Family and Friends—
Fables and news reports say drunken French Quarter tourists have been sacrificed in
I had come in peace to
People tell me that the easiest way to describe Voodoo is like a drink. Splash some pagan and splash some Catholicism and you’ve got Voodoo. Of course, to those inside the religion, the nuances are what make it special.
After I realized I may have upset someone much more than me, I made the sign of the cross.
The dead rest above ground in
The cockroaches have colonized on the wall of one mini-palace. They were nowhere else in this massive place. “Had a Voodoo priest cursed this family?” I wondered. I didn’t care to find out.
So I walked down the rows, more cautiously when I turned corners, knowing it doesn’t take an Olympian to hop the wall. I didn’t see anyone. I was alone with thousands of dead New Orleanians--old New Orleanians. The ones with , African, Caribbean, French and Spanish and Native American blood. A French Quarter transplant from
Angels and crosses were the norm. Many tombs are extravagant, a reverence to those who lay inside. And some are rather humble, with fireplace brick chipping in the corners. I climbed on top of one of these and looked at the
The sharp white marble tomb next to me read:
Armand le Merciep du Quesnay
The silence was peaceful.
I think they like it here. I hopped over the wall. A guy gave me a funny look. No sacrifices, tonight.
PS: I will never ever go to a cemetery alone after dark again for those who have already or who were planning on scolding me. Sorry.