by Jeff Fields
"But finally they told me. Some years back, they said, there was a deacon, man by the name of Hoover, they said, that suspected his wife of carryin' on with another member of the church. Well, one night, right in the middle of services . . ."
I lost his voice in the afternoon hum and crick of the woods. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's to hear a story over and over again.
3
True to his word, Jayell arrived promptly at seven o'clock. Gwen Burns swirled into the parlor in a crisp white dress, complete with hat and gloves. When she saw me waiting on the couch, all decked out in my sport coat and clip-on bow tie, she looked surprised but said nothing.
When I followed them out and got in the back of the truck, she looked even more surprised—and said something.
"All right, what the hell's going on here?''
"Oh, him?" said Jayell. "It's all right, Miss Esther said he could go."
"Jayell! This is our first time together since I arrived. I've already seen more of him than I've seen of you!"
"Aw, what's it going to hurt to give the boy a lift to church? He don't go enough as it is. Wasn't for me and the Indian he'd probably never darken the door."
Gwen sighed. "Whatever you say, dear."
She would find that Jayell took his fundamentalist credo seriously. Unpredictable as he was, his wildness was just as often counterpointed with the beliefs his mother instilled in him as a child. He had taught shop at the high school, and although he kept a whiskey bottle under his desk, he submitted to a request by the Holiness preacher's boy and started the whole year's classes with devotionals. He slept on a cot in the rear of his workshop, sometimes with a woman, once with two, limped along the streets in unironed clothes, gambled and caroused with the worst kinds of people, black and white, drank and fought with Em and the quarry ledgehands along the river joints, but he never, ever missed church. He turned down a lucrative contract to build a guest cottage for a rich quarry owner's wife, and instead built a beautiful little Catholic chapel, free of charge, for the Italian stonecutters at Glenshade. He devoted an entire summer to crafting animal bunk beds, again without pay, for the orphans at Tucker Village, but while the Jaycees were waiting at the banquet to name him "Man of the Year," he was being hauled drunk and naked from the post office platform with a lady who traveled with a gospel quartet.
I saw that Gwen was carrying a Book of Common Prayer. "Are you Catholic?"
"Episcopalian" she slammed the door until it caught—"and you're all Baptists, I suppose."
"All but Mr. Rampey. He's a lapsed Lutheran. Oh, and Mrs. Metcalf, she's a Christian Scientist. She takes a drink now and then, but she swears it's not for medicinal purposes."
"I should hope."
"Myself, I've never joined any church."
"I'll pray for you."
"Oh, that ain't to say I don't attend. I attend a lot, thanks to Jayell and Em. Miss Esther don't care which ones, as long as they're fairly hardshell."
Actually I'd never spent enough time in any one church to develop a preference. Mostly I went with Em, and that exposed me to quite a variety. Usually we visited the off-brand tabernacles out in the country, crossing denominational lines without favoritism, except for those with a little extra whoop and holler, or maybe an all-night sing. At Miss Esther's church uptown, historic Pinnacle Baptist, it was tame as bathwater. The minister spoke softly, the congregation listened politely, and when somebody joined the church they just strolled down the aisle and shook the preacher's hand and the congregation voted them in, and, well, there just wasn't anything to it at all.
Whereas at our churches a man had to wrestle the devil to get his salvation, with tears and self-denunciations, and when he got down the aisle the preacher struggled with him, and then the congregation came for a turn, and when it all got done, that man knew he was SAVED. The only part of services Em couldn't take was Communion. Whether it was the pomp and silver of historic Pinnacle Baptist or the grape Kool-Aid and oyster crackers of Lamb of God Pentecostal, it sent Em away fighting the heaves.
"I hope," said the schoolteacher, "there is an Episcopal church in town."
"Oh, yeah," I said, "just the other side of the square. It's a little one, though."
"It's probably hardshell too. That's one of those cheap clip-on ties, isn't it? They all look the same."
We were backing down the driveway when the hedge shattered open and a large figure bore down on us, waving his arms.
"My God!" gasped the girl.
"It's Jojohn," said Jayell, hitting the brake, "when did he get in?"
Em pounded alongside and leaned breathlessly in the window.
