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Obeah Man
A Caribbean-based story about a young black man who crosses the local Obeah Man--with dire consequences. Excerpts from a 4,000-word fiction piece published in Dandelion, June 1990. Soon to be republished, in illustrated book form, by Zoolook.
"Oh, me, Lawdy-lawdy . . . would yo' look o'dat? Now, ain yo' jis de sight!" Man-masher Malone told the reflection that glowered back from the mirror. "Oh me, oh me . . ." as he gently touched the areas of his chocolate skin that were beginning to lose the pigment.
Man-masher did not have the slightest idea who had placed the hex. Initially, he had not even known it was a hex that was responsible for his affliction. He felt no pain, only a minor discomfort--a drying sensation. He knew it was ridiculous but he was also experiencing a dread that he might be turning white. He stood at the cracking bit of mirror trying to study the patches of fading skin.
"Oh me, Lawd. Oh, me . . . oh, me . . ." he mumbled.
The condition did not appear to worsen the following few days--nor did it improve. He decided, even with the absence of trust, he must seek the advice of a physician. Reluctantly, he visited the office of a native doctor who had trained abroad, returning to the island to serve his people.
"Jis look at dat, now Doc. Ain' I de sight? No bodies gonna come near Man-masher if dis herah keep happ'nin. Lawdy, Doc, I'se gonna turn all white!" . . .
. . . Man-masher slammed the door. He would never see the Obeah Man! No sir! Not him! He had been to the Obeah Man once, years before, and the encounter was fear-tattooed on his mind.
The very nature of the man filled Malone with such dread he vowed he would never go near him again. He had kept that vow until now . . .
. . . "I'se hexed?"
The Obeah Man nodded.
"I'se hexed." Malone sighed, slumping further into himself.
The Obeah Man squatted beside him, silent, eyes riveted to the pain.
"Wha' I gonna do? How de hex come off? I don't know who put he der."
The Obeah Man placed his fingers in the centre of Man-masher's forehead. The pressure resulted in a wave of relief that flowed through every nerve, bringing an instant calm. He felt weightless, incorporeal.
He watched as the bottles lining the wall were removed, sniffed, examined and replaced, until a choice was made . . .
Joyce LaVerne White
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Last updated: January 24, 2000 
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