Learning the Banda: Coda
Act Two
--
Coda
The hours between his delivery and his promised return move slow, like people wading through a Texas summer or full-bellied 'gators in the bayous. You alternate between sitting behind the counter -- practically vibrating in your skin with the force of your need, flesh trying to hold in the power of an Ezili-touched banda -- and pacing the store, too focused on him to see anything else.
You turn the sign on the shop from 'Open' to 'Closed' right at five but don't leave. You skip dinner; you're hungry, starving, but not for food. And then, once it's dark, once the Quarter's come alive, he knocks on the door.
That morning, he brought you the blood of other people, an offering to smooth over the sacrifice both of you expect from the other. Tonight, now, he brings himself. It's the one thing, the only thing, you've wanted for years. It's the only thing you'll ever need again. And he knows it, just like he knows you, just like you know him.
You take him home -- sit on the streetcar facing each other, walk through the streets -- in silence, and you're not holding hands but you might as well be with as close as the two of you are. You take him home to your sanctuary, to the place that speaks of Papa and Ezili and Texas and family more than anything else, more than even yourself. You take him home and watch as he inhales the pungent scent of blood-red roses, watch as he prowls inside and stalks through this space containing your life.
You take him home and Thursday night, in the dark, skin-against-skin, breath mingling, you teach him the banda.
He learns quickly.
--
The best came later, and when Amparo returned, I was
able to give her a foretaste of wondrous events.
"It's an incredible story. Are you with me?"
"To the end of time."