"Goin' to church, I bet!"
"Don't tell me!" said Gwen.
"Mind if I catch a ride? 'Scuse me, ma'am, we ain't met. Em Jojohn. I look after the place. Don't mean to crowd in, now."
"Let all be welcomed into the House of the Lord," I said, happily, scrambling to make room in the back. Em plunged over the side grinning, and took off his hat and smoothed his hair. "Been lookin' forward to meetin' you, ma'am." He had on fresh khakis and his trouser legs were pulled down neatly over his boots. The girl was cutting glances at Jayell, but he wasn't seeing them. Across the road Wash Fuller was on his knees poking in the culvert with a rake. "Maybe he and that shy dog would like to come too," she said.
Em hummed happily to himself as he rolled a smoke. He offered her one. She declined with thanks.
Rounding the square, Em turned on his knees and shouted into the wind, "Seen a poster comin' in yestiddy, where the Parkins Family is at Four Fork Calvary this week . . ."
"The Parkinses," said Jayell with interest, "the ones with the kid that cuts such a commotion?"
"The same," Jojohn replied.
Without a word Jayell made a sharp right at the ice plant. When we passed the GRANITE CENTER OF THE WORLD sign at the cemetery, Gwen became suspicious. At the city limits she turned sideways in her seat and said, "We are going to the Episcopal church!"
Em spoke up quickly. "Aw, ain't nothin' happenin' there, little lady. You'll enjoy Calvary, them folks at Four Forks knows how to praise!"
Gwen abruptly slid over and shot a foot to the brake pedal. The treadless old pickup squalled off the road and scampered to a sliding halt in the yard of a granite shed.
There was heavy silence.
Em said tentatively, "You got a grab in that right front wheel, Jay."
Gwen sat tight-lipped, staring straight ahead. "Get out, both of you," she said. "I have had enough for one day."
There was another long silence.
Finally Jayell turned and looked over his shoulder, deadpan, and said, "Okay, Em, you're on your own. If she says go, you go."
Em read his look. He nodded, and solemnly pulled on his hat. He climbed out of the truck and beckoned me to follow. Beside the truck, he stopped and removed the hat again. Penitently, great shoulders leaning, he rested a foot on the running board, and his voice rumbled softly in her ear. "Miss, I reckon you think we're the wildest bunch you ever come acrost. Well, we are, and there's no excusin' us. If we're loud, if we got no manners, it ain't 'cause we don't like you, it's 'cause we're a little dazzled by you, and I guess it was our ignorant way of trying to cover up. You're the brightest penny ever to come down the slopes. I don't know what it is you see in that crazy clodhopper sittin' beside you, but I can sure see what he sees in you, and the last thing I'd want is to cause him embarrassment in your eyes. I want you to know I'll make no more trouble for you, and if any man does, all you got to do is point him out."
Em stepped back and pulled on his hat. "I know I shouldn't have led you off like that, but well, Jayell's daddy always loved that little church—he was baptized there, you know—and I thought you'd like to see it."
Surprised, Gwen turned to look at him, then at Jayell.
"One small favor, though," Em added quickly, "if you don't mind. I'd be more'n grateful if you'd let the boy ride back with you. It's most a three-mile walk and,
well, they give him a lot of sulfa drugs when he was little and it weakened his knees."
The girl sat a moment longer. Finally she sighed. "Oh, I suppose it's too late to get to the Episcopal service anyway. Get in."
Em lifted me bodily over the side of the truck and scrambled in after me. Jayell put the truck in gear and a moment later we were buzzing down the highway.
"Wait'll you hear this Parkins family," Em was yelling over her shoulder, "they got a kid plays the banjo like you never seen!" And he rambled on and on until we drove into the yard of the little concrete block church.
I was only half listening, preoccupied with the outlandish notions of Jayell's father, ten years dead of radiator booze, crossing the threshold of any church, and that incredible business about sulfa drugs and weakened knees!
Jayell wasn't saying a word.
We pushed into one of the back pews, next to a smiling lady who was fanning herself and a coatless old gentleman beside her. He sat expressionless, staring, his hands limp in his lap and his white hair wafting gently in the breeze. The lady gave Em a long, hostile look, then smiled at Gwen. "We're the John Hoopers," she said, "nice to have you." Gwen thanked her and the lady patted my hand.
