia ban moin zui zui
ya ma qué félé Adia ban moin zui poté tout félé.
JANVALO
Adi bon ça ma dit si ma dènié oh! ga-
dé mi sè ya cé pon do moins adi bon ça ma
dit sit ma dénié oh! gade mi sè ya cé pon do moins.
SAINT JACQUES
St. Jacques pas là St. Jacques pas là St. Jacques pas là
cé moin qui là St. Jacques pas là oh! chien ya modé moin.
PETRO
Nous vley wè Dan Pétro Nous vley wé oh!
Nous vley wè si ya qui té caille la tom bé
Nous vley wè Dan Petro Nous vley wè oh! Nous vley wè
oh! Si ya quité caille là tom bé elan oh!
PETRO
Salut moin oh! Sa lut moin oh! Salut moins
Nous sé vi lan rent nan caille là oh! Salut moins.
oh a diě salut moins oh Salut moins oh Salut moins
nous sè vi lan rent nan caille la oh! Salut moins Salut.
IBO
Ibo Lélé Ibo Lélé Iyanman
ça ou gain yen çonça I bo Lélé cé con
ça moin danté Ibo Iyanman oh! Anan Iyanman
Con çam danté I bo Iyanman oh! An an Iyan man.
IBO
Ibo moin youn oh! Ibo moin youn oh! I—
bo moin youn oh! m’pa gan guin man man gindémoin Grand
Ibo moin youn oh! m’pa gan guin man man gindé moins.
DAMBALLA
Fiolé por Dambalá Dambala wè do Fio-
lé oh! Dambala Wè do Fiolě por Dambala
Dambala Wédo Fiolé por Dam ba la.
OGOUN
Ogoun tra vail oh! Ogoun por mangé Ogoun tra-
vail oh! Ogoun por mangé Ogoun tra vail tout nan nuit por O-
goun por mange yiěre soi Ogoun dor mi sans sou per.
SALONGO
Zin zin zin zin zin zin Ba yan min oh! Saya Pim ba
zin zin zin zin zin zin Ba yan min oh! Saya Pimba
SALONGO
Tousa Tousa rè lè Tou Salonggo Tou
sa Tou sa rè lè Tou Sa longgo Tousa Tou sa rè lè Tou Sa longgo.
LOCO
Loco Mabia Ebon Azacan Loco Ma-
bia Ello oh! Loco Mabia Ello Azagan
Loco Mabia Ello oh! Jean valou Moin Jean valou
Moin Loco Loco Mabia Ello Loco Ma Lo.
MAMBO ISAN
Mambo Isan ma pralé Oh! Ma pralé quéléfré
m’pralé chaché fammil moin yo Mam bo Isan ma pralé
Oh! Ma pra lé quáléfré m’pra lé chaché fammil moin
yo Mam bo Isan oh! cé ron qui maré moin Mambo I san
oh! céron qui ma ré moin cé ron qua laqué’m oh!
DAMBALA
Filé na filé fem Dambala Wèdo
Filé na filé Dambala Wèdo cá conclèv oh! Lèv oh!
AGOË (AGOUÉ TE ROYO)
Aroquè si ou gain yen chanson nivo pon ou chan-
té wa chan té l’nan hounfort oud ronan hounfort ou Pi-
ga on mon tre criole than son ni vo Pi Vo on criole
va ga té mo yen ou Agoë ta royo neg bas sin bleu neg dlo salé neg
coqui doré Si ou gain yen chanson ni vo pon ou chan-
té Wa chan télnan houn for ou Pi ga ou mon tré creole chan son nivo.
SOBO
Gué Manyan man yanga dé hounfort wa
ga dé houn for wa Sobo gué ma yan
be! Gué Man hé O gui Manyan Man yanga dé houn
for wa Sobo Ga dé houn for wa So bo Gué Man yan bé!
OGOUN
Alou man dia hé! Ogoun oh! ohsans yo oh!
aho! Alou man O sange ba conle qui man de dra-
po o Sane ba conlé qui man dé dra po lila O goun bare I baba.
MISCELLANEOUS SONGS
SECTE ROUGE
Carrefour, tingindingue, mi haut, mi bas-é
Carrefour, tingindingue, mi haut, mi bas-é
Oun pralé, tingindingue, mi haut, mi bas, tingindingue
Oun pralé, tingindingue, mi haut, mi bas, tingindingue
Oun pralé, tingindingue, mi haut, mi bas, tingindingue.
