by Steph Post
FELTON WAS sweating. He gripped his Bible in both hands and rubbed his thumbs up and down the battered cover. Over the years, the leather had turned supple around the edges and along the spine, and there were two white streaks on the cover where the finish had been worn away completely. Felton bent the book back and forth between his hands and glanced over at Sister Mona, sitting stoutly at the piano and leading the Sunday night congregation in a round of “Come Sinners to the Gospel Feast.” It was the fifth hymn of the night and the plastic tarp over the front door had ceased flapping with any latecomers’ arrivals. Most seemed surprised to see Felton standing in front of the pulpit, but no one dared to raise a question. As always, they simply found their places and began to sing and clap along.
Felton tried not to make eye contact with anyone. He was afraid that one raised eyebrow, one stifled laugh, would cause him to lose his courage completely. He had stood on the low stage through the songs, not greeting anyone, not smiling, but simply tapping his foot along to the music and staring intently down at the Bible his hands. If he didn’t get on with it, though, he knew he would lose his nerve altogether and never regain it. He stared at the back of Sister Mona’s head, at the fat brown braid swinging down her back, and he cleared his throat. She didn’t hear him and continued to bang away at the keys. He tried again, but against the piano, and the chorus of thirty-five souls, Felton’s unobtrusive voice was simply drowned out. He counted the beats in the last verse of the hymn and made himself ready. He would have to begin before Sister Mona launched into another song.
“Brothers and Sisters!”
Sister Mona ceased playing, her hands poised above the piano keys. It was quite possible that she had never heard Felton speak so loudly. She craned her neck to look up at him and he nodded to her, indicating that he was ready. The rest of the congregation, after a few sidelong glances, settled themselves on the splintery benches. Felton had gone back to staring down at his Bible, but he was listening intently, waiting for the church to quiet, for all attention to be focused on him. He could feel the sweat seeping out from under his armpits and pooling against his lower back and he was glad that he had chosen to wear the maroon jacket over his dress shirt. It would make the wetness a little less visible. Felton took a deep breath. He had a burning urge to urinate. And then vomit. Instead, he lifted his head, cleared his throat and thought of the snakes.
“I’d like to start with the Book of Isaiah.”
Felton shifted his weight back and forth and wiped the sweat from his upper lip before continuing.
“I mean, to be honest, Genesis is my favorite book, really. I like the part in the beginning, about how God created the earth and then made all the animals. How he made the birds and the great whales. All the animals and it was good. It was all good, in the beginning, like that.”
He heard a snickering come from the side of the church and then the thwack of a child being smacked in the back of the head. Felton swallowed. He had turned his gaze back to the wooden floorboards beneath his shiny new loafers. He knew he was stuttering.
“And I like the part about Noah and the ark, too. Where he has to save all the animals from the flood. He has to put them on the ark to keep them all from drowning. Because most of them can’t swim.”
Felton kept his head down, but tentatively raised his eyes. The congregation was watching him placidly, as if they’d already given up on even being skeptical and were now just waiting for him to hurry up and bumble through it so they could get on home. Felton dropped his eyes again.
“But lately, I’ve been thinking about the Book of Isaiah. Like I said. Now this book is different. God is pretty angry with everyone the whole time. He doesn’t see anything good at all around him. He’s just mad at the Israelites through most of the whole thing.”
Felton thumbed open his Bible.
“But with good reason.”
From the back row of the church came a Hallelujah. Felton looked up, startled, but then quickly turned back to the Bible.
“Because the people, the people living in Jerusalem then, they weren’t doing what they were supposed to be doing. They were doing all sorts of things they shouldn’t have been doing, in fact, and God, he knew that. Of course. Because he’s God.”
Another Hallelujah pierced the air, followed by a murmured Amen. Felton opened his Bible to the place he had marked earlier and ran his thick finger down the tissue paper page.
“And so Isaiah, he has this vision, where God tells him everything. And Isaiah says, here, right at the beginning, he says, ‘Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth: for the Lord hath spoken.’”
Felton glanced up at the Amen that followed. A woman, Sister Bea, was standing in the back row of the church. She had her hand raised up in the air. Felton could hardly believe it.
“So, see, God tells Isaiah that he has to make the people of the city listen. And Isaiah tries. He tells them God thinks the city is like an unfaithful wife. The people have gotten so far out of control. They’ve come so far off the path of righteousness. It’s like they don’t even know which way is up or down anymore.”
Felton stood up straight as he peered around the church. Two more women and one man were now on their feet. Felton found another passage that he had marked and as he read it, he was surprised at the gravity of his own voice. He was speaking with confidence. With authority.
“And so, Isaiah, he tells the people, he tells them, look, ‘We have made lies our refuge, and under falsehood have we hid ourselves.’ Lies, brothers and sisters, lies. God could see that. He could see that the people of the city, they were living in sin. They were worshiping false gods. But most importantly, they were lying. To themselves and to God.”
“Jesus save us!”
“Amen!”
“Lord forgive us!”
