“Tom,” I say, “Louelly prophesied a miracle and it looks like it’s come to pass. Maybe hit’s something to do with you. Just because the Word come in the Holiness service, that don’t mean it can’t be a Catholic miracle.”
He looks up. “Miracle?” Then he laughs, but it aint a happy sound. “I need a miracle,” he says. “The bishop’s coming Sunday. Says he wants to see what progress I’ve made. Wait till he sees my one-person Mass.”
“Sunday?” Jackie says. “Why on earth don’t you call him and tell him you’re not ready yet? Tell him it takes more time. He’ll understand.”
Tom just ignores her. “So, Hassel, what kind of miracle do we have today, a bleeding statue of the Virgin or just a simple faith healing?”
I can tell he has been drinking too much again because Tom just don’t act like that when he’s sober.
I say, “They’s a tree over yonder that’s covered up with kudzu and it appears to be Jesus. It’s a big head that looks at you.”
“Where?” he says. “Can you see it from here?”
I point way off to where the tree hangs over the railroad. “Over yonder,” I say. Then I notice that from this angle it looks even more like a head.
Tom stands up and looks where I point. “I see it,” he says. “God, it does look like Jesus. What do you think, Jackie? Maybe Jesus is following me.”
Jackie says, “It’s not even looking in this direction.”
“No, but it might swing around this way any minute now.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
I can’t figure out what they are talking about. Tom says, “No offense, but could I ask you to leave? Both of you? I need some time alone with old Jesus there.”
“You need time with Jesus or Jack Daniels?” Jackie says.
“Never mind.”
“Fine!” She sighs great big and then looks at me. “Come on,” she says, and tugs on the sleeve of my T-shirt. We walk down the street toward my trailer.
She says, “Something’s wrong, Hassel. Something’s been bad wrong ever since he came back, but he won’t talk about it.”
“Something happened there,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “It was dangerous for him. They’ve got a saying in some of those countries, ‘Be a patriot, kill a priest.’ ”
“Good lordy,” I say. “No wonder he don’t want to go back.”
She looks at me hard. “So you think that’s it, too?”
“He told me he’s a coward.”
And after Jackie leaves, I keep thinking on what she said and why Tom is so scared. And it comes to me all at once. When that West Virginia bishop visits and sees Tom aint done no good here, he’ll say Tom has to leave Number Thirteen. And maybe them Jesuits will want to send him back to that Honduras. And it will be our fault, his neighbors, because we didn’t stand up for him.
So I know what I have to do.
It does take some planning. I aint never seen a Mass and neither has anybody else I know except Jackie. But I don’t want to ask Jackie because she might tell Tom and spoil everything. Still we have got to know what is going on like we been through it before. So I go to the library and copy that service right out of a book. It is easy because the Catholics, they have got everything wrote down. Betty takes my notebook to the newspaper office and types the whole thing up, then runs it off on the Xerox.
In the meantime, you can look at that kudzu tree from either side and still yet see the head; it’s only straight on that it’s just a tree. Doyle Ray says that’s the way it should be because a sinner can’t face up to Jesus head on. Doyle Ray has been on the telephone and called every preacher he knows, then the Bluefield TV station. Now there are three hundred people standing out on that railroad track, clutching them Bibles. If you stand behind my trailer you can see them alongside the fence beside the seventh hole of the golf course. They wave their arms and testify at the men in plaid pants who drive the little carts across that there green. There are so many cars in the bottom I have to park the Batmobile half a mile above Winco.
The crowd aint done me no good. If they was Catholics they might like a cold beer after they seen Jesus, but they are not Catholics, and that is my luck.
It comes Tom’s big day and I peek out my window until I see him walk the track on his way to pick up that bishop in Justice town. I call Jackie and when she answers, real sleepy sounding, I say, “This is Hassel and I got a surprise. Why don’t you come on over to Tom’s for that Mass this morning?”
She says, “Hassel! What are you up to?”
