A Cult of Two
by Harrison Kim
Chapter 8. The Move to San Antonio
“Too much pressure. We must leave now.” Jimmy had been drinking white rum steadily for a few evenings after my conversations with Anna.
We stayed inside, and no one visited, except for the jazz drummer, Gord. He and I sat around and talked religion, travel and music, while Jimmy played solitaire and chimed in occasionally.
“Do you see Harrison’s guardian angel?” Jimmy asked.
Gord said he did. “It’s dressed all in white,” he announced, pointing upwards with a shaky but straight-looking finger. “It’s carrying a cross.”
“I’d sooner it was a guitar,” I said.
Jimmy frowned. He stood up unsteadily and began gathering the saint statues together, folding them into newspapers. “We must pray for a safe journey,” he said. “We will pack every statue except for St. Christopher’s.” He turned to Gord. “Saint Christopher will be inside my jacket.”
“I checked out the train times to Texas for you,” Gord said. “Only one goes near the border. It leaves at midnight and takes twenty-four hours.”
“The fastest way is to fly,” I offered.
“Yeah,” Jimmy added. “And they serve drinks on the plane.”
I’d originally brought twelve hundred dollars for the trip, earned at a high-paying summer job for the government. In the first four months of my trip, I’d spent only five hundred. I camped outside, hitchhiked, ate in cheap cafes or bought my own food. It cost sixty dollars each to fly from Mexico City to San Antonio, a lot of money in 1976. “It’s all part of my education,” I mused.
We’d soon recoup our losses. Jimmy assured me that when we opened our Santeria business in Texas, hundreds of clients would seek us out.
“We’ll give them healing and miracles, no matter what their race, creed, or colour,” Jimmy said. “Our reputation will spread far and wide.” He smiled. “The things you describe happening under your power are impressive,” he said. “I think we can start you working on minor miracles right away.”
We didn’t say goodbye to anyone at the hotel. We left at dusk, taking a taxi to the airport with all the Santeria supplies and saints piled in a big white duffel bag. I carried my packsack, and Jimmy had no personal possessions at all, except his toothbrush and the stamped, perfumed papers.
I always regretted not saying goodbye to Silvia. She’d been good to me, giving me the cake celebration on my birthday, showing me around the city. I wondered what her life with Karl would be like, what would be the future for the son or daughter she’d bear in six or seven months. I often wondered about Estrella, too. Would she become pregnant because of what we did? I left no forwarding address. I simply disappeared as far as the three sisters were concerned.
“The man with the sloping shoulders should not ascertain our trail,” Jimmy said.
* * *
We took Braniff airways, on a short two-hour flight into San Antonio airport, landing on a clear night. We walked off the plane towards Customs, Jimmy a little unsteady because of three drinks on the plane.
“I’m an American citizen with nothing to declare,” Jimmy told the officers. He thrust his perfumed papers at them. They sniffed the scent, held the documents close to their faces for a few seconds.
“Smells good!” one said and thumbed him through.
“See you in a few minutes, Harrison.” Jimmy waved. He opened his jacket to show me the St. Christopher figurine, poking from his inside pocket.
The customs agent took me into a small room decorated with several plastic turtles sitting on filing cabinets. “What is your purpose in coming to the United States?” the interrogator began. “This is a funny place for a Canadian to fly into.”
I sat up, looked him in the eye. “Just visiting,” I answered. I was wearing the oil and the rub, the potions and the herbs. My voice stayed strong and didn’t waver.
The officer chewed gum and wrote steadily on a big pad of paper. “So, you’re not here to do farm work?” he asked for the fourth time.
“No,” I said, “I’m here to visit Jimmy’s grandmother. She’s travelling up from New Orleans.”
“Where’d you meet Jimmy?” asked the officer. “What’s your connection?”
“Religion,” I said. “We believe the same. He’s my religion teacher.”
There was a pause. The Customs officer grinned. “Amen to that,” he said, and stamped my passport. “Welcome to the United States.”
It’s easy to influence people, I thought, even these lawmen. I knew then that I had taken on more than a few traits of the Olosi.
The Mexico experience gave me a charismatic edge. Santeria opened my eyes to the changes a person could make in his attitude and personality. All one needed was belief, confidence oil, a sense of power and control, and from time to time a purposeful delusion.
“Is this all some kind of deception?” I wondered once again.
Yet where did that deep voice come from, out of the dark hotel room, calling to me about the devil, and what happened to the man on the bus, and to Antonio, when they grabbed at their eyes after the spells were thrown their way?
What about the perfuming of Jimmy’s documents? The Customs officers seemed entranced. How did we escape the soldiers at the café, who could easily have taken Jimmy away had their mood turned ugly? What made Silvia and Estrella care for me so much, if it wasn’t due to the influence of Santeria?
I’d now arrived in a totally different country, prepared to discover more about the demons and angels inside and outside of myself.
With Jimmy as my teacher, we would travel through Texas towards New Orleans and Grandmother Marget. I felt confident that I would soon learn all that was required to be a Santero.
Continuation encouraged...
Copyright © 2021 by Harrison Kim
