On the way to work that morning, he had read in The Chronicle about a group of Tongans having trouble in San Francisco's Richmond District. Following their native customs, the Tongans had erected a makeshift church in a backyard and then observed their religious holidays by roasting whole pigs, dancing until the wee hours of the morning and leaving swine offal in their garbage cans. Perfectly acceptable behavior in Tonga, but a serious breach of the peace in modern-day San Francisco. The police had finally intervened, and the Tongans were told, in no uncertain terms, to cool it.

      Baribeau and his small congregation took great pains to be discreet. They were certainly not ashamed of what they did, but they also wanted to attract as little attention as possible. Even though their church was located in the heart of industrial West Berkeley, they parked on the street carefully and legally and, if the ceremonies lasted past midnight, crept back to their cars with a minimum of noise.

      Most people who worked within walking distance of the First Church of Caribbean Mysteries had no idea it was a humfo, a vodoun temple where animals were sacrificed and men and women possessed by gods.

      Baribeau said to his assistants, Maurice Tolliver and Claire D'Amboise, "The goat looks beautiful. Damballah-we`do will be pleased."

      Claire said nothing, ducking her head shyly. A slight up-turning at the corners of her mouth indicated her pleasure at the compliment.

      Maurice, a wiry sheet metal worker from El Cerrito, grinned and patted the goat's head. "Maybe the loas will show us all how to get rich. I bought ten bucks' worth of lottery tickets, just in case."

      "Jim and Lavelle's mortgage payments are our first concern tonight, Maurice."

      "I know, but I can always hope some magic rubs off on me, can't I?"

      The hungan laughed. "Yes, you can do that."

      Baribeau left them to their work and entered one of the many small chambers at the back of the temple. This particular room was devoted to the worship of Damballah-we`do, the snake god, the loa in charge of money and treasures. Here Baribeau made his supplications on behalf of Jim and Lavelle Burford. Jim had lost his job at the auto body shop, and the couple stood to lose their home if their fortunes did not change soon. Having summoned Damballah into the water-filled sink in one corner of the chamber, Baribeau spoke to the loa and promised him a fine sacrifice.

      By the time he emerged from the chamber an hour later, Baribeau found that most of the celebrants had arrived. Forty worshippers regularly attended ceremonies at this humfo, and about thirty were present this evening. The Burfords were well liked, and almost everyone wanted to make this ceremony a success for them.

      Watching his friends mill about the humfo, Baribeau felt an enormous sense of pride well up in his chest. As a hungan, he regularly conversed with the gods, but that did not prevent him from seeing the majesty of his fellow men and women as well. Most members of the humfo were black, but the group also included a number of whites and even a few Asians and Hispanics. Many worked blue-collar jobs, but more than one held a Ph.D. or ran a successful medical practice. Yet for all their socio-economic and ethnic diversity, the members of the congregation shared a basic belief in the power of vodoun. Tonight, through its mysteries, they hoped to help two of their own.

      Grover Ketchum, another of Baribeau's assistants, approached, carrying his machete loosely at his side. "Ready?" he said, and when Baribeau nodded, signalled to the drummers to begin.

      The celebrants began their dance, greeting each other with centuries-old salutations. When people of equal rank met, they clasped hands and twirled around each other, bringing their foreheads and then the backs of their heads together. Baribeau's acolytes demonstrated their respect for him by curtsying and three times kissing the ground in front of him. The hungan kept time with the drumbeat by ringing a small bell and shaking a gourd filled with pebbles and snake vertebrae.

      As the pirouettes and prostrations continued, Grover Ketchum and the two other acolytes began the flag parade.

      Carrying red velvet flags fringed with gilt and covered with spangles, Claire and Maurice followed Grover as he marched through the temple, twirling his razor-edged weapon. The choir sang a hymn to Sogbo, the protector of flags, and the trio saluted the drums and the poteau-mitan, the iron post set in the middle of the room. Picking up the tempo, Grover, Claire and Maurice then chased each other around the centerpost, leaping and changing direction many times before running off into the drape-enclosed sanctuary at the back of the temple.

