MARY.
Nothing but a golden vapor.
Yes, something more. An island, with the sea
Breaking all round it, like a blooming hedge.
What land is this?
TITUBA.
It is San Salvador,
Where Tituba was born. What see you now?
MARY. A man all black and fierce.
TITUBA.
That is my father.
He was an Obi man, and taught me magic,—
Taught me the use of herbs and images.
What is he doing?
MARY.
Holding in his hand
A waxen figure. He is melting it
Slowly before a fire.
TITUBA.
And now what see you?
MARY. A woman lying on a bed of leaves, Wasted and worn away. Ah, she is dying!
TITUBA. That is the way the Obi men destroy The people they dislike! That is the way Some one is wasting and consuming you.
MARY. You terrify me, Tituba! Oh, save me From those who make me pine and waste away! Who are they? Tell me.
TITUBA.
That I do not know,
But you will see them. They will come to you.