SECTE ROUGE
Sortie nan cimiterre, toute corps moin sentie malingue
Sortie nan cimiterre, toute corps moin sentie malingue
Sortie nan cimiterre, toute corps moin sentie malingue
Sortie nan cimiterre, toute corps moin sentie malingue.
CHANT BEGINNING ALL RADA CEREMONIES
Héla grand pere étérnel sin joé Heé-
la grand pere étérnel sin jozé do co agué Hé-
la grand pere étérnel sin’nam min bon Diě o
Saint yen.
TUNE TO CALL THE “LOA”
LA MYSTÉRIEUSE, MÉRINGUE
A. L. Duroseau
ÉTONNEMENT, MÉRINGUE CARACTÉRISTIQUE
A. Herandez
—BONNE HUMEUR—MÉRINGUE HAITÏENNE
à Miss Zora Neale Hurston
Arthur L. Duroseau
OLGA, MÉRINGUE PAR
Arthur Lyncíe Duroseau
Arthur Lyncíe Duroseau
CHANSON DE CALICOT
LA DOUCEUR
Méringue Haïtienne par Arthur L. Duroseau
Moderato
—PETRO—
—IBO—
RADA
—JANVALHO—
AFTERWORD
ZORA NEALE HURSTON:
“A NEGRO WAY OF SAYING”
I.
The Reverend Harry Middleton Hyatt, an Episcopal priest whose five-volume classic collection, Hoodoo, Conjuration, Witchcraft, and Rootwork, more than amply returned an investment of forty years’ research, once asked me during an interview in 1977 what had become of another eccentric collector whom he admired. “I met her in the field in the thirties. I think,” he reflected for a few seconds, “that her first name was Zora.” It was an innocent question, made reasonable by the body of confused and often contradictory rumors that make Zora Neale Hurston’s own legend as richly curious and as dense as are the black myths she did so much to preserve in her classic anthropological works, Mules and Men and Tell My Horse, and in her fiction.
A graduate of Barnard, where she studied under Franz Boas, Zora Neale Hurston published seven books—four novels, two books of folklore, and an autobiography—and more than fifty shorter works between the middle of the Harlem Renaissance and the end of the Korean War, when she was the dominant black woman writer in the United States. The dark obscurity into which her career then lapsed reflects her staunchly independent political stances rather than any deficiency of craft or vision. Virtually ignored after the early fifties, even by the Black Arts movement in the sixties, an otherwise noisy and intense spell of black image- and mythmaking that rescued so many black writers from remaindered oblivion, Hurston embodied a more or less harmonious but nevertheless problematic unity of opposites. It is this complexity that refuses to lend itself to the glib categories of “radical” or “conservative,” “black” or “Negro,” “revolutionary” or “Uncle Tom”—categories of little use in literary criticism. It is this same complexity, embodied in her fiction, that, until Alice Walker published her important essay (“In Search of Zora Neale Hurston”) in Ms. magazine in 1975, had made Hurston’s place in black literary history an ambiguous one at best.
The rediscovery of Afro-American writers has usually turned on larger political criteria, of which the writer’s work is supposedly a mere reflection. The deeply satisfying aspect of the rediscovery of Zora Neale Hurston is that black women generated it primarily to establish a maternal literary ancestry. Al
ice Walker’s moving essay recounts her attempts to find Hurston’s unmarked grave in the Garden of the Heavenly Rest, a segregated cemetery in Fort Pierce, Florida. Hurston became a metaphor for the black woman writer’s search for tradition. The craft of Alice Walker, Gayl Jones, Gloria Naylor, and Toni Cade Bambara bears, in markedly different ways, strong affinities with Hurston’s. Their attention to Hurston signifies a novel sophistication in black literature: they read Hurston not only for the spiritual kinship inherent in such relations but because she used black vernacular speech and rituals, in ways subtle and various, to chart the coming to consciousness of black women, so glaringly absent in other black fiction. This use of the vernacular became the fundamental framework for all but one of her novels and is particularly effective in her classic work Their Eyes Were Watching God, published in 1937, which is more closely related to Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady and Jean Toomer’s Cane than to Langston Hughes’s and Richard Wright’s proletarian literature, so popular in the Depression.