A Shop That Casts a Spell : Religious Goods Store Also Sells Charms, Hexes

Rodolfo Narvaez dabbles in the belief of both devils and gods.

Care to light a candle in someone’s honor? Come see Rodolfo.

Want to see that office back-stabber meet with a sudden, tragic turn? Looking for a new voodoo doll? Need to perform an everlasting exorcism? Narvaez can assist with those as well.

His colorful store in National City is a one-stop shop for blessings, incantations and curses.

From traditional crosses and incense to love potions and candles that claim to cast nasty spells, Rodolfo sells it all. Besides the traditional Bibles and rosary beads, there are the items that draw the scorn of mainstream religionists: roots and oils, perfumes, good-luck aerosol sprays, powders, how-to hex books, herbs, spices and magic leaves.

Most come with easy-to-follow instructions about how to tempt fate, defy the odds, scratch a superstition itch or practice a strange new religion.

“There are people out there with problems that can’t be helped by their local priest or minister,” said Narvaez, a 52-year-old Mexico City native and devout Catholic who years ago became smitten by an interest in the occult. “They’re the ones who come to see me. They can talk to Rodolfo.”

Since 1978, Narvaez has operated his R&M; Religious Supply store on a busy inner-city street corner near Interstate 5--offering hope of both solace and revenge to all who pass through his doors.

Like the woman who suspected that her husband had fallen for another woman. Or the man who was convinced that an office rival had the inside line on a promotion. Or the gambler headed for Las Vegas who needed a quick fix of good luck.

Then there was the 22-year-old secretary who sought Narvaez’s help after her entire world collapsed.

To hear Narvaez tell it, the young woman’s brother was killed by a gang member. Later, the woman’s mother died, supposedly of a broken heart, and her father went insane.

She lost her job. Then her fiance suddenly ended their long romance, and all her belongings were pillaged by visiting relatives. She lost everyone and everything she had--all in one month.

But, after several weeks under his guidance, he said, she found a new job, a new boyfriend and a new life.

“This is a true story,” Narvaez said without a trace of a smile. “I know that it seems like a movie. But it’s not.”

What Narvaez offers his customers is a staggering selection of traditional religious fixtures--Catholic crucifixes, Last Supper paintings and laminated holy cards picturing patron saints--as well as black magic dolls, witch’s hexes, warlock chants and the dark realm of the occult.

There are books on how to cast a spell or conduct an exorcism or practice witchcraft. There are love potions and colognes sold in tiny bottles, soft bars of love soap, good-luck aerosol sprays that come with the warning, “Keep away from face and food.”

There are snake oils for success and happiness. There are Buddha dolls stuffed with lucky knickknacks, along with an assortment of voodoo dolls--complete with sticking pins.

But, by far Narvaez’s bestsellers are the multicolored candles--rows and rows of them--offering hope, no matter what the problem, occurrence or occasion.

There are green ones for the love of money, red ones for the love of people and pink for the attraction to just about anything else.

Then there’s the controlling candle.

Bearing a picture of a man caught in a spider’s web, the 10-inch cylinder purports to neutralize the burner’s enemies. “Victory is mine,” reads the inscription, which includes a space to write in the name of the target, “for I shall control all my enemies caught in the web.”

There’s also the “shut up” candle, which shows the figure of a woman, her mouth gagged tightly. Burn this candle a few minutes each morning, the instructions explain, to silence people who talk “with an evil tongue” behind the buyer’s back.

Consider the cop candle. It shows a police officer in chains and promises to keep bothersome, violent sheriff’s deputies, policemen and highway patrolmen off the burner’s case.

Of course, there’s an array of good-luck and nice-thought candles, hit-the-jackpot and “Lucky Bingo” candles, as well as the “Prayers for the Secret Desires of My Mind” candle, the spiritual power candle and the John the Conqueror candle--offering complete control over women, money and power.

Perhaps the most popular candle, however, is the breakup candle.

For $4, the buyer can choose what evil they want to befall their target couple: confusion, altercation, disorder, quarrels, commotion, agitation and strife.

Each candle comes complete with a special incantation to be recited at each burning, chants that Narvaez says are tailor-made for each person, each problem.

Nothing, mind you, is guaranteed. But customers rarely complain, he says.

“You laugh,” Narvaez said, matter-of-factly. “But these things work. Not fast. But slowly. The point is, they do their job.”

Masako Cihak is a believer.

The Taiwanese woman first came to see Rodolfo eight years ago when she suspected her husband of carrying on a messy affair. She burned candles, recited incantations, cast a spell or two.

Now the other woman is gone. But there are other problems. So she keeps coming back.

“You have to believe in it,” she says of Narvaez’s work. “If you don’t believe, it won’t help you. But, if you’re a believer. . . .”

Not everyone believes. Church officials say the shop spells trouble.

“I have problems with this guy,” says one Catholic priest, who asked that his name not be used. “This business preys on superstition. It’s just not healthy. It’s not right.”

Father Dionisio Macalintal, the pastor at St. Mary’s Church in National City, is also skeptical.

“A lot of what is sold there, the crucifixes and the candles, the Catholic Church uses these as well. But it’s how people use it. That’s where it crosses the line from moral to immoral. What are their motives?

“But this is a private business, and we have no control over that. It’s like pornography. We’re against it. But we can’t stop it from being sold.”

Father Charles Fuld, a spokesman for the Catholic Diocese in San Diego, says the church objects to stores that try to pass themselves off as selling blessed articles.

“The guy is a businessman, and he perceives a market for what he’s selling,” he says. “That’s fine as long as he’s not impersonating the Catholic Church. Because the church isn’t into herbs or magic potions.

“When a Catholic burns a candle, they’re offering prayers to God. They’re not burning them so God will give them a winning lottery number.”

Connie Youngkin, a fundamentalist Christian from Poway who was recently defeated in a campaign for a state Assembly seat, had another objection to Narvaez and his work.

“It’s incredible,” she said. “If someone is a devout believer in God, why on earth would they even dabble in the occult? It’s irresponsible to peddle that kind of garbage.”

But, make no mistake about it, Rodolfo Narvaez says. He’s no high-priest of voodoo or the occult, no hip huckster of hexes.

He’s just a practicing Catholic who has also educated himself on the powers of Haitian voodoo and Santeria, the secretive Afro-Cuban religion.

He travels each year to Haiti to keep up with trends in the occult. But mostly, he reads. And he prays for people, not preys upon them, he stresses.

On the shelf of his shop, perched next to the “No Hay Credito” sign, are his two favorite voodoo dolls. The one with bright eyes and thick ruby lips, which Narvaez calls La Madonna, brings good luck to his shop. The other, he says, offers protection from the violence on the streets.

But there is also St. Jude, the Catholic religious figure Narvaez calls “the boss of the impossible” for whom he throws a party each year, offering drinks and cake to his customers.

When it comes to religion, Rodolfo Narvaez hedges his bets.

“I don’t sell witchcraft,” he says, two gold chains with crucifixes dangling around his neck. “I just sell articles. People do with it what they will. It’s only witchcraft if they believe in it. My conscience is clean.”