It all stems from the firm belief in survival after death. Or rather that there is no death. Activities are merely changed from one condition to the other. (43)
The dancing begins in earnest now. The Governess is like an intoxicating spirit that whips up the crowd. Those rackling men become friends from hell. The shuckers do a magnificent muscle dance which they tell me is African. The drums and the movements of the dancers draw so close together that the drums become people and the people become drums. The pulse of the drum is their shoulders and belly. Truly the drum is in inside their bodies. More rum, more fire. (54)
Hurston, Zora Neale, and Henry Louis Gates. 2009. Tell my horse: voodoo and life in Haiti and Jamaica. New York: Harper Perennial. pg. 43, 54
