House of the Angels

Esther barely noticed the hustle and bustle of the streets below as she tended to the plants on the rooftop of the old St. Augustine Street home. The air was thick with the early summer heat and humidity that left a low-hanging haze over the city, clouding across everything it touched. Across the river, the yellow light of the sun hung high overhead and scorched the streets below, rising off the pavement in a liquid mirage. The chirp of a swamp bird could be heard high up in the trees and the sweet scents of magnolia, palmetto, echinacea, and beebalm filled the air as Esther brushed aside the leaves and stems of the brightly colored flowers to give them a big splash of water.

She made her way down to the backyard garden where all the cypress, willow, ferns and bog trees had all been carefully planted. Heavy swags of Spanish moss brushed against her lightly tanned skin as she set her bucket down on the edge of an old stone water trough. The heat was much more intense than last year’s had been. If it was this hot…. she thought, then the winter will be awfully chilly and damp……

When she returned to the spot beneath the old banyan tree, she saw one of her friends fully submerged in a metal tub full of ice water. His grey t-shirt and black gym shorts clung to his skin beneath the mirror-like surface that blurred and distorted his features. He rose up out of the water, dripping wet and cooled from the searing heat, the hairs on his arms standing straight up, and his easily-burned skin chilled from the ice.

“Good morning Kyle,” Esther chortled as she began watering the old magnolia tree. “Did you sleep OK?”

“Better than I did last night,” Kyle said as he ran his fingers through his wet, red hair. “Where is everybody?”

“Not sure,” Esther replied. “They could be anywhere for all I know.”

Kyle stood up and dried himself off as he wrapped himself in a black towel, and brushed away the water from his eyes. He was a strange sort as many had observed time and time again since the day he had been left at the house as an infant. But what really caught people off guard was Kyle’s strange, mismatched eyes – one a startling sapphire blue and the other a bright green like the gently swaying bayou grasses. Even as a child, Kyle had a way of startling people with those eyes. Sybilla and Anne, the heads of the household, were both taken aback when they first saw them. Those of a superstitious sort thought that he was cursed. One woman even dared to suggest that Kyle be taken down to the river and drowned before he killed the whole family. Anne, ever a well composed lady, sent a stinging slap across the woman’s face and calmly ordered her to get out of her house.

Almost everyone who lived under the roof of this house could call it home whether they were blood relatives or not. Many of those who lived here were from broken homes and families all across the state, from Shreveport to St Bernard. Others had seen their parents, friends, or siblings shot on the streets, many had been given up for adoption while others ran away from their abusive parents. Here they could live under Sybilla and Anne’s watchful eyes and enjoy the peace of their newfound lives.

The sound of someone playing an old Spanish guitar caught Esther’s and Kyle’s attention. When Esther looked up to the window, she saw Caleb, another beloved resident of the house, sitting the old window with the sun streaming in onto his tan face and lighting up his bright blue eyes as he picked and strummed away.

“How long do you think he’ll keep at that?” Kyle asked, looking up to the window.

“Probably ’till someone gets sick of it and tells him to shut up,” Esther chuckled as she brushed some of her straight auburn hair behind her shoulder.

“Essie!!” shouted a voice from the top floor of the house. “Essie, Joseph’s home!”

Esther nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the news. She dropped the watering can and dashed down the dirt path, around the corner, throwing open the garden gate, and finally out to the sidewalk. Joseph swept her up off the ground, wrapping his long arms around her slender frame, happy to be home and happy to see her.

“Did ya miss me?” he said with a smirk.

“Every day,” Esther said happily, before kissing him.

Joseph carefully set her down and they walked hand-in-hand back through the garden and into the backyard. Kyle had laid his towel down on the dirt under the shade of the willow to dry off and soak up the sun.

“How was home?” Esther asked as she and Joseph made their way back to the house.

“Same as it always is,” Joseph shrugged. “Nothing changes up there anyways.”