      It was time to summon Legba, the Opener of the Way. Baribeau picked up from the altar a plate containing white corn meal. He quickly presented it to each of the four cardinal points, intoning "Apo Lisa, gbadia tame`na^ dabo`."

      The hungan squatted and, taking a fistful of meal, began to draw on the cement floor an elaborate white cross with many curlicues and flourishes. This was the ve`ve` for the Master of the Crossroads. It would bring him and, with him, the other loas.

      Baribeau approached the centerpost and sang in Creole:

      "Papa Legba, remove the barrier

      So I may pass through.

      When I come back, I will salute the loa.

      Vodoo Legba, remove the barrier for me,

      So that I may come back;

      When I come back, I will thank the loa."

      The drums thumped on for a few seconds, and then Baribeau felt Papa Legba begin to mount him. Beaming with religious ecstasy, the hungan surrendered his sense of self and let the god take him over completely.

      Baribeau had no idea how long he was possessed, but when he came to his senses again, he was on the other side of the room, dancing wildly with eighty-seven-year-old Florence Whittaker. She had been mounted by Ezili, and someone had outfitted her in the proper raiments, taken from that loa's sanctuary. Now Florence wore a bright red and blue dress trimmed with flashy paste jewelry, and thick make-up coated her wrinkled face. Afflicted with severe arthritis for the past thirty years, she nevertheless swung her bony hips like a nubile stripper, casting lascivious glances at the young men who stomped and clapped around her. She blew them kisses and winked broadly.

      Baribeau untangled himself from Florence/Ezili's passionate grasp and danced back to the main altar. He raised his voice in song, pleased with the way the ceremony was going. The loas were proving quite accommodating this evening, eager to appear and possess the celebrants. This bode well for

      Jim and Lavelle; perhaps Damballah-we`do would put an end to their money problems after all.

      He signalled to Maurice and Claire, and they brought out the goat. Jim and Lavelle Burford followed close behind.

      Despite the noise and the throng of strange people around it, the animal behaved calmly, bleating softly and letting itself be led to the altar without any resistance. Candles wired to its horns sputtered and splashed wax, but the creature made no attempt to escape.

      Baribeau placed a plate of grass in front of the goat. The animal sniffed at it, hesitated, then began to eat greedily. The entire congregation cheered. Had the goat refused the offering, it would have been spared, and there would have been no sacrifice. Now the beast had become the property of the loa.

      Shaking his rattle, Baribeau sang to the snake god:

      "Serpent, serpent-o!

      Damballah-we`do papa,

      You are a serpent.

      Serpent, serpent-o!

      I will call the serpent.

      The serpent does not speak.

      Damballah papa, you are a serpent.

      If you see a snake,

      You see Damballah."

      Lavelle Burford fell forward, as if sapped from behind with a blackjack. She thrashed on the ground for a few seconds, then raised herself slowly to a kneeling position, moving her shoulders sinuously in time to the drums' rhythm. She darted her tongue in and out and made a staccato noise that sounded like "tett-tett-tett-tett."

      Damballah-we`do had arrived.

      Jim Burford picked up the goat and placed it squarely in front of his wife. Lavelle leaned forward and stared into the animal's eyes, her mouth close to its muzzle. Jim stuck a branch of succulent leaves between them. Before the goat could taste the leaves, Lavelle snatched them away. Jim said, "God be praised!"

      Baribeau waited at the altar, and after Lavelle crawled to him on her belly, he gently placed his hand on her forehead and recited, "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti." The hungan took oil, wine and water and poured them onto Lavelle's hair. He whitened her eyelids with flour.

      The altar held a banquet of foods for Damballah. Since white was the color preferred by the snake god, the menu included rice cooked in milk, fried bananas rolled in sugar,

      and hard-boiled eggs. Baribeau brought the offerings to Lavelle's attention. She flicked her tongue out and sampled every plate, hissing with contentment.

