They call her Dana Read Online Free PDF Page A

had a bad turn, and—"
    "I has the medicine you came for."
    "Ma—Ma's going to be all right, isn't she?"
    She ignored the question, those black-brown eyes aglow as she continued to study me. Several long moments passed, and I felt vaguely uneasy, gripping the handle of the basket, tiny streams of perspiration dripping down my back. Mama Lou grimaced and, reaching out, lightly touched my cheek. Her fingertips were as soft as velvet and seemed to vibrate with power.
    "You is growing up," she rasped softly. "You is no longer a chile. This is good. This will help."
    "What do you mean?"
    "You is strong," she told me. "Inside you have the hidden strength, the will to overcome. This will see you through."
    Mama Lou nodded as though in agreement with herself, her head bobbing up and down, and then she shooed the cat away from her legs and gave me the bottle of medicine. I slipped it into the pocket of my skirt.
    "The last bottle helped a lot," I said nervously. "She was able to get some sleep. I—I feel sure she'll get better."
    Mama Lou's eyes were sad. She didn't say anything, and I was afraid to ask her any more questions. Some things you didn't want to know. You wanted to keep them a secret as long as possible.
    "Come on in, chile," Mama Lou said gently. "They's honey cakes. You always did love Mama Lou's honey cakes."
    She opened the screen door. Her old leather slippers flopped noisily as she shuffled slowly inside the shanty. I followed, setting the basket down on the littered worktable. It was cool and dim inside. Drying herbs hung from the beams overhead, and a tall shelf along one wall was filled to overflowing with boxes and canisters. There were two battered old bamboo chairs, a small leather-bound chest between them. Mama Lou lighted a candle in a battered pewter holder and set it down on the chest, settling herself into one of the bamboo chairs. In the flickering

    candlelight I saw the strange masks hanging on the wall opposite the shelf. They were wonderfully carved and extremely ugly, one of them encircled with long dry grass like a lion's mane. The three savage faces seemed to grimace as the light wavered. They had been here ever since I could remember, and I wondered how Mama Lou had obtained them.
    "You fetch the honey cakes, chile. Mama Lou doesn't get around as good as she did. These old bones are a-gettin' weary."
    "I really don't want any honey cakes. Mama Lou."
    "No," she said, "you wants to talk. Sit yourself down."
    I sat down in the bamboo chair opposite hers, the candle flame leaping between us like a tiny yellow-orange demon trying to escape its captivity on the tip of the candle. Ebenezer jumped through the open window and perched on the sill for a moment, then jumped onto the old rag rug and marched over to sit at Mama Lou's feet. His yellow-green eyes glared at me, daring me to attempt any harm to his mistress. Through the window I could see that the cloud was still covering the sun, everything gray, dim, even though it was only midmoming. I looked at Mama Lou, and in the light of the candle her withered old face had a strange beauty, like one of the masks.
    "Tell me, chile," she rasped.
    "I—I've been having this dream, Mama Lou. I've been having it for some time now, and it—it's always the same."
    She bobbed her head, waiting for me to continue, and I told her about the dream: the mist, the man I sensed was tall and handsome but couldn't see clearly, the great river nearby. I didn't tell her about the feelings I had when I woke up, for some reason embarrassed to speak of them. Mama Lou listened carefully, leaning forward in her chair, and when I had finished, she bobbed her head again, nodding.
    "You has the sight," she said.
    "The sight?"
    "Everyone has it, chile, in one degree or another, only most folk, they's never even aware of it. It come and it goes, like a flash of lightning in the mind, and they just puzzled for a moment and forgets it."
    "This dream—"
    "It comes in dreams, too,