He was speaking with power. Felton closed the Bible; he knew the Book of Isaiah by heart anyway. He took a few steps forward and allowed himself to look out at the people staring up at him. From the expression on their faces, he couldn’t imagine that they were actually looking at him. But he could hear his voice and the timbre it was carrying. Felton smacked the Bible against his thigh.
“And we’re doing it right now, aren’t we? Every day, it’s something. Maybe it’s just a little fib or maybe it’s a big secret. Something bad, really bad, in your heart. But whatever it is, it’s a lie. And God knows. God knows. He knows it all. And he is angry about it.”
Felton rocked back on his heels and then pitched himself forward, right to the edge of the low stage.
“And let me tell you, God is clear, clear as day, about what will happen to you if you try to keep your secrets from Him. If you try to lie to him and to others and to the world about all the bad things you’ve done. ‘Woe unto them that seek deep to hide their counsel from the Lord.’”
Felton could feel the rivulets of sweat running down the sides of his face, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He was there, he was in the moment, and nothing could stop him. For all of his life, he had stood in that same church, looking up at his aunt, waiting for her to bring the Holy Ghost into the room. No one could invite Him in but Sister Tulah. And yet, now, here Felton was, standing on the other side, delivering the message of God, and he knew, he could feel it, that the Spirit had entered the church. And it was because of him.
“Woe to those who hide! Woe to those who keep their counsel from the Lord! Woe to those who deny themselves the righteous path! Who creep around in the dark when they should be standing out in the light. Woe to them and woe to us all. May we all, may we all, be forgiven!”
It was because of him.
IN THE truck’s headlights, Judah could see Ramey leaning against the driver’s side of the Cutlass, arms crossed, jaw set, waiting for him. Judah sighed. This could not be good. He pulled his truck up in front of the house and cut the engine.
When did things get so complicated? Why, for God’s sake, did they get so complicated? Judah rubbed his face and then ran his hands back through his
hair. He glanced in the side mirror and could see Ramey, still slouched against the side of her car, her head turned away from him. In the glow from the porch light, she was so beautiful. She was always so goddamn beautiful. Even now, mad as hell, most likely aiming for a fight, she could take his breath away.
Judah twisted his hands around the steering wheel. Of course they were complicated. Weaver, Nash, Lesser, Tulah, Sherwood. The money and the guns and the fear. A month or so ago, he and Ramey had gotten drunk together. Silly drunk, teenage drunk. They had ended up in the bathroom, she in the tub, he on the tile floor next to her, an empty bottle of bourbon between them. Most of the night was a blur and had disappeared into a hangover’s haze, but he remembered saying something to her about the future. Something stupid about kids. And he was pretty sure that at the time he had been more serious than not. He couldn’t remember how Ramey had reacted or what she had said. The next morning, she was mopping up the soaking bathroom floor and he was loading bullets into his .45, on his way with Alvin to strong-arm one of their bookies.
She deserved better. Judah knew this. And if she could just hang on a little longer, he knew he could make it right. If Ramey would just calm down about Weaver. If she would just calm down about everything and trust him. Judah scrubbed at his face again and then kicked open the creaking door of the truck. In the morning, everything would be better. He came around the truck to Ramey and saw the look on her face. Or maybe not. Judah had the feeling he was going to be sleeping on the couch.
“Ramey, I’m sorry I’m late. I know I texted you and said I’d be home earlier, but I had to—”
“Don’t.”
Her shoulders curved in slightly, almost as if she was shrinking back from him. Judah put his hands in his pockets and kicked at a tuft of brittle grass growing up through the sandy dirt.
“Are you still tore up about earlier? About the whole thing with Shelia and Weaver? Look, Ramey, you gotta understand—”
“I’m leaving.”
Judah jerked his head up and met Ramey’s eyes. They were dark. Veiled. He took a step back.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Ramey’s voice was low. Not angry, but resigned. Defeated.
“It means I’m gone. It means I can’t do this anymore, Judah.”
It was like being sucker punched. Judah leaned over slightly, his hand on one thigh, bracing himself. He inhaled sharply and held his hand out to her, as if to ward her declaration off.
“Whoa, now. Let’s just hold on a second. Let’s just, let’s just hold on. I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
She nodded and the corners of her mouth turned down. Judah realized that she was struggling, holding back tears.
“I do. You are everything, Judah. Everything. But I can’t do it.”
Ramey put her hands on her lower back and looked away from him, and now Judah realized that she actually was crying. Maybe she had been all along as she stood leaning against her car waiting for him.
“I just can’t do it. This isn’t what I wanted, this ain’t what I signed up for. I can’t live my life looking over my shoulder, being afraid every moment. Wondering which one of us is gonna get killed first.”
Judah wanted to tell her that she was talking crazy, but that would be a lie. He woke up with the very same thoughts every day, only he had been able to build a little room and shut all those thoughts up and swallow the key so that he could do what needed to be done. What had to be done if they were ever going to make it to the other side. But maybe she couldn’t do that. And the other side seemed to be receding further and further away every day. Judah stood up straight and nodded. He could handle this. He could fix this.
“Okay. All right, listen. Maybe you should get away for a little while. You know, get out of town for a week or so, until things cool down. I know it’s been rough, so maybe just take some time…”
“No.”
