John Crow's Devil

by Marlon James

  Lucinda remembered that day, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair as Mary stomped toward her. Maybe she said, Cross-eye chi-chi, leave me man, maybe she didn’t. Lucinda remembered thinking that only spirits could move so fast. She remembered Mary’s fist speeding toward her face. The rest was dark, like the swollen circle around her eye that throbbed when she touched it.

  Both women remembered the last time they were so close and both now realized that the power had shifted. Lucinda raised her chin and looked down at the Widow.

  “The Apostle don’t have no business with iniquity lacka you.”

  “The Apostle can speak for himself, Lucinda.” The Widow saw his face and felt hope and distress. Coming toward them was Clarence, handsome as always, his eyes puffy from having awakened not long before. Both women knew that those clothes weren’t his. The Widow glared at Lucinda as she stepped past her and followed Clarence inside the church. Walking down an aisle that felt foreign even before the Apostle came, the Widow hoped that this was the same Clarence, the man she held an affection for despite his relentless attempts, when they were young, to force himself between her and her panties. But Clarence stepped with purpose, a determination that seemed reinforced by his silence. This was not the Clarence she knew. There was no hope in his stride. He left her at the door.

  Hearing no call, she went in. He was at the desk writing in a big red book that looked like a Bible. “Well, what is it I can do for the Widow woman?” he said. The Widow read his tone as mockery. She looked left and right, fearing The Five at any second. “Well?”

  “Mista York.”

  “I prefer Apostle.”

  “Apostle. Apostle York. I …”

  “You …”

  “I was—”

  “You were—”

  “I was—”

  “Either you’re about to say something or you’re not. Which is it?”

  “Is about the Preacher.”

  “That malignant spot on the church’s backside. What about him? Is he well? Is he asleep? Is he in bed? Has that Devil recovered from trying to kill me?”

  “Him …”

  “He’s … well, out with it, woman, you can’t make sentences out of just one word. What are you trying to say to me? Are you trying to ask me something?”

  “I know you stronger and him weaker.”

  “Yes, God has made my strength perfect in his weakness. It was written, anyway. Children of darkness have no power over the child of light. He will not …”

  “Leave him be.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Leave him be. Me asking you to leave him be.”

  “What is his welfare to you? Oh, I see.”

  “I, I didn’t say nothing.”

  “Yes you did, every fidget said more than words. Bligh seems to be doing more in his bed than just sleeping.”

  “No! We not into nothing.”

  “Then what is your business with him? You did your good deed, somebody had to. Now is the time to leave him to God’s judgment or God’s mercy, who knows.”

  “But Mista Y—”

  “Apostle.”

  “Apostle. Him feeble, you know. Him feeble bad. Him can’t do you nothing. Him can’t even wipe him batty. Pastor Bligh can’t bother you no more. Him can’t even do nothing for himself. Just leave him be. I … I feel sorry him.”

  “You feel sorry for a stray dog, but I don’t hear no barking coming from your bedroom. Maybe I should be listening for something else.”

  “No sinning happening in me house.”

  “We all sin, Mary. That’s what makes redemption sweeter.”

  “Just leave him be.”

  “No can do. You know what no can do means? Of course not, your negro head has never been to a Kingston school. It means, what you ask is out of the question. What God has begun He will see through to its completion. There’s no hope for Hector Bligh. But there may be for you.”

  “What you say?”

  “You heard me. Look, this is what the Lord is saying. Turn him over. Now, right now. Go home and turn him out. Drag him out, kick him out, push him out, lead him out like the Pied Piper. Hand him over to me.”

  She watched him as he rose, looked at her as if to approach, and sat down again. “No,” she said, and turned to leave.

  “Don’t condemn yourself to Hell along with him. I’m giving you a chance for life, and life more abundant. Turn him over now.”

  “No.” The last time the Apostle wanted Bligh, she thought, he had sent his men to get him. But now he was asking her to hand him over.

  “You wouldn’t be asking me for him if you could get him yourself.”

  “I can bring Hellfire down on that damn house right now! Where are you going? How dare you step away from me, you whore. Clarence!”

  She dashed past Clarence and Lucinda and ran toward her house.

  “Clarence!” the Apostle shouted again. Both he and Lucinda ran to the office, but as Clarence stepped in, he shut the door in her face.

  The Widow bolted her front door. Hector Bligh was still in his room. The knowledge gave her something she would never admit to be reassurance. God was working through him and he was working through her. She sat in front of the door and waited. She waited for Him, she waited for The Five, she waited for the Apostle and the Devil.

