The Tale of the Ota
By
Uncle Remus
Now this here tale didn’t happen jes yesterday nor the day before Twas a long time ago… And in dem days, everything wuz mighty satisfactual. Da critters, dey wuz closer to da folks, and da folks, dey wuz closer to da critters.[1] So close we wuz dat some thunk we was all mixed-up da same somehow. Now most of these here critters could talk an would go around helpin’ folks, dat is if’n you wuz kind to ‘em. Some of ‘em wuz powerful smart an aside from speakin’, a few even had magic. Dat’s where da first Indian Medicine Men come from. Dey wuz good an protected dem animals whenever dey could. As a thankee, dem powerful critters taught ‘em deir ways. One day a certain woman grew jealous of the Shaman an tried to trick da secret out of ‘im. All she learnt tho was dat it had come from dem special critters. So whatcha know but she set out to catch herself one of em. Not too long afore she trapped 2 brer-mice an set on em bout deys magic. “”You tell me all yo secrets or I is gonna leave ya trapt here foreva. One mouse, lookin into her soul said, N-n-n-no! You might have us trapped but we’ll never help you!” With not another word she lept up on its brother mouse an et it all up. Now I can tell ya, no one had ever et a talking critter afore, seein as how dey was so like us, and tho she may have been mean an jealous afore, after eatin dat mouse she turned plumb evil. She could feel his spirit wrigglin round inside a her an she could See. Places where people died, lonely ghosts walkin da land. She could look into ya soul an see if’n you wuz good or bad. She’d learnt somthin, an she wanted more.
So dis woman took to huntin dem magic ones an gittin mo an mo powerful til hardly no one dart to argue wit her. Finally dey was only but a few magic critters left in da land round about. Dey gots demselves together round dat first mouse what had stood-up t her an cast a powerful spell what would keep her away from em forever. But it also tied dem down to a parcel of land. She couldn’t touch em as long as dey stayed dere and deys never went anywheres where she was.
Purty soon dis demon-woman begun to cause trouble in her tribe. Arguin wit de Chief about where de huntin was, raisin storms to git what she wanted, cursin de old people an lurin out de little ones t see ghosts an monsters. Most of dem folks turned from her an callt her a witch. But some few of de more wicked ones followt her an made oaths to do her will. Blood dey spilt to seal demselves an dey callt her Ota, which in dey tongue meant “Many”.
Not twernt long til Ota figured she wanted sumptin a might more powerful dan critter spirits. She begun t callin on de spirits o dead warriors t come to her. Most fought her but deys what would’ve followed her in life done come to her gladly. Strange things begun to happenin around da camp an people seeing faces in da dark. Da tribe grew frightened an begged her t use her powers t save em. Dey didn’t know dat she was tblame for everythin. She answered em, Da Chief’s son mus come t me at . I will prepare him for t fight des evil spirits. He will drive em as da rabbit afore da couger. He must come. At da pointed hour he slipped inta her tepee an fell into Ota’s waitin arms. For she had put a spell on im for dat he would be in love wit her. Dey performed da ceremony an den her spell caust his spirit t rise out o his body. At dat very second she graspt his ankle an thrust a knife right tru his heart. She coldly tooked his spirit an joyed in betrayin his love.
For da slayin of da Chief’s son she was drivin out, but not afore she made a terrible curse: Dis people may continue n grow for da lives of a hunart trees, but den dey shall be hunted as da deer. Beated down, dey will be made to walk a trail where dey shall cry.[2] Others will posses your lands an desecrate your burial grounds. This shall be for as long as my power lasts.”
And boy, I know her curse come true cause not thirty years ago I seen them Indians driven off with mine own eyes. So beware the beautiful woman who looks into yer soul, lest she be the Ota an snatch-up ya spirit right quick.
I leaned back in my chair and contemplated what lesson Remus meant to teach. Always his stories held some moral, hidden between Brer Rabbit’s bluster and Brer Fox’s greed. But this tale was all too easy to follow. How jealousy and lust can lead to great evil, the dangers of seeking unlimited power. So tragic, a love betrayed…by a woman…named Ota…who wished to find the secrets of Dark Magic. My thoughts moved inexorably toward the connection. This Ota, the Many, was the same woman who had seduced Melcher Eisner. She wanted his books! The very ones I now had in my suitcase at the foot of the bed. But no, that was impossible! Remus said she had lived long ago, “the lives of a hunert trees”. Why that would be 10,000 years! So it was her descendant then. Did she and the Chief’s son have a child? Did she teach that child her secrets? So, after untold generations, another woman, called Ota, became my own 6th Great-Grandmother. She must have sensed his books and biding her time, waited until she could extract their powers. “She…she…whoa. Hold on there.” I almost shouted at the room. “You almost got me there Papa Jed. For a second I believed it was all true.” Shaking my head I added, “It takes more than an old man’s ravings, a long lost fable and a strange name to add up to witchcraft.”
