who she is sure does not find any of this amusing.
“Someone has cast the evil eye on you,” says Marta, propping Lily with pillows on the daybed. “We must seek divine protection.”
She fingers the string of extended rosary beads she habitually wears around her neck. In the place where a crucifix should
be, there is an image of Maria Lionza.
Lily smiles. Marta is never hesitant to include Maria Lionza in mortal matters. Her candles and offerings and spells for every
domestic crisis and national calamity have been a peripheral part of the household life for as long as she has worked for
Lily’s family, a family whose primary religion has always been individual expression. It would not occur to anyone to ridicule
Marta’s devotion or interfere with it in any way. They indulge its marginally obtrusive manifestations in their lives—the
rope of garlic hanging in the kitchen window, the small statuettes on their bedside tables, the burning of colored candles
and herbs, the murmuring of incantations. Even Carlos Alberto has come to regard Marta’s magical beliefs with indulgence and
has, on occasion, been persuaded to carry a charm for protection in his pocket. Her diagnosis comes as no surprise to anyone.
“We will start a Novena to Maria Lionza this very night,” Marta decides.
According to Marta, nine days before a baby comes into the world, its soul is born and wanders between the human world and
the world of spirits, looking for the body it has been destined to inhabit. If the evil eye is cast before the soul finds
its home, it continues to wander, lost between worlds. In order to guide the soul to the body, it is advisable to seek the
help of Maria Lionza, for it is she who lights up the path for souls that are lost.
“How do we go about it, Marta?” asks Lily agreeably, glad for the distraction, but hoping that Marta’s remedy doesn’t involve
anything grisly such as chicken’s blood or pig’s feet.
“Go about what?” says Luz, returning from the kitchen with her third beer.
Lily pats the side of the bed for Luz to sit next to her, then holds her hand up, saying, “Let’s wait for Mami.”
When Consuelo joins them in the living room moments later, Marta says, “Every night for nine nights, beginning tonight, we
will say the Rosary of Maria Lionza and ask for her blessings.” Luz, a self-proclaimed atheist, rolls her eyes and groans,
but stops when Lily shoots her a beseeching glance. Marta ignores her daughter and goes to the kitchen to look for candles.
The sight of Carlos Alberto walking up and down on the patio is distracting, and Lily wants to divert him. When Marta leaves
the room, she says loudly, “Carlos Alberto is the expert on Maria Lionza, aren’t you, darling? Come and tell us about her.”
Carlos Alberto stops pacing and returns to the living room, where he draws a chair up to the daybed. With Lily nodding encouragingly,
he explains that unlike the traditional rosary, the rosary of Maria Lionza has seven decades instead of five. Each decade,
he says, is dedicated to one of the seven courts of the goddess, which comprise a pantheon: the Court of Maria Lionza, led
by herself; the Medical Court, led by an early twentieth-century physician; the Court of the Juans, composed of various members
of popular folklore; the Teacher’s Court, led by a late nineteenth-century writer; the Black Court, led by a martyred African
slave; the Celestial Court, led by the Madonna; and the Malandro Court, led by Yoraco, a rogue who steals from the rich and
gives to the poor and has never been caught by the authorities. Each court has various subdeities, some real, some mythological,
some even derived from comic-book characters. And since there is no central authority among believers in Maria Lionza, lesser
deities are constantly added to the courts.
“Carlos Alberto!” says Luz. “How is it that you know so much about Maria Lionza? Could it be that
Laurence Cossé, Alison Anderson