      His soaked white shirt clinging to his skin, Baribeau revelled in his success at calling down Damballah-we`do. He could see that the snake god was eminently pleased with the sacrifice so far. There would be rewards coming. Baribeau was sure of it.

      He turned his back on the dancing congregation, searching for the knife that would cut the goat's throat and complete the sacrifice. He found the implement partially hidden behind a portrait of the Virgin Mary on the altar.

      A nasally voice suddenly whooped, "Hiya! Hiya! Giddyup!"

      Baribeau whirled around. A thin man in a top hat, a total stranger, sat astride the sacrifical goat, pretending to ride it. No longer docile, the animal struggled to get away, but two other intruders, also in top hats, held it fast. Strong fingers squeezed the creature's neck until its eyes bulged.

      The first stranger doffed his hat to Baribeau. "Giddyup!" he repeated. "Or should I say, `Gue'de' up!'?"

      Gue'de'. The spirits of death.

      Lavelle Burford shook her head and stood up, blinking her eyes rapidly. Damballah-we`do had fled out of her. Even the

      snake god did not like to be too close to the wild and unpredictable members of the Gue'de' family. "What's happening?" Lavelle muttered, completely bewildered at this turn of events.

      Baribeau was equally confused, feeling his control of the ceremony slipping away. He had not summoned the three Gue'de's who now interrupted the sacrifice: Baron Samedi, Baron la Croix and Baron Cimetie`re. Even more disturbing, these loas had not possessed members of the congregation. Rather, they had appeared incarnate, a very rare occurrence, indeed.

      Baribeau's followers, however, did not mind the intrusion. The spirits of death had possessed people at prior ceremonies, and the celebrants figured that their hungan had conjured them up. Besides, the rambunctious Gue'de' spirits were always good for a few laughs.

      While Baribeau ineffectually recited incantations to make them go away, the Barons stopped tormenting the panicked goat and began dancing with the celebrants, thrusting their hips in an obscene parody of love-making. The drummers changed their rhythms to accommodate the spirits, increasing the tempo and adding wildly syncopated counterpoints.

      Baron Samedi ran to his sanctuary and retrieved two bottles. One he threw to Baron la Croix. The other, containing rum, he poured into his ear, laughing all the while.

      Baron la Croix uncorked his bottle and drank the hot pepper oil in one draught. Baribeau knew the potent liquid would scorch the throat of any mortal, but the loa smacked his lips in appreciation. Then Baron la Croix looked at Baron Samedi and, on cue, the two spirits smashed the bottles against the far wall.

      As he strove to regain control, the sweat on Baribeau's body turned clammy and rank. He implored the other loas to intervene on his behalf, but none seemed inclined to help. He chanted magical spells, but they proved equally worthless.

      Incited by the Barons, the members of the humfo began to act wilder. Some were possessed by other members of the Gue'de' family. Quiet and shy Claire D'Amboise, mounted by Big Brigitte, Baron Samedi's wife, began to recite a filthy song while kicking her legs high and raising her skirt to her waist. Grover Ketchum, possessed by Gue'de'-caca, chased Florence Whittaker around the room, trying to steal her eyeglasses, items coveted by the Gue'de' family.

      Baribeau ran to his drummers. "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop immediately!" They ignored him. Blank-faced, they thumped their drums to the Gue'de' beat.

      Someone threw open the main exit from the humfo, and suddenly the Barons were leading most of Baribeau's congregation into the street. Singing vulgarities at the top of their lungs, the spirits urged everyone to join them for a crazy night on the town, whether the town was ready for it or not.

      Claude Baribeau stood in the doorway as cars full of rowdies pulled out of their parking spaces, tires smoking and horns blasting. He watched helplessly as his friends pitched rocks through the windows of the buildings next door. Someone lobbed a beer bottle at him, and it shattered just inches from his head.

      The hungan retreated back inside and bolted the door. Trembling with rage and fear, he walked to the altar. He would say as many prayers as he could before the police arrived.