  AN AROMA

  Lucinda went inside her house and shut the door tight. She lit a candle, but when the shadows began to dance before her, blew it out. At church, Clarence had shut the door in her face, hitting her nose. Lucinda was furious. She had the Apostle first. She prepared the way. She was his John the Baptist, Clarence was merely a Magdalene with a penis. She was disturbed to see them together. His beauty matched the Apostle’s and they looked like brothers, partners, or angels joined at the hip. She thought that there must have been something in her that now displeased him or made this man please him more. Day Lucinda whispered about her smell. How had she not smelt herself before? The aroma that tainted her. The smell of tea that he knew she drank. What did he want? He asked her to be pious, then he asked her to speak chants. He wanted her for God, he wanted her for Sasa, now he didn’t want her at all. He held her close, but gave her no secrets. She was still his helper, but felt outside his purpose. Perhaps he wanted beauty, which she did not have. He held her at bay like a cherished but smelly thing.

  But she would enter his most holy place; Lucinda was determined. She would tear down the curtains as red as the bold red tip of his—no, she would not think of such things. The Apostle wanted a different kind of worship. Something Clarence seemed to understand already. No matter. She would do better than that pretty but stupid man who could never do arithmetic. She would get rid of the smell.

  Vinegar. The sour jars that kept lizard skins and dog paws. She threw them away but the smell remained. She came to realize that the smell was a presence that was everywhere. In the flame of the candle she relit. In the soft sound of dew falling, the shrill cries of cicadas, and the little lights of fireflies dancing around her like tiny stars. The presence was in her secrets. The presence knew that even in day there was night in her heart that was black as tar.

  “Me don’t know how it happen, Apostle,” Lucinda said. “One minute me cooking the dinner, next thing me know, whoom! Fire bursting out from everywhere!”

  “Fire bursting out from everywhere. I see.”

  “Is all me could a do fi save meself. Is the Devil.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Me don’t have nowhere to live now.”

  “But that’s not true, Lucinda. The fire didn’t burn down the house. I hear that the walls are still standing.”

  “But me can’t go back there. Everything burn up. Me no even have no bed to rest me tired body.”

  “I’m sure there’s a friend more than willing.”

  “Me no have no friend. Everybody jealous o me. Oh Lord, see me dying trial. Is woe deh pon me. How me going to make it through, woi, Puppa Je—”

  “Lucinda, enough!
I will instruct the people.”

  “You have a bedroom up in the steeple.”

  “What? In the steeple? How do you know this? I’ve never heard about a room? Clarence, you know about this?”

  “No. Plus, even if one up there, it must be full of dirt and cobweb.”

  She noticed that he did not say “Apostle” or “sir” after “no.”

  “No, it did clean,” she said. “Me did clean it before you come.”

  They stood in silence as the Apostle made up his mind. She looked at Clarence and felt victory. He went over to the Apostle by the window and whispered. She saw their shoulders touch. “Alright, Lucinda, you can have the room until you sort out your business.”

  “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. She wanted to glare at Clarence, but his back was to her as he said something quietly to the Apostle again.

  Midnight had come, but she could not sleep. She was higher now, higher than everybody in the village. From her window she could see everything. The dirty rooftops stained by fallen mangos. The lonely orange light in the Widow’s window, the very end of Brillo Road, and behind her, the Apostle’s quarters. She had watched all night. Clarence did not leave.

  BANG

  The next morning, the Apostle gave the church spiritual armor. It came from the Book of Mark:

  And when ye hear of wars and rumors of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet.

  For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in diverse places, and there shall be famines and troubles: These are the beginnings of sorrows.

  The sun shall be darkened and the moon not give her light, and the stars of Heaven shall fall and the powers that are in Heaven shall be shaken.

  And then they shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory. And then He shall send His angels and shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from the uttermost part of the Earth to the uttermost part of Heaven.

  He told them he had come from the clouds in this, the end of days. God was rocking the very ground and shaking strongholds loose. Now was time to enter the ark. Gibbeah was the ark, already perfectly built by God to be surrounded by a river with only the bridge connecting it to weakness and evil. Every heart in Gibbeah was pure, save two. Those two. Satan’s emissary and the whore of Babylon. If action wasn’t taken soon, the enemy’s foothold would turn into a stronghold. Nine days ago, the Rum Preacher, that foot soldier of Hell, had tried to kill him, but evil could never triumph over good. In the twinkling of an eye, the Sodom cinema fell to judgment. God had judged with consuming fire.

  Go down Emmanuel Road

  Gal an boy

  Fi go broke rock-stone

  Broke them one by one

  Gal an boy

  Finger mash don’t cry

  Gal an boy

  Remember a play we deh play

  Monday morning come and we waiting for the truck. Is the Lord goin take over now. We waiting with purpose for the Lord give we power. The Apostle give we the sword of the spirit. Him say only evil coming over that bridge, so we stand.

  So we wait.

  Then it come.

  The truck humming and bumming and shaking up the road like earthquake. Yellow and red like the Devil. But we ready. We goin in the enemy camp and take back what he stole. Is not a truck, is a ship from Hell.

  Hell.

  Hell.

  Hell.

