He stood at the door of 28909 Rue de Jardin. Memories flooded his mind. He’d never imagined seeing this house again.
Why had his father left it to him?
They hadn’t spoken in forty years. He was ten. His mother had divorced him immediately after she discovered his affair. Her broken heart finally erased by her suicide.
Sitting with Clarice, the now 90 year old mistress, in the large windowed parlor he remembered the park view from his bedroom. The wounds still felt razor deep.
He placed a stone on the gravestone; softly murmuring, “Ikh bin dir mühl. Hasholem Aaron Steinman”.
Rain poured down. We were waiting on line to board the Staten Island ferry; a habitual Sunday routine. Usually, we’d go to the beach then visit, Mr. Frank. He was a Santero.
I was feeling car sick. My dad smoked Camels.The open windows would blow the smoke into the backseat.
I can remember the first time we were waiting to board. I had a panic attack and couldn’t stop crying. I thought we were going to drive into the ocean. I can’t swim.
To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge
click here
Santeria is a syncretistic Caribbean religion.
Santeria includes the worship of the Orisha — literally “head guardians,” and religious beliefs of the Yoruba and Bantu people in Southern Nigeria, Senegal and Guinea Coast. These are combined with elements of Roman Catholicism.
Arriving as slaves in the Caribbean, Santerians preserved the elements of their religion by equating each Orisha of their traditional religions with a corresponding christian saint. Many traditions, within the religion, recognize different equivalencies.
One common example includes:
Babalz Ayi became St. Lazarus (patron of the sick)
Shangs became St. Barbara (controls thunder, lightning, fire…)
Eleggua or Elegba became St. Anthony (controls roads, gates etc)
Obatala became Our Lady of Las Mercedes, and the Resurrected Christ (father of creation; source of spirituality)
Oggzn became St. Peter (patron of war)
Oshzn became Our Lady of Charity (controls money, sensuality…)
Many Santerian beliefs are not freely discussed outside of the faith. In addition, there are many religious leaders whose beliefs and practices differ significantly. information clickhere
The moon filtered through the starless clouded sky.
She could see tiny white lights shining on the patio. By midnight, they’d be drunk.
It was the perfect night to go.
Silk stockings stretched over her shapely legs and thighs. A black leather skirt accented her curvaceous hips. The spiky heels, she’d picked up at a yard sale, completed her outfit. She felt as fiery as a hot chili pepper.
The house was eerily quiet. The chilly air, a reminder of her long-term estrangement from her mother.
Sorting through years of her mementos was going to be laboriously stressful. It would be easier once Monique arrived.
She opened a leather box her mother kept on her desk. Letters from France?
Angelique read the last letter:
‘Dearest, I miss you, though your touch lingers still. Without you, time is an empty space. I long to hold you. My heart aches for your return. Come back soon, Mon amour. Je t’aime, Pierre’
Ergo, the secret of our French names finally revealed.
Although there wan’t any dinner because he’d arrived late, he felt no ill will.
Freshly brewed coffee and donuts were set out for the night. This would be enough for him.
~~~~~~~
The street lights were a warm welcome for the oncoming damp chilly night.
The lamppost, near his favorite bench, the ideal place to secure the fine bicycle he’d found at the Salvation Army today. The boots fit him perfectly, too. He was happy the saleswoman had given him this woolen blanket as he left.
Soon sleep. And, another day would have been lived.
“Maw,” Becky Sue whined, tears streaming down her face.
“Child, look what you’ve done,” Momma said pointing to the floor.
“Ya’ll dragged muddy dirt in. I’m near ‘bout to lose my mind with all the work that’s gotta be done ‘round here.”
“But, Maw, come see. Bubba’s done a real bad thing,” Becky Sue bawled.
“Please Maw, please come see.”
“Fine! I suppose it’s gotta be important.”
“Look,” Becky Sue pointed.
“Lordy that child’s done gone too far this time. Drinkin’, smokin’ and breakin’ your favorite dolly.”
“Go find me a switch, Becky Sue. Someone ‘round here needs some learnin’.”
Harry stares out the window. He sits and stares since his Ruby’s brutal murder.
He’d taken her to the museum; then, a dimly lit dinner. She was beautiful.
Harry noticed the waiter leer at her. She provoked men with her beauty.
Her eyes the color of emeralds.
Now, he sit and stares.
He doesn’t care if he leaves the room.
He doesn’t pay bills; watch television or knows who feeds him.
His life is whatever passes outside the window.
All he sees are changing seasons, joggers, passing cars and Ruby’s ghost.
