![]() ![]() ![]() Though she lost in the end, their fights on the matter were a thing of legend.Īnd now the only thing I had left of her was a fragment of a text message that I had saved on a phone long since inoperable. My father’s singular focus was that his daughter continue the unbroken line of Vodou priests and priestesses dating back to Benin. ![]() He’d always sat wedged between us like a parapet in a grisly, decades-long conflict. ![]() Papa had once again been the stubborn root of what I hadn’t known at the time would be our final conflict. In the end, the hurricane swallowed the apology I’d held off delivering until the next day and took a sizable chunk of the city with it. But God wasn’t always available to answer a servant’s whims. Had Bondye been merciful, the back- ground noise of bustling shoppers would have spared her, my vitriol quieted to a few sharp words uttered under my breath. That place was for her what my backyard peristil was to me: a sanctuary. In my favored delusion, my mother and I were chatting it up while she window-shopped at Oakwood Center over in Terrytown. “Henry gives us a captivating mystery full of fantasy and African traditional religion, as well as a bewitching investigator, rooted in her faith, dedicated to her community, and dogged in her pursuit of the truth.” ― Eden Royce, author of Root Magic The mind could conjure all kinds of fanciful scenarios to assuage the guilt of a poor choice of last words. ![]()
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