He was taken aback. There was something in her voice. A determination underneath the resignation. She was serious.
“You need to just forget about me, Judah.”
Judah threw his hands up in the air.
“Forget about you? Why don’t you just tell me to rip out my guts, rip out my heart, right here and now? It would be easier.”
Ramey was shaking her head, but Judah almost couldn’t hear her over the roar of paralyzing rage that consumed him.
“Judah. We’ve only been together for three months and—”
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
He knew he was yelling and he didn’t care. It was all slipping away; it was all falling to pieces around him and he had no idea how to stop it.
“I’ve been with you my entire life, Ramey. You know that. You know me!”
The look on Ramey’s face had become defiant now. She had stopped crying.
“I don’t know who you’ve become.”
Judah wanted to hit something. To shoot something. To smash the whole world up around him. He wanted to kick and bite and lash. He wanted to howl.
“Ramey, please, don’t do this.”
She shook her head and pulled her car keys out of her back pocket.
“I’m sorry. It’s done. It’s over.”
“No.”
“I have to go.”
Judah stepped away from her. He turned and looked out at the woods, out at the night. He put his hands on his hips and opened his eyes wide, gasping, trying to get his face under control. When he turned back to her, she still had the keys in her hand. He stared at them.
“Where?”
“Away. From this life. From this family. From you. I’m not a Cannon, Judah. I never was. I never hoped to be. And you can’t see that. I’m standing right here in front of you and you can’t even see me.”
She turned and opened the car door behind her. Judah reached out, wanting to grab her and hold her back. Wanting to yank her out of the car and press her to him and refuse to ever let go. But he just stood there, arms outstretched, with empty hands.
“No, please don’t do this. Please.”
Ramey slammed the car door and the engine of the Cutlass roared. He stepped back as the car circled around the yard. He watched her. She wasn’t looking at him; she wasn’t looking back. The car disappeared down the driveway and Judah screamed.
“Ramey!”
He clenched his fists and screamed again, his voice breaking in animal anguish.
“Ramey!”
But she was gone.
“AND ISAIAH, he gives the people of the city God’s message. He says, ‘Behold, the name of the Lord cometh from far, burning with his anger.’ He tells the people that God’s ‘lips are full of indignation, and his tongue as a devouring fire.’ A devouring fire! But we need that, don’t we? Brothers and sisters, we need a devouring fire. A cleansing fire. A fire to purify us of our sins, of our unfaithfulness, of our lies!”
Felton had left his Bible on the pulpit and was standing again at the edge of the stage, almost on tiptoe, with his arms outstretched and his head lifted high. He was vaguely aware that the congregation had been caught up by the Holy Spirit. No one was sitting; everyone was in the corybantic throes of some sort of ecstasy. Women were wailing and men were beating their hands against their heads and stamping their feet on the ground. Some were laughing hysterically, some were groaning and some were merely swaying while tears ran down their faces. One woman had fallen to her knees and lay slumped against the side of the piano as she repeated the same barking sound over and over. Sister Mona had taken to the piano again, though her eyes were now closed and she only beat out the same primitive, measured notes. And above it all, Felton was preaching at the top of his lungs. Words were coming from his lips in a torrent, but he had no real idea of what he was saying. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the brilliant white light that had appeared in the air just above the riotous congregation.
At first the light resembled others he had seen before when visited by the Holy Spirit. It was a
lmost just a flash, like spots before his eyes, and then an echoing rush in his ears. He felt his body seeming to go in and out of an ether-like state, but then suddenly he could feel the wooden stage firmly beneath his feet and the spots disappeared from his vision. The light, however, was still there and had grown more substantial, more defined around the edges. Felton stared at it, watching it take form, elongating and coiling, until he was faced with an enormous pearl-white snake, hovering and undulating slowly in the air. The snake’s head came around and its garnet eyes locked with his. When it spoke, its long, pale, forked tongue was only a few feet away from Felton’s face.
“Thus saith the Lord, Set thine house in order.”
Felton stretched his arms out to the snake.
“What does that mean?”
The snake blinked lazily before speaking again.
“Thus saith the Lord, Set thine house in order: for thou shalt die, and not live.”
Felton could feel his whole body trembling.
“Am I doing to die?”
The snake slowly tilted its head. Its coils were rasping against one another.
“Rise up. I bade you listen and you listened. I bade you speak and you have spoken. Now I bid you to act.”
“What must I do? Tell me, what must I do?”
The form of the snake began to fade, once more returning to mere light.
“Rise up. Set your house in order. Rise up.”
The snake was gone. Felton stared up into the mesmerizing light until that, too, slowly disappeared. There was a whistling in his ears and he became aware that his mouth was filled with words. He had been preaching all along while he was talking to the snake that only he could see. Felton gazed out at the congregation; it was still in hysterics. He reached for the Bible on the pulpit and held it aloft in both hands. He knew now what he must do. He had listened. He had spoken. Now he had to act. He had nothing more to say to the church before him, so he simply fell to his knees with the book over his head and repeated the words of his destiny.
“Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!”