The pianist stopped playing and Mr. Hooper applauded until his wife grabbed his hands. A few people looked around but quickly straightened up. The Hoopers were well known. Em and I had seen them on previous trips. So Em felt qualified to explain, in a voice like a tuba, "The old man's a little off!"
"Mr. Hooper has had a stroke," Mrs. Hooper explained icily.
Gwen drew smaller in her seat.
The minister took the rostrum and explained that, once again, the sermon would be omitted and the service would be turned over to the Parkins family for their wonderful message in music. And as the plate was being passed he reminded everyone that this was a special offering to be used in the furtherance of the Parkinses' ministry. It was hard to tell whether he was telling them to give extra, or to hold off for the church's regular offering, but while he was speaking Mr. Parkins was tuning up his guitar in a most mournful manner.
The Parkinses sang a couple of songs, him on the guitar and his wife accompanying him with the tambourine, and then she sat at the piano and invited the church to join in. The congregation warmed right up, clapping and singing along. A few got in the aisles and swayed and snapped their fingers. A church always enjoys a chance to sing with professionals. Mr. Hooper clapped from the end of one hymn to the start of the next.
Finally Mr. Parkins strummed for attention and held up his hands.
"Dear Christian friends, the Ghost has truly been on this revival."
Amens.
"Yes, this has been a week we shall long remember. And now, once again, we'd like to present our pride and joy, the union of my wife, Clara, and me in Je-sus. Here he is—our only begotten son—Lit-tle Tim-my Parkins!"
His wife had been working the knobs of the powerful guitar amplifiers, sending warbling tones reverberating, and on the cue electronic screams crescendoed to ear-splitting frenzy.
A side door opened and a small boy sprang onto the platform, bringing a rush of gasped ooh's and aah's.
He was about seven years old, dressed in a shimmering white sequined outfit with buckskin fringes, gold shoes and a gold bow tie. His long hair was bleached as white as his clothes, and around his neck hung a gold banjo hardly bigger than a ukulele.
Mrs. Hooper made an ecstatic gesture to her mouth. "Did you ever?'' she gasped.
"Never," said Gwen.
Little Timmy propped a foot on a pulpit chair and struck a chord, the light sparkled on little gold crosses on the ends of his shoelaces.
"Let's go home to Je-sus!" he cried, and he cut loose with "I'll Fly Away," singing in a high, ringing voice, his parents accompanying him on piano and guitar, and joining in on the choruses.
Now the crowd really shook itself loose. Little Timmy picked up the tempo, raising the banjo high on his chest, his amplified voice climbing like a siren. He dipped and ducked and danced and bobbed, his white hair flying, fingers tearing at the banjo. When he approached the last verse his father lifted him and stood him on a disc mounted on the top of the piano, then flipped a switch; revolving under a colored spotlight, Little Timmy had added tap dancing.
The crowd was beside itself, eyes closed, heads shaking. The clapping and shouting was joined by stomping and murmuring, starting up front and working its way back to us, and the murmuring built to a roar.
"They're talking in tongues," Jayell explained to Gwen.
Em sat clutching the back of the pew, rolling his eyes aloft, the rumbling chant deep in his throat.
Gwen clutched a hymn book to her breast and stared at Mrs. Hooper, who was developing a twitch. Her husband, still clapping, roamed unmolested up front. All around us the chorus of voices grew.
Abruptly Mrs. Hooper closed her eyes and issued forth a long, low moan. Gwen pushed closer to Jayell. Suddenly the woman gave a cry and lurched on her side and commenced thrashing about in the pew. "The Ghost is on her!" I yelled excitedly.
Gwen racked her hymn book and shoved us toward the aisle. "Then let's get out of here," she said, "and give them room to work!"
"Wasn't that something?" I cried, breathless with exhilaration, as we came down the steps. "Let's see your Episcopalians come up to that!" Then I stopped, the elation breaking, as I saw Em already outside by the truck.
Arms outstretched, he was deep in the throes of his dance, a silhouette slowly turning in the moonlight.
