Last week, we left just at the point where Winston’s game had gotten so big, he was threatening to usurp the authority of the Church, much to the embarrassment of the Men of the Cloth, who felt it was time they put a stopping to the whole grisly charade.  But coming up with an appropriate solution, they found, was easier said than done, and required some **   doing. Now, read on.

MANY suggestions were made, but nothing conclusive was agreed on. They all decided to monitor the situation, and await the first opportunity that presented itself. As soon as it did, they would strike hard and fast.
Meanwhile, Winston’s client list began to bulge at its seams. He met with irate and suspicious housewives; over-ambitious sweet-women; frustrated and impotent men; sterile women; businessmen, politicians and community leaders. His purse grew to an unbelievable size. He was very happy with his present occupation.
Winston knew that people wanted quick solutions to all their problems, and that he could not really give this, so he cleverly improvised. For his remedies to succeed, everything depended on the gullibility of the client, and carrying out his instructions to the letter. Therein resided many escape chutes, in case he was ever cornered.  Many returned to him with glowing accounts of success, much to his shock and delight. There was usually an added monetary incentive on such occasions.
Rotten eggs, spoilt tomatoes and chalk marks on back doors and steps; dead frogs, lizards and other insects with severed heads and limbs placed at strategic spots; burning incense, black candles and different-coloured beads on beads and in drawers were very effective. These all played important roles in his elaborate hoax. Until one day, when everything went haywire.
A rich-looking woman came to see him. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew instinctively there was plenty cash to be had. She complained that her husband was having an affair, and she wanted it to end.  The offending party was his personal secretary. Solemnly, Winston went through the motion of lighting the black candles and incense sticks, shaking the chack-chacks and humming a sort of chant that sounded suspiciously like ‘Three coins in a Fountain’.
He then gave her a potion of dried and ground weed, lizard’s tail and frog’s feet. This had to be cooked in the husband’s food; when he ate this, all should be well. As for the secretary, the wife was given a concoction of scented oil mixed with Limacol and garlic juice, which concoction had to be sprinkled on the front of her husband’s  pants to be effective. The woman left, looking very pleased with herself.  She even paid $15,000 instead of the seven Winston had asked for. Winston was ecstatic.
One week later, the woman was back. She appeared to be frightened and hysterical. She had given her unsuspecting spouse the prescribed potion. Soon after this, the man suddenly took ill. What was even worse, the doctors could find nothing wrong with him. To add fire to fury, the secretary had also taken seriously ill with an unknown affliction. The rich woman declared that she would soon be telling the authorities about her last visit to Winston. She demanded her money back, and all doctor’s expenses.
De Obeah Man almost had a heart attack! Not because of the woman’s demands, but because his foolish scheme had actually worked. Just when his bank account had soared to previously unknown heights, something like this had to happen.
Now, Winston realized that he was in serious trouble; he had no idea what he had done, in the first place, and certainly didn’t know how to undo it. He began to sweat and tremble.
“Either give me a cure or give me back my money, and the expenses ah had to pay at de hospital!” The woman was livid and shouted at Winston.
“I’m trying to think. Please, give me a moment,” he pleaded.
Winston was trying for all he was worth to figure out how to quickly disappear again.
“Get meh money now, or else!” The threat was unmistakable.
Getting up, Winston ducked into his bedroom and returned with an envelope containing a hundred thousand dollars, which he handed to his irate client. She looked at the money in shock, then quickly composed herself.
“It cost twice this amount at Balwant Singh Hospital!”
Winston made another trip to his bedroom. When he emerged, he had another envelope. This time, he was quite reluctant to hand it over, and the woman had to tug it away. She looked at the cash in some awe.
“Good! I already been to another Obeah Man on the West Bank Berbice! He real bad! He tell me you is a fake!”
Winston’s blood ran cold. It seemed that this man was the real deal.
“He say he gon deal wid you!”
Getting up, the woman stormed out, slamming the door behind her so hard, the glass of water above the jamb fell and shattered on the ground. Not a very good sign! Winston was left with a lot on his mind. What if the husband or secretary died? He rose and locked the house. He’d decided to prepare for a rapid departure the next day. He packed his valuables and tried to figure out his next move. It was already late, so he decided to retire early.
He awoke early next morning, feeling sick. This was quite unusual for him. Things had been going so well, that illness had never entered the equation. Now he felt unwell. Was the man from West Coast Berbice already getting to him? He re-focused on a speedy departure. He would go outside and have his usual bath; minus the blue and scented oils.
Winston opened his door and recoiled in horror. Scattered on his step and entire back-yard was an assortment of busted eggs, rotten tomatoes, garlic, dead frogs, dead lizards, the blood of two decapitated Creole fowls and their bodies and the strong scent of ‘Jeyes Fluid’. His stomach did a complete somersault. When he came to, his head felt light and his knees weak.
“Oh God! Dey wukkin’ obeah pon me!” he screamed in terror.
Stumbling blindly back into the house, he shut the door and ran to his room, fully intending to grab his valuables and flee. But another shock awaited him there! Lying dead on the bed, its head on his pillow, was another Creole fowl! Winston blacked out.
When he came to, he smelled very strong incense. The room was thick with its smoke, and visibility was limited. He felt scared and confused. He did not even remember lighting any incense. There was the throbbing sound of drums etching out its hypnotic and rhythmic beat. The sound of chack-chacks seemed to have the worst effects on his pores. His body was a mass of goose bumps.
Someone close by was chanting softly. Winston peered through the slowly clearing fog, trying to locate the source. Across the room sat a man, dressed in traditional African clothing. His face was painted as if he was ready for war, and he was glaring menacingly at Winston.
“Where am I? What happened?”
The fierce-looking figure growled at him. “You are a very bad Obeah Man; you make my ancestors very angry. They are returning from the dead to avenge the grave insult you have put them through.”
Winston began to cry and jabber.
“B..b..b..b..but I is not a Obeah Man; was jus a joke.”
“QUIET!!”
Winston’s tongue retired briefly.
“JOKE!”
The speaker had risen to his feet, and began to chant. The drumbeat grew nearer, and the door of the room was flung open violently. To Winston’s absolute dread, five other figures, similarly attired, entered the room. Winston began to cry even louder, and beg for forgiveness. He tried to close his eyes to shut out the cause of his suffering…But he couldn’t!
“S…s…s…sorry! V…v…very s…sorry!”
“YOU MUST PAY!!”
For the first time in many decades, Winston began to pray. “Dear God! Please help me. Ah sorry. Ow God!”
“GOD!!” one of the ancestors thundered. “You dare bring God into this matter!”
Winston wet himself.
The six figures huddled in a corner of the room, trying to decide his fate. That was when Winston made his escape from the dark smoky room. Unfortunately for him, it was not until he was about 300 yards up the road that he realized he was dressed only in his briefs.
People were pointing and laughing, but Winston kept on running. He could still hear the distant beat of drums, and feared they would catch up to him and finish him off. He saw flashes of his death. He was spread-eagled on the ground; his hands and feet were pierced and held by spears. His tongue had been removed, and laid on his chest, and two Creole fowls were about to peck out his eyes. He shook his eyes to get rid of the nightmarish images and kept jogging. Would you believe that this guy has not stopped running since?
In a small dark room in the church, the six pastors from the surrounding churches were removing face paint, and folding African clothing. There was laughter and amusement at the recent happenings. Their plan had succeeded. Now all they had to do was return to their usual occupation: Bringing in the sheep.