Destroyer of Dreams part 4
(4 months ago, outside Charleston, South Carolina, trudging thru a nearby reeking swamp. Two men are knee deep in muck and hard at play).
Bernard Hill: (firing the blunderbuss, a huge smoke cloud boils out of the muzzle) By Jupiter! That was a spot of ruckus, eh, Beau? You've made this a masterpiece of reconstruction, sir - so much that the fabric of the southern states could be torn asunder!
Beauregard Rippetoe: It has quite a kick. You make sure you shoulder that co-rectly. Cain't have you messing up your aim.
Bernard Hill: Aye, lad. (looking left 30 degrees, spying a moving target) Let's see if I can skewer that boar down yonder. (jammping metal ball shot with a long rod)
Beauregard Rippetoe: Jes' snip a little bead on it. that's all- Now you aim, and let 'er repeat.
Bernard Hill: (the blunderbuss explodes once again, the echo reverberating amongst the cypress trees hanging thick with grey-green Spanish moss, Bernard smiled broadly when the wild boar falls snout first, then a summersault of tail over tusks).
I believe we have dinner, sir.
Beauregard Rippetoe: (letting out a high pitched drawl of a yell, slapping Bernard on the back)
Bernard Hill: (groaning in pain, dropping his right shoulder and turning to grit his teeth at his host for not remembering).
Beauregard Rippetoe: Oh I am so sorry, Bernard. I fogot you had not completely healed back there.
Bernard Hill: Thanks for nothing Beau, Ai ai ai, that was a wee bit harsh.
Beauregard Rippetoe: (looking pensively at Bernard, looking down forlornly then back at his friend more softly) Bern, old man, 's time we chatted. Have you studied what I taught you, suh?
Bernard Hill: Aye, I have.
Beauregard Rippetoe: And you have even practiced a bit?
Bernard Hill: Aye.
Beauregard Rippetoe: Well then. (looking directly at Bernard in the eye) I see that you are ready to implement your newfound knowledge. What I have given you is fresh from the best the sharpest, the most deepest mind in all of Vodun. I spent long hours in the back streets of Louisiana, perfecting my craft. You are my torchbearer to the Old World. Remember the met-tet, suh, your hougus and hounsis, and call upon your gros bon ange (gardian angel) when hope is most dire and your dreams are destroyed.
Bernard Hill: Aye, I promise, and I won't forget this gift. I owe you so much
Beauregard Rippetoe: Use it wisely, Bernard. And ...don't forget the blood sacrifice... (pressing a wicker doll with large needles embedded in the belly of the toy into the hands of Bernard, who placed it in his breeches)
(present time)
Elizabeth Ann l'Ittere spat fits of words of pure filth to Bernard as she clutched her eyes. Screams emitted from the mouth, as shw twirled on the deck of the tower, alternately lifting and lowering her torso in pain.
Bernard began to chant his own words, and shaking the doll like a rattle, he began to stomp his feet in a makeshift drumbeat. His chant became a song of defiance, his defiance a strength that coursed through his very body, singing with electric intensity that emanated from his soul. It was as if the very natives of Africa were being summoned, both dead and alive, to aid him.
Bernard took some of the blood from his face, beaten and broken, and still chanting words from his mentor, smeared the doll with it, and plunged the needles into its eyes.
Howling agonizing words were cursed at Bernard. "I'll see you in hell!" the witch taunted and sneered, and galaring with malace at the realization that this was going to be more than a heave-to the ground for Bernard, she snarled, "Give me that thing."
"I don't think so," Bernard said, and he jammed the needles into the eyes again, with crumpling results. Elizabeth clutched at her face as if she was going to tear the very muscles away from her and shun them for the pidgeons to feed.
The witch lept at Bernard, but with one hand on her eyes, the other hand, her left, caught him at the throat.
Bernard gasped at the animal vengenance in her and pulled a final breath into his body. He wispered a curse of his own, and a drawing upon his gros bon ange, he felt though his own agony to push her to the guard rail.
Struggling, both of them tried to push the other over the railings. Bernard pulled the doll away and began jabbing furiously the needles themselves into Elizabeth.
At last, Bernard pulled Elizabeth's hand from her eye. What he saw repulsed him. It was nothing but a gaping hole, an empty socket of a corpse long dead. Grabbing that open socket of her eye, and then lifting her up by the crotch, with one final desperate heave, he thrust her over the railing, 300 meters high, into the Parisian night.
Banshee screams emitted from the witch. She pulled out a black onyx crucifix from her pouuch and began plunging it into and out of her cunt as she hurtled ever faster to the ground.
The witch jutted her teeth out and her jaw became one last snarl, and a spit of utter contempt lept up at Bernard, watching, gasping at the railing, wide-eyed with joy, horror, and revulsion.
She crashed headfirst onto the curvature of the tower, and then crumpled to the ground with a head over heels and landing with a sickening splatter on the avenue below.
Bernard began to laugh. He felt the warmth of life flow back into is soul like the strength of a thousand blasing suns greeting him with halcyon joy, even though it was still nightfall. he slumped to the promenade deck and fell asleep exhausted and drained beyond any experience he had ever known.