Em said nothing on the way home. He sat, in the heavy brooding silence, watching the country roll by. I had hoped that going to church that night would make a difference, maybe distract him some from that awful black mood of his first couple of days home, but it hadn't. If anything, it had only seemed to make it worse. As soon as he touched ground at the boardinghouse he demanded a five-dollar loan from Jayell and struck out straight for the river.
Jayell was saying something about it being so early he was going to take Gwen for a drive and to tell Miss Esther to leave the door unlocked, but I was only vaguely listening, and made no answer.
I got down and followed Em, bracing for another bad night.
4
"Come on, Em, somebody's going to call the law!" The Indian tore loose from my grip and hurled himself back at the squeaking fence. In the glare of streetlight on the other side, the big collie dog was frenzied with fury, fangs bared, climbing the wire. Jojohn howled back at him, waving his arms, the great blubbery face taunting, tormenting. The dog leaped to bite and Jojohn reached over the fence, grabbing for the bristling neck. The collie snapped for the extended hand and the Indian snagged his collar and lifted high the startled animal, swinging around and holding him firmly at arm's length.
"Let him go, Em! Turn him loose!" I pushed and shoved and pleaded, but it did no good. He stood watching the dog plunge and kick, snorting for breath in the strangling collar. Lights came on in the house and the Simmons woman came running. She beat at him with a rolled newspaper. "Put him down! You put Sonny down this minute or I'll call the police, you crazy . . ." With a sudden twist of his body Em hurled the big dog against the side of a passing truck. The truck slowed down, the perplexed driver looking around. The yelping animal scrambled to his feet and disappeared over the hill full stretch, shaggy coat heaving, not looking back.
I got Em pulled away and turned into the rutted clay of Sunflower Street. The Simmons woman was still screaming, following us along the wire.
The porchlight came on at the boardinghouse, two houses down, and boarders were crowding to the rail. As we approached the house, Em turned and started straight for the front yard. "No, Em, come on around this way." He shook me off and tried again for the steps.
Miss Esther pushed through the boarders and leaned over the banister, waving us off. "No, no, not up here! Take him away, take him on around!"
Em stopped before them, wavering, uncertain. I shouldered him off the steps. He stum
bled to the corner of the porch and stopped to catch his breath. With a foot braced against the bricks I got him pushed away and moving again. He staggered, tripped over the spigot and we both went down the bank.
"As long as there are drunks, there'll be little boys to lead them home," said Mrs. Porter. "It's a pity."
"Come on, Em, get up." I pulled on his arm and he rolled over with a groan and got to his knees. "Come on, get up from there!" He struggled to his feet and jerked away. I reached for him again and he put a hand against my face and shoved me into the hedge.
"My God, somebody do something!" It was Gwen's voice.
"Keep away," said Mr. Rampey. "When he's like that, can't nobody handle him but the boy."
With the blood hot on my face I scrambled out of the prickly hedge and rammed him hard as I could from the rear. He lurched, then suddenly whirled and lifted me high in the air. Beneath me those wet black eyes glistened in the porchlight. The quivering fingers sank deeper and deeper in my ribs. I was fighting for breath. "Em," I gasped, "for God's sake!"
He dropped me and turned away. I got to my feet and held my aching ribs. "Come on. All right, come on now." I took his arm gently, and he let me lead him around the hedge to the garage in the woods.
When I returned to the boardinghouse Gwen was in the hall with the others. She looked a little pale. "Well, he seemed dangerous to me," she was saying. "Earl, are you all right?"
"Fine," I said, trying to smile. I coughed and felt a sharp pain in my side, and wondered if Em had cracked a rib. He had never hurt me during those spells, but he was coming closer. I brushed past everybody and climbed to my room.
"Aw, he gets on a tear like that every time he comes home," said Miss Esther. "I don't pay no attention to it."
"Well, I don't know why you even put up with it. He's liable to hurt somebody," Gwen said.
"Pshaw, he's all bluster. It's an aggravation, I'll grant you, but the boarders have got kind of attached to him. They feel better having somebody like that around with the sorts we got in this neighborhood, if you know what I mean. And, I got to say, he's been good for the boy. I remember what he was like before the Indian came."