  The demon come out of the truck and a smile with we like we give him joke. We give him something else. Brother Jakes grab a stone first. We didn’t talk. As the driver open the door and jump out we start pick up stone. The first stone lick him and nearly knock him out and him left eye explode with blood. Him bawl out and manage to climb back in the truck, but not before we buss him head-back and clap him in him shoulder, back, batty, and seed bag.

  Damn demon. Him scream. We break him windshield and the two side window. Even the little pickney know how to deal with demon. Him back up the truck and him lick down somebody then drive over him. Nobody never scream or nothing, cause we know say that boy did do God work so is Heaven him gone straight to. The truck screech and speed off, with stone raining pon the roof with a Bup! Bup! Bang!

  Those who had rebelled against the church by pitching tent with Pastor Bligh repented of their sin. They also repented of witchcraft, Devilry, horoscope, bearing false witness, chocolate, perversion, fornication, bestiality, incest, dancing, music listening, wearing short dresses, and washing one’s pokie or cocky too long in the bathtub—anything to make the whipping shorter. The Apostle was firm: Evil had to be driven out. When they cut the youngest and weakest of the sinners loose from the whipping tree, she fell to the ground and did not rise. Anybody who felt to question the Apostle feared The Five after that.

  TONIGHT

  Clarence pulled off the left shoe first, then the right. He cradled the Apostle’s right foot in his palm and tugged the black sock slowly. The robes were tossed to one side of the bathroom with the other dirty laundry for Lucinda to wash the next day. Clarence heard music in his head, a slow song, a foreign one crooned by a white man. He looked up and saw the Apostle’s face. The bathroom was in brilliant light. Clarence pulled the Apostle’s belt buckle and the pants fell. He shut his eyes.

  York’s hands were on his shoulders, squeezing. Clarence expected a man’s squeeze, not soft, and the Apostle held him firm. But then he squeezed tighter. He grabbed tighter still, digging his fingers into Clarence’s shoulders as if to pull the bones out. Clarence looked up in shock. The Apostle grunted, his eyes rolled back, and his head jerked.

  “Apostle?” Clarence whimpered, trying to pry the hands off his shoulders. The Apostle was yelling now and he shuddered and swayed as if having a drunken fit. Clarence pulled his grip loose and the Apostle staggered, falling into the bath.

  “Apostle!”

  The shower curtain popped away from its hinges one by one. Water burst from the tap. The Apostle bellowed. Clarence froze.

  “Apostle?”

  “It’s him! Abba babbaha ricocasrabotok!”

  “Apos—”

  “It’s him, ricocasrabotok! He’s attacking me! From that goddamn house, the son of a bitch is attacking me! Aahhh!”

  “Who? Who attacking?”

  “Him, you fucking imbecile! Bligh! Bligh!” The shower erupted but York raised two fingers and the water stopped. He was out of breath yet climbed out. Clarence reached to help him and was pushed away. Clarence tried again.

  “Get the fuck away from me!”

  Clarence felt a punch to his chest that sent him slamming against the door. But the Apostle had not touched him; York was rubbing his scalp.

  “Get my Five. Get them now. It ends tonight, goddamn. Tonight! Get me my Five! I want that fucking bastard dead right now, so help me! Right now!”

  The Widow’s yard was ridden with carrion; stinking vulture flesh and scattered feathers. Somehow, whenever a John Crow landed on her grass it fell immediately to its death. Or perhaps crow had begun to eat crow. From her window she had seen them fall. She looked behind her to Bligh’s closed door and wondered if he was writing on the wall still. There was a rumble and the window shook suddenly. All the John Crows that waited on Mr. Garvey’s roof took off at once. She turned her gaze to the gate and there they were.

  Men and women, some of whom she had known all her life. Some who were neither friend nor enemy. They were all in front of her gate, side by side in a perfect line. At first they were silent and seemed not to blink. Then the throng parted and Brother Vixton came to the front, stroking his whip like an extension of himself. Much younger than the Widow, he waved his youth like his whip. He was the tallest of The Five and he lumbered like a field slave having won freedom and purpose. He saw her.

  “Unu remember what Proverbs Seven say?

  “Unu remember what Proverbs Seven say?

  “Me say if unu remember what Proverbs Seven say?”
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  Brother Vixton turned his back to the Widow and scolded the crowd. He raised his whip high and they staggered back, some tripping over people who fell behind them.

  Hearken unto me now therefore, O ye children,

  and attend to the words of my mouth

  let not thine heart decline to her ways

  go not astray in her paths

  for she has cast down man wounded

  yea, many a strong man have been slain by her

  Her house is the way to Hell, going down

  To the chambers of death.

  “This a the house! This a the house!”

  The mighty man of God made one mighty step onto the Widow’s lawn and fell, first on his knees, then on his face, and his eyes went white. The ground shook like Jericho. The whip flew out of his hand and landed in the road like a dead snake. Men and women scattered, some screaming. From Brother Vixton’s eyes, nose, ears, and mouth sprung black blood. The Widow turned away. She was neither frightened nor saddened, but shivered and wept nevertheless. Below the window she collapsed, falling asleep.