Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves

They'd call us gypsies, tramps, and thievesBut every night all the men would come aroundAnd lay their money down …

Cher

Before I moved to New Orleans and would just come to visit to listen to jazz, eat good food, and play, I loved to go to Jackson Square. The artists were lined around the tall black wrought iron fences. Psychics set up little shops on the sidewalks and would do readings. I always had to have a reading when I went to the French Quarter. Musicians would play great jazz on the square and pass around a hat to collect money. Performance artists would do everything from balloon animals to magic shows to being an angel statue that would only move if a tip was placed in a bucket. It didn’t change much over the years.

When I came to live in the French Quarter, I wanted to be one of the psychics on Jackson Square. I didn’t quite no how to do it because when I do astrology I use a computer and some checking around and I found out that the police were less tolerant of astrologers so I got a deck of Karma Cards. These are really cool cards to do readings and have all astrological symbols on them so I was able to read cards and I was determined to do it. I had my cards; I had my attitude so all I needed was two chairs, a table, and some decorations for the table. Of course, an umbrella was needed because it is hot in the Louisiana sun and the rains can come without warning. Miss Maxie loaned me a cart to drag all my stuff from Sin City to the square. It was about 4 or 5 blocks. My first morning walking to the square I was scared but I was excited. I have to tell you I am not the most coordinated person in the world and I am not the strongest and I must have looked like a hoot in my long black dress and straw hat trimmed in black ribbon.

I looked around the square as everyone was setting up. I wanted to set up next to someone who looked safe and comfortable. I made one of the best decisions of my life on that steamy morning. Sitting directly in front of St. Louis Cathedral was an amazing looking woman. She was tall, thin, blonde, and was wearing the most amazing broad brimmed hat. I thought I like the way this broad looks. I went and put my stuff next to her and began to set my stuff up.

I smiled.

She smiled.

I met Goddess.

It was like we had been friends forever. She was truly mi hermana del alma or soul sister. Goddess was and is a trip through fantasy land. She was living in the Quarter and helped support her son who was an aspiring musician. (He formed a band with Jamie whom you can read about in the Jamie Show http://maytorena.blogspot.com/2005/09/jamie-show.html ) She was suffering from a disease that was potentially terminal and was in constant pain and could barely afford to pay for her medications and support she and her son. She had been married to a very wealthy man and had been, in effect, a trophy wife but he ex-husband traded her in for a younger model and paid nothing toward the support of Goddess and her son. Goddess had been born and grew up in Haiti. She is the only white woman that I have ever known who was initiated into Haitian Voodoun. On her stomach which was flat and firm even at 50 something (never asked something when or what) was a tattoo celebrating the loa Erzulie. She had style. She had class. She was truly a goddess of the French Quarter.

Goddess attracted clients with magical charm. She would take a magic wand with tinkling bells and shake it at the tourist and wink and say she was sending them a little magic dust. She would call them over and do readings using Tarot cards. I have to tell you right now Goddess didn’t know shit about Tarot but with an IQ of 160 she did a great reading and a great show that the tourists loved. She would charge 25 dollars for a reading and would often be tipped another 20 or 25.

Many of the other psychics on the square resented the Goddess or they were jealous. Many a gossip was shared with me warning me of her. I can tell you this about her she became my mentor and made it possible for me to be a successful psychic on the square. She introduced me to a homeless man whom I would pay to come and retrieve my things in the morning and take them back to the bar in the evening. He became a protector and would keep an eye on me so that I was not ripped off or harassed by the many beggars and con-artists that filled the square especially when the tourists were there.

His name was John and he was an older man. He was black and had been released from prison a year ago after spending 25 years in prison. (Oh, and like every ex-con I have ever met, he was not guilty.) He had lost his family. He had lost his dreams. He had not lost his kindness or humanity. John would do what ever work he could pick up in order to survive, eat, and buy a pint of bourbon every night before he went to sleep in the homeless shelter. No matter what he did or what he had to do, John was always there to help me in the morning and the evening.

I remember one evening after midnight I was walking from Sin City to our shotgun house on Urselines. I ran into John and a friend who both were a bit toasted. We were having fun and chatting when a van pulled up and a very clean cut gentleman asked for directions. I talked to him and went back talking to my friends. I said, I wonder what all that was about. John and his friend burst out laughing. The guy who asked directions was an under cover New Orleans police officer and was concerned that an upper class white woman who could be a tourist was talking to two drunk, black, homeless guys on a street in the Quarter.

I met Sonia at Sin City. I would see her in the bar trying to con a patron out of a drink or pandering for money on Jackson Square. She was thin, emaciated, with sunken lost eyes. One afternoon Sonia came into the bar with a neatly dressed man and two young children, a boy and a girl under the age of six. The little girl was hanging onto Sonia and the little boy hid behind her with big eyes starring at me. She wanted to introduce me to her husband and children. Sonia was a crack addict and her husband took care of the children and lived in the 9th ward. She never went home because she was always scamming for a rock so she could survive the pain in her life. He worked and took care of the kids and sometimes when she was a little bit under control he would bring the kids to see her.

The next day, Jimmy, Mel and I were sitting at the bar. Jimmy was having his usual bourbon and coke, Mel was drinking ice water and looked like she had two watermelons in her stomach as she was in her 7th month of pregnancy, and I was drinking coffee waiting for John to pick up my stuff so I could go to work. Sonia walked in and was chatting us up. While we were diverted by her conversation, she grabbed a twenty dollar bill off the bar that belonged to Jimmy. She left before we even knew it was gone. I was furious. I told John not to bother taking my stuff to the Square as I was not going to work today. I paid him what I would have paid him anyway and I walked toward the square.

I started circling it looking for Sonia. I was furious. I was enraged. I kept focusing on Sonia. I saw her kids. I saw her life. I saw her desperation. I, now, can forgive her for stealing the money because I understand what drove her better. Then, I felt betrayed and I was to the boiling point. I kept sliding my beads through my hand and as I touched each bead I visualized the police finding her and arresting her. I finally went back to the bar and had my traditional vodka and tonic. Three hours later, John came to find me.

He said that the police had arrested Sonia for stealing money from a tourist. She was off to jail. He told me that with her record it would be a long time before she was back on the streets. I thanked him and I thanked spirit because I knew while jail is hell, the hell of crack addiction is even worse. I realized that her children would go and see her and she would be clean for as long as she was locked up. I prayed it would be longer.