“Never you mind,” I say, and laugh and hang up. Then I go to Tom’s house and let myself in the front door, which aint never locked. I carry folding chairs from the Dew Drop and set them in the front room.
Everybody comes at nine o’clock, like they promised. All my people are here, and Junior and his mother and Betty Lloyd. Dillon Freeman comes in quiet and sets in the back looking strangled in a dress shirt and tie, but he’s got a smile on his face like the whole thing is real funny. And after while here comes Sim Gore who is a widow man now and living with his son Leon at Felco. Now that is something that aint been seen around here, white people and black people setting in church together. I don’t know what Betty thinks about that, because her family has always been real prejudiced, but maybe that bishop will be impressed.
Then there’s my best customers from the Dew Drop, who I have promised two free beers for showing up. There is Clennis Marcum who is disabled and walks on a cane. There’s Rodney from Jenkinjones that drives the Stroh’s truck. There is Howard who works the Robo Car Wash since Dillon sold out. And there is Luther Beasley who is still yet the town cop up to Annadel and has let bygones be bygones where Tom is concerned.
I hand out the Xeroxed programs and they have the prayers in them that you read, even the Lord’s Prayer that everybody knows by heart anyhow, and the program tells you when to stand up and when to kneel down. The librarian said when the Mass calls for kneeling we have to hunker right down on the floor, and Louelly has brung a pillow for the arthritis in her knees. We practice with me reading the preacher’s part.
Then we get to where there will be a cup that we all drink out of. Clennis says, “I hear tell it’s real wine instead of grape juice.”
“That’s right,” I say.
“I don’t hold with that.”
“Now Clennis. You get drunk as a skunk at the Dew Drop.”
“That’s a Saturday night,” says Clennis. “This here is church.”
“Well just pretend like you’re taking a sip. Or else don’t take none at all. You don’t have to act like you’re Catholic. We just want the bishop to know that you like Tom and you’re interested in what he’s doing.”
“Don’t know Tom,” says Howard from the Robo.
“Just be quiet, Howard,” I say. “Just set still.”
Howard pulls me aside. “What if that bishop asks me a question, Hassel? I don’t know nothing about Catholics.”
“Just say you’re studying on it. You get stuck, I’ll help you out.”
“Hardest beer I ever earned,” Howard complains. “Think I’ll pay for it next time.”
After we practice, I decide it would be the mayorly thing if I walked to Winco and met Tom and that bishop. When I start down the railroad track, I see Jackie coming.
“Hassel,” she says. “What’s going on?”
Then I tell her.
“Oh lord,” she says. “Oh lord.”
I say, “I know we’re fooling that bishop, but hit’s Tom’s life at stake. You don’t want them to send him back to Honduras, do you? You see how he’s scared to death of it.”
“But they aren’t sending him back,” she says. “He told me the Honduran bishops won’t have him so he’s stuck here.”
“Then what’s he so scared of?” I say.
“I don’t know.” She looks back toward Kudzu Jesus. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” I sa
y, “hit’s too late now. We done practiced and everything. I’m going to meet the bishop.”
“All right,” she says. “You go on. I’ll try to figure this out.”
When I reach Kudzu Jesus, Doyle Ray Lloyd is gathering his congregation from the Church of God (Prophecy) for a service.
I say, “Doyle Ray, that Catholic bishop will be here pretty soon. We don’t mean to disturb your service, but we got to bring him by here.”
“Bring him on,” says Doyle Ray. “Jesus has come to judge him.”
“Y’all be polite,” I warn.
“My people are wise as serpents and gentle as doves,” says Doyle Ray.
I wait about ten minutes at Winco bottom and then I see Tom’s green Toyota come bumping over the bridge. Tom says the bishop drives a Lincoln Continental, but they will have left it at the motel. When Tom sees me, he stops the car and gets out.
I tell him I was going to save him a parking place, but Doyle Ray’s people have took up all the space.
“That’s all right,” he says. “The bishop doesn’t want to walk that far anyway. There won’t be any trains on Sunday so it should be okay to drive the right-of-way. Hop in.”