As I slipped the book into my suitcase a finger gently brushed the two already there. Just then a curiosity began to well in my soul. I had never looked at Melcher’s books. Retrieving them from my portmanteau I began a methodical examination. Leather-bound and blackened with age, they resembled other medieval codex I had seen.
The pages were thick and not brittle. Ornate drawings covered each leaf and were as bright as the day they were drawn. These books had been kept well protected, seldom handled and never read. My Latin was good but challenged by the first paragraph:
In the beginning of Times, God endowed creation with spirit. Awareness rested on Man and Beast, such that all grew within their circle and talked one with another. Man learned many things from the beasts and all were in harmony. After many years, our great mother, Plura, wrested the secret of…
I slammed the cover shut, heedless of the possible damage. It was true. All of it. Opening the book again I continued:
…the secret of absorbing, temporarily, the souls of other living beings. She became Plura. Yet always she sought the knowledge of Plurimus and the door it unlocked.
“Plura…Plura…plural…many! Plurimus…the greatest number. Plura-many, Ota-many, Nombreux-many!!”
I had barely grabbed my hat and coat against the cool autumn air before rushing off to find some half-seen figure from yesterday’s gloom. Through the city I roamed and could not find him. Days and weeks passed. Every secret place was my haunt and the citizens of spiritual realms were my companions. Stories of La Nombreux were easy to find and impossible to believe. By day I would read Melcher’s books, by night prowl the hidden ways. Much I learned in my quest.
I replied, too loud and with an obvious tremble, “Tell me about Plura.”
“That name means nothing to me.”
“Oh…Nombreux. Tell me of Nombreux.”
“Yessss, La Nombreux Ame, black are the tales of that one. Long have I sought to end her wickedness. Hundreds of spirits are imprisoned by her spells. We call her “the many souls” so as not to invoke her true name of…”
I filled the pause with a single word, “Ota”.
“Is so. Ota is her title for she truly is Many. For countless long years the Ota continued, mother to daughter, always seeking the darkest magic and power to dominate men’s souls. She would marry and bear children, caring little for sons. But once a girl-child was formed in the belly, one whose soul was filled with the same lusting evil, then the Ota would flee with the child. She would begin to train the infant in all things abominable until it was ready to Receive. An Ota can pass on her powers only once and then only to a girl. Having done so she remains but weakened, until the new Ota takes her spirit and powers by force. It is their way.” He paused and looked deep into my soul. “What do you know of Voodoo, Monsieur Ironman?” The question jarred me back to reality, so engrossed I was in his narrative.
“Not much. It came from Haiti
It was in the spring of 1801, drawn by the growing power of voodoo, when she came down the river and sought out the dark priest. It was he who named her Nombreux and refused to see her, knowing she was a threat to his power. After many years she burst into his chambers and put forth her full radiance and majesty. In fear he fell and worshipped her but held back his perception that she was unable to hold her minions forever. This was her weakness. But she knew his thoughts and cast her arm forth towards a painting of a ship, muttering incantations. A thin smoky form sped from her hand to the gilt-framed image. Suddenly a storm arose and the fine schooner foundered, its sails tore. A thin, haggard man appeared at the helm. For mere seconds the wreck lingered and then slowly faded back to a clean and proud mistress of the sea. Back and again the picture changed as the imprisoned spirit writhed in hellish agony. ’I am Le Ota’, she declared. ‘I require your love & obedience…or your death.’ The voodoo master saw that she was far more powerful than he and gave her all he knew, all he had, all he was. His reward was a slow death in the bowels of the swamp. It was she who brought the shadow onto this city. All damnable things are bound to her. She reveled in their fear and the power it gave.”
“La Un”, I asked, “Where is she?”
Le Un seemed to tense as a murder of crows flew by; their caws echoing through the narrow streets.
“High on a hilltop, overlooking the river, there is a house. For many years no mortal has lived there. That is where the creature resides. You must go there and take her book.”
“Oh no…not me. How can I? She’s not going to just give it to me. She’ll…kill me.”
“Not if you know and understand her ways. Then, and only then, can you fight her. Here, I have another book to show you.” La Un moved across the room and quickly pulled an oddly familiar volume from the case. As he set himself down I recognized “The History of Gracey Manor” by Kenneth Anderson[9] of D.M. Buggies & Co.[10], yet this one was covered, margins top and bottom, with notes written in blood-red ink.
In a deep sonorous voice he began:
[1] “This here…closer to da critters”, From Song of the South copyright Disney 1946
[2] The Trail of Tears is known to the Cherokee as “The Trail Where They Cried”.
[3] Image by Dylan Ashe, “AckOok” on Flickr.com
[4] Club 33 is located next to the Blue Bayou restaurant. Image by Brian Eddy.
[5] Staircase by “Nenya” on Flickr.com
[6] The old Disney Gallery above PotC can be reached by such a staircase.
[7] Tia Dalma’s Shack by Heather Eddy, “ ” on Flickr.com
[8] Pirates of the Caribbean II & III copyright Disney
[9] He had the original attraction concept.
[10] Doombuggies.com A WONDERFUL site.
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