Tonight Mark had a work-related function that was supposed to keep him out of the house until 9:30.
Instead, he waltzed in the door at 8:50.
And found me in dim lighting, listening to new-age yoga music, while rubbing an egg all over my body.
“Well, this is awkward,” I said.
Fortunately I’d told him about the conversation I’d had with our housekeeper last week. She’s from Ecuador, and when she took note of my latest health issue, she proclaimed that there was simply nothing for it but that I should see a witch.
“A witch?” I asked. “Seriously?”
“No, not a witch, exactly, it’s a, how you say, a witch doctor?”
“A witch doctor.”
“Yes, every village has one. They do all kinds of things with herbs and teas, and what would really help you is what they do with the egg.”
“So you mean, like a naturopath kind of thing? Or more like voodoo?”
“No, not like voodoo. They are Christian, and they pray over you. This thing with the egg – they take an egg, and they rub it all over your whole body, and they say prayers the whole time. They pray for evil spirits to leave you, for any negative energy to go away.”
“Negative energy?”
“Yes, like if someone is sending bad thoughts to you, ill wishing you. It can pull the negative energy out.”
“Like the evil eye?”
“No! Just bad energy. Negative thoughts. You should try it.”
“Yeah, well, where’s the local witch doctor? Charlotte’s a pretty big village.”
“I do not know one here. What I need to do is take you to Ecuador with me the next time I go.”
“I doubt Mark would be ok with that.”
“Well, you can do it on yourself. I do it sometimes when I am feeling low. You run the egg all over your body, and then you crack it into a glass of water. And it doesn’t look like a normal egg. It takes in all the bad things, and you can see bubbles and weird stuff in there. Try it. You will see.”
So I thought about it, told Mark about it, and asked him if he would perform this egg rite upon me. After he finished laughing his head off, he waggled his eyebrows and said he’d be happy to rub an egg all over my body. Especially if I didn’t mind ending the ritual by having said egg cracked over my head.
I declined, then turned to the internet for more information.
Come to find out, “witch doctor” isn’t exactly the right term. “Curandero” would be more accurate. And these traditional healers are the norm in certain parts of Ecuador, where they are called upon to cleanse a person of physical or spiritual illnesses. They use all manner of herbs, and yes, eggs. They’re totally legit.
I had eggs in the fridge.
And a free night.
And I will try (almost) anything once.
So I did. After letting the egg come to room temperature, I cleansed it thoroughly with a baby wipe (no sense getting salmonella during a spiritual cleansing, after all), then turned on my music and proceeded to pray and run the egg along what I thought were the acupuncture meridians of my body, concentrating hard on the points that dealt with migraines.
And then Mark walked in, just as I was entering this wonderful, meditative, trance-like state.
He stared.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I said.
“Um, well, it looks like you’re rubbing an egg all over yourself.”
“I am. But remember that thing Rosy told me about? About how this can rid you of negative energy and make you feel better? Well, that’s what I was trying to do. But you’ve totally harshed my mellow. Why are you home early?”
“We finished early.”
“Ok, well, I’m not done with this,” I gestured to the egg, “so I’m gonna need you to go upstairs for a while. I can’t mellow out and do this while you watch and laugh at me.”
So he did. And I put my yoga music back on and continued with the egg until I felt sufficiently cleansed.
Then, as Rosy directed, I cracked the egg into a glass of water. And it sure did look strange. However, the scientific part of my brain couldn’t help but remark that I don’t often crack eggs into glasses of water and that I have no idea what “normal” looks like in such a situation.
The new-age-hippie part of my brain snapped a picture of the egg on my phone and texted it to Rosy. She got back to me within minutes. The news was not good.
“Would u believe me if I tell you that I was just thinking about you and the egg conversation we had-crazy uh! (Big-eyed emoticon)-do you see those little bubbles and the whites thickening that is what some believe is the bad someone is wishing you – you have to throw this one in the toilet wishing it to go away – do the same thing for two more days and you’ll see the difference in each egg.”
I showed the evidence to Mark. “You see! Someone has been ill wishing me. It’s clear from the thickening of the whites, here, and these little bubbles.”
“Or, that could be how all eggs look when you crack them into a glass of water.”
“You need to open your mind,” I said, walking to the bathroom and flushing the egg, wishing fervently for all my bad ju-ju to go down the drain with it.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, let’s face it, you could have walked in on me doing something much worse.”
“Like what, the mailman?”
“I was going to offer to do you, but forget it.” Pause. “And by ‘do you,’ I meant do the egg thing to you.”
And so I may have figured out who is wishing me ill. It’s the guy on the other side of the bed who’s upset that he’s missing out on all the cleansing eggy ju-ju.
Or maybe not.