I get in the back seat and that bishop half turns and says hello. He has gray hair and a round face like someone that would make a good Santa Claus.
“And your name is?” he says.
I tell him. Then I say, “We been looking forward to your visit, Bishop.”
“We?” he says.
“All of us,” I say.
The bishop gives Tom a funny look. “I’m glad to hear it. Father Kolwiecki made it sound like he hasn’t been very successful here.”
“Oh, Tom’s real successful,” I say. “I reckon you’ll be surprised.”
Tom glances around at me and makes a face like he’s saying What the hell is going on? then starts the car. We tilt sideways when we mount the right-of-way and that bishop holds onto the door handle to keep from sliding into Tom’s lap. Chunks of gravel rattle around the axles and bounce off the oil pan.
“You picked an out-of-the-way place.” The bishop has to holler to be heard above the racket. “Wouldn’t something on the main road be better?”
“I wanted to be in Number Thirteen,” Tom says. “It’s where I lived before and besides I like a challenge.”
I seen my chance then. “Bishop, we wouldn’t be so cut off if we had us a bridge. I been trying for years to get one built but the state won’t help us. Maybe y’all could see fit to help now that we got us a Catholic church.”
Tom’s ears are bright red and he turns part way round to look at me. The bishop laughs kind of short. “I don’t believe the Church is in the bridge building business, Hassel.”
So I don’t say anything else about it because I figure we got enough on our plate. We round the last curve and there is the congregation of the Church of God (Prophecy) of Spencers Curve, eighty strong, dressed neat in their suit coats, their frilly dresses, the little girls in shiny black patent leather shoes, standing on the railroad ties, in the ditch, on the river bank. Kudzu Jesus is leaning over them.
Tom stops the car and Doyle Ray Lloyd walks toward us, looking like an undertaker in his black suit, Bible held to his chest like a shield. Tom sticks his head out the window.
“Sorry, Doyle Ray. We didn’t mean to interrupt your church service.”
“We was waiting for you,” Doyle Ray says.
“Oh.” Tom looks at the bishop.
“We’re concerned for your immortal soul. We are praying that Jesus will deliver you from the whore of Babylon, the beast of Revelation, the Roman Catholic Church. We are standing here before Jesus, and we want to know if you can see what we see in that tree.”
The bishop is looking at Doyle Ray like he is crazy.
“Bishop?” Tom says real low.
“Father, I don’t know what’s going on here. Maybe it’s best if you handle it.”
Doyle Ray is standing calm and, hot as it is, his forehead aint even moist. I can see part of Tom’s face in the rearview mirror. He looks like a man you see in a war movie that is holding a grenade and waiting for it to go off.
“We love you, Tom,” Doyle Ray is saying. “But the hellfire is dreadful and we don’t want to see you suffer it. My own mother is at your house this very minute and in danger of being dragged into the flames with you.”
“At my house?” Tom says. “What’s she doing at my house?”
“She is tempting Satan, that’s what she’s doing. Now you look at that tree and tell me what you see.”
I stick my head out the window and holler, “He sees Jesus all right. He even seen Jesus from his front porch the other day.”
Tom holds onto the steering wheel and stares at the tree.
“I don’t see anything,” he says like he’s gritting his teeth.
“I aint surprised,” says Doyle Ray. “We’ll pray for you then. And I’d be obliged if you’d send my mother away from your house.”
Doyle Ray backs up and motions his people to move off the right of way and let the car go by. Mavis Samples that used to come to our Concerned Citizens meetings sticks her hand in the open window. “God bless you,” Mavis says. Tom grabs hold of her hand and squeezes. A breeze kicks up and when we pass under Kudzu Jesus it’s like the leaves ripple and whisper pleasant among themselves.
“Father?” That bishop’s voice is real soft. “What was that all about?”
I can tell Tom aint in the right frame of mind to stick up for hisself, so I jump in and help out. “Hit aint nothing,” I say. “Some folks around here see Jesus in that tree covered up with kudzu. Hit’s like them Catholics in Texas that seen Jesus in a burrito shell.”