Esther opened the creaky old red kitchen door and walked into the shady kitchen with its dark wood paneling and in through the living room. The hand woven rugs and old furniture smelled of must and cool dampness trapped by the drawn blinds. Along one of the walls was a long table with a statue of the Madonna in the very center, a gift from the priest at the local church. All around the statue were small candles that had nearly burnt down to the wick, vials full of brightly colored dust, bits and pieces of hand woven cloth, tiny silver crosses, strands of rosary beads, coins and dollar bills from foreign nations, figurines with strange faces and bottles full of strong-smelling alcohol. The dark yellow paint on the walls had begun to fade and chip with the wear and tear of years for the house was older than its residents. Joseph and Esther could both smell burning champa incense from somewhere in the house, its sweet and smoky trail reaching far and wide throughout the halls and beyond. Finally when they entered the room at the very end of the hall, Sybilla greeted them.

“Welcome back, Joseph,” Sybilla greeted. “I see the travel did you well.”

“Wasn’t easy,” replied Joseph. “I’ll tell ya as soon as you have a minute.”

“I got a minute,” Sybilla replied. “I got one right now.”

Esther quietly excused herself from the room and left Joseph alone with Sybilla.

Sybilla was one of the two heads of the household and the leading authority figure to all the residents. She sat in a great chair made of dark wood which displayed all sorts of strange and intricate engravings of cherubs and other angelic figures all worked into the tough wood. Her feet rested comfortably on a footrest made from the bones of snakes and alligators, caught by men who worked for her. The great stone dais on which this throne was perched was covered with a large bolt of dark red oriental silk, its golden phoenixes appearing almost lifelike in their fiery stillness. All around the chair were crosses made from wood, silver or gold, and various candles, most of them either red or blue or purple in color. Strands of rosary beads were wrapped around the votives, given to her by poor people who could hardly afford to have their fortunes read. "The Fortune Queen of New Orleans", a nickname that had gone around the bayou faster than the common cold.

Sybilla herself looked like a great African queen as she perched herself in her chair. Her long dark hair was woven into skinny braids that she kept carefully tied around her head with a long silver ribbon. Her dark skin was as brown as the earth and so were her stern, cat-like eyes that immediately fixed upon all who entered her domain. Though she favored rich, dark colors with striking details, Sybilla always seemed to most often wear blue, green and white.....simple, but a favorite that reminded her well of the land and water, two thin

“How was the visit home?” she asked softly.

“Sad, to say the least…” Joseph answered, his voice trailing off a bit.

“What was it this time?” Sybilla asked as she reached for a glass of sweet iced tea. “Elderly couple? Cancer patient? Soldier died before his or her time?”

“A baby boy,” Joseph answered. “He had problems with his lungs and muscles when he was born. The doctors wouldn’t do anything to help him.”

“Those ones are always the toughest,” Sybilla said. “Just gotta give it time. At least the lil’ one’s safe.”

“You think it’s worth a curse?” Joseph asked.

“Nah baby, it ain’t worth it.” Sybilla said. “I only save my curses for the worst of sinners.”

Joseph nodded, knowing Sybilla was right. She had seen many cases like this before involving mothers and their children. It saddened him to have to bring the child to the rest of the angels, but it had to be done. Still….he thought. Wouldv’e been hilarious to see that doctor grow a second head out of his elbow……

“Did I miss much while I was gone?” he asked.

“Nah, ya aint missed much,” Sybilla replied with a wave of her hand. “But there is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“And that is?”

“I been hearin’ that you and the rest of them idjits are fighting over who gets the back room on the third floor,” Sybilla elaborated.

Oh great….Joseph thought to himself. And I know exactly who told her too…

“If ya’ll don’t want my boot in your behinds I suggest you cut it out,” Sybilla explained sharply. “’Cause the next time ya’ll are hungover I’ll come up in there with a cookin pot and a wooden spoon!”

“Yes ma’am!” Joseph said suddenly straightening.

“Go on now,” she told him. “Get yourself on outta here. I gotta start preparing for dinner.”