Tom don’t say a word and bishop don’t ask another question, but his forehead has got thinking lines in it. When we get to the house, he climbs the front steps, looks around at the wood porch swing and weathered floor boards, opens the screen door. We follow him inside and Tom sees all the people. He holds tight to my arm.
“What the hell is this?” he says in my ear. “Hassel? What have you done?”
“See here,” I say, “at all the folks that love you. And we want you to stay and we don’t want them to send you to that Honduras.”
Tom looks like he is about to cry and turns away. Everybody has stood up and they look real nervous. The bishop don’t seem to notice, he is going around and shaking hands, asks everybody’s name. When he gets to Brenda he puts one hand on her head and waves the other one around like he is drawing a cross in the air. He stops in front of Howard from the Robo, who is uneasy at having his hand held, and just beams. It is like the way a cat will get in the lap of the one person that hates cats.
“Well, son,” the bishop says, “Have you been enjoying this fellowship?”
Howard looks at me real pitiful and I nod my head hard. “I’m studying on it,” Howard says in a croaky voice.
“Ah!” says the bishop.
Tom comes up to him. “Father,” he says, “this is not—” He stops and tries again. “This is—”
“Don’t worry,” says the bishop. “It’s not a large group, but very impressive for the time you’ve been here. Now, shouldn’t we prepare?”
So Tom takes the bishop into the bedroom to put on what you call the vestments, and he don’t look a bit happy. Jackie comes up to me.
“He looks more upset than ever,” she says. “It’s like he wants to fail. What are we going to do?”
“We just got to keep going,” I say. “That there bishop is nice enough. Maybe he’ll still yet cheer Tom up.”
Jackie lights the candles, and when Tom brings the bishop back out, we sing “Amazing Grace” which everyone knows, even Howard. Ethel’s Tiffany plays the old beat-up piano in the corner. The bishop is wearing this big purple tent with gold leaves sewed all over it. Howard and Luther and the Dew Drop boys are staring at that and at Tom in a long white robe like a wedding gown.
We say what you call the Gloria and ev
erybody does just fine. Then Junior gets up and reads the scripture. It is about Jonah and the whale, how God sent Jonah to preach repentance to Nineveh but Jonah didn’t want to go and run away from God. Then Jonah was on a boat that got caught in a storm and the sailors figured out it was Jonah’s fault. They carried on and said, Tell us, we pray thee, for whose cause this evil is upon us, What is thine occupation? and whence comest thou? what is thy country? and of what people art thou?
Tom sits up front. At first his face looks blank, like his mind is far away. Junior keeps on reading. He has got a strong voice, Junior.
“Why hast thou done this?” For the men knew that he fled from the presence of the Lord, because he had told them.
Then I see the fear creep across Tom’s face, and the shame. And I know we have done wrong, not because God will mind that we have tried to help Tom, but because we haven’t helped Tom at all, somehow we have made him go back on hisself and broke his heart. He has to read the Gospel and I try to catch his eyes, but he won’t look at any of us. He keeps stumbling over the words. That bishop is watching him like a hawk. But Tom makes it all the way through and sets back down.
The bishop’s sermon is a real snoozer and I hope that will calm Tom down. But his hand is shaking when he pours the wine. I pass around the basket we are using for a collection plate and everybody puts in a dollar. When I come to Jackie, who is setting in the back beside Dillon, she whispers, “We’ve got to do something!”
“I’ll try to talk to him when I go up front.”
I take the collection up and give it to Tom and when he starts to turn away, I put my hand on top of his where he’s holding the basket and squeeze real hard. “I want you to know, we didn’t mean no harm,” I says. “We are truly sorry. You do what you have to do.”
He stares at me, then turns away and sets the basket on the table. Then the bishop launches into what you call the Sanctus, he is barreling right along and we are standing and kneeling until Louelly’s knees crack.
The Unquiet Earth Page 31