“Yes, Sybilla,” Joseph said politely before leaving the room.

She watched him leave the room and when he disappeared, Sybilla shook her head as a mischievous smile crossed her face. That child’s more trouble than he’s worth….she teasingly thought.

As the afternoon turned to evening, Sybilla had gone to the backyard to start making dinner. A huge pot sat on the big clay stove on a bed of red hot coals with her famous gumbo quietly simmering inside. The sweet, tangy smell pleased everyone who came walking into the garden whether they enjoyed its red-hot spiciness or not, rousing even the laziest residents from their sluggish state.

“Remind me again why you need these?” said the frail looking blonde girl who came back from the vegetable patch with a basket filled to the brim with what looked like fat orange cherries.

“Guinea peppers are the life, child,” Sybilla explained. “Just don’t eat too much of ’em. They’re hotter than Hades.”

The girl set the basket down near the clay stove and brushed the dirt and dust from her lavender-colored sundress. The evening was still frightfully hot but the coming night would bring the relief of cool air.

“Ya’ll remember how to do this Gwen?” Sybilla inquired.

“No more than two and save the rest for later.” Gwen answered with a thick but beautiful southern drawl.

“At least one of ya’ll remembers,” Snickered Sybilla.

Gwen helped Sybilla with the dinner preparations while Sybilla quizzed her on various subjects ranging from the domestic to the intellectual.

“Now tell me, Gwen,” Sybilla said as she added some small fish heads to the gumbo pot. “Which comes first? The Seraphim or the Cherubim?”

“Seraphim, ma’am,” Gwen replied. “They’re of the highest order.”

“Good, good,” Sybilla said. “Which order rules over providences and cities?”

“Principalities.”

“How many angels are in the Order of the Archangels?”

“There are twelve, with Michael as the most powerful.”

“Oh you learnin’ good lil’ mama!” Sybilla remarked as she tossed a long braid of hair out of her face. “Pretty soon ya’ll might have me beat.”

“Hey Sybilla!” called a young man with an odd raspy voice from the back door. “Any idea what this herb is? I found it growing out by the peppers.”

“Figure it out yourself Kurt!” Sybilla told him. “I ain’t your damn textbook!”

“You could always ask David. He knows all of those,” Gwen called back.

Kurt, a slim framed young man with big brown eyes and dark hair buzzed close to his head, groaned and went back into the house, leaving Gwen and Sybilla to their work.

Anne stepped out into the bright evening sunlight just as Kurt disappeared back into the cool house. Anne, like many of the residents, was fair as snow with waves of blonde hair that barely reached her shoulders. At the age of fifty-two she had retained much of her youthful beauty, save the barely noticeable crow’s feet. The black dresses and clothes she wore fit her slim figure perfectly and not only brought out the best in her pale features, but also her deep green eyes.

“I see Kurt’s a little bit peeved,” She remarked with the smooth, comforting drawl of the low country in her voice. “I wonder what bug crawled up his leg and bit his ass this morning.”

“He’s just a cranky lil’ crab that slept in a low tide,” Sybilla scoffed as she stirred the pot with a long wooden paddle.

“Give him time, Sybilla,” Anne replied. “He’ll come around.”

“Yeah, well it’s hard to be patient when all you wanna do is nail’em right between the eyes.”

Anne shook her head and took a small taste of the spicy gumbo. Her eyes started to water from the spiciness that ran across her tongue and the roof of her mouth. A shudder ran up her back as the heat filled every inch of her face.

“Needs a pinch of salt,” She remarked. “Just to even things out.”

Anne took a pinch of salt from one of the jars on the table and sprinkled it into the pot to add more the flavor. Just a few more minutes to cook over the hot open coals and it would be ready.

Gwen rang the dinner bell by the door just a few minutes before sundown. Everyone ate in the back garden sitting on the rock walls or at the wiry table and chairs right in the center of the garden. The night was gloriously cool now that the sun had gone down and stars began to dot the blue-black sky overhead. Everyone there agreed that it couldn’t have been better.