“He saved me, beloved, and sanctified me and filled me with the blessed Holy Ghost, hallelujah! Give me a new song, amen which I didn’t know before and set my feet on the King’s highway. Pray for me beloved, that I will stand in these last and evil days.”
“Bless your name, Jesus!”
During his testimony Johnnie and Roy and David had stood quietly beside the door, not daring to enter while he spoke. The moment he sat down they moved quickly, together, to the front of the high hall and knelt down beside their seats to pray. The aspect of each of them underwent always, in this company a striking, even an exciting change; as though their youth, barely begun, were already put away; and the animal, so vividly restless and undiscovered, so tense with power, ready to spring had been already stalked and trapped and offered, a perpetual blood-sacrifice, on the altar of the Lord. Yet their bodies continued to change and grow, preparing them, mysteriously and with ferocious speed, for manhood. No matter how careful their movements, these movements suggested, with a distinctness dreadful for the redeemed to see, the pagan lusting beneath the blood-washed robes. In them was perpetually and perfectly poised the power of revelation against the power of nature; and the saints, considering them with a baleful kind of love, struggled to bring their souls to safety in order, as it were, to steal a march on the flesh while the flesh still slept. A kind of storm, infernal, blew over the congregation as they passed; someone cried, “Bless them, Lord!” and immediately, honey-colored Sister Russell, while they knelt in prayer, rose to her feet to testify.
From the moment that they closed their eyes and covered their faces they were isolated from the joy that moved everything beside them. Yet this same isolation served only to make the glory of the saints more real, the pulse of conviction, however faint, beat in and the glory of God then held an under-tone of abject terror. Roy was the first to rise, sitting very straight in his seat and allowing his face to reveal nothing; just as Sister Russell ended her testimony and sat down, sobbing, her head thrown back and both hands raised to heaven. Immediately Sister Daniels raised her strong, harsh voice and hit her tambourine, singing. Brother Elisha turned on the piano stool and hit the keys. Johnnie and David rose from their knees and as they rose the congregation rose, clapping their hands singing. The three boys did not sing; they stood together, carefully ignoring one another, their feet steady on the slightly tilting floor but their bodies moving back and forth as the music grew more savage. And someone cried aloud, a timeless sound of wailing; fire splashed the open deck and filled the doors and bathed the sinners standing there; fire filled the great hall and splashed the faces of the saints and a wind, unearthly, moved above their heads. Their hands were arched before them, moving, and their eyes were raised to heaven. Sweat stained the deacon’s collar and soaked the tight head-bands of the women. Was it true then? and had there indeed been born one day in Bethlehem a Saviour who was Christ the Lord? who had died for them—for them!—the spat-upon and beaten with rods, who had worn a crown of thorns and seen His blood run down like rain; and who had lain in the grave three days and vanquished death and hell and risen again in glory—was it for them?
Lord, I want to go, show me the way!
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given—and His name shall be called Wonderful, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Yes, and He was coming back one day, the King of glory; He would crack the face of heaven and descend to judge the nations and gather up His people and take them to their rest.
Take me by my hand and lead me on!
Somewhere in the back a woman cried out and began the Shout. They looked carefully about, still not looking at one another, and saw, as from a great distance and through intolerable heat, such heat as might have been faced by the Hebrew children when cast bound into the fiery furnace, that one of the saints was dancing under the arm of the Lord. She danced out into the aisle, beautiful with a beauty unbearable, graceful with grace that poured from heaven. Her face was lifted up, her eyes were closed and the feet which moved so surely now were not her own. One by one the power of God moved others and—as it had been written—the Holy Ghost descended from heaven with a Shout. Sylvia raised her hands, the tears poured down her face, and in a moment, she too moved out into the aisle, Shouting. Is it true then? the saints rejoiced, Roy beat the tambourine. David, grave and shaken, clapped his hands and his body moved insistently in the rhythm of the dancers. Johnnie stood beside him, hot and faint and repeating yet again his struggle, summoning in panic all his forces, to save him from this frenzy. And yet daily he recognized that he was black with sin, that the secrets of his heart were a stench in God’s nostrils. Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow. Come, let us reason together, saith the Lord.
Now there was a violent discord on the piano and Brother Elisha leapt to his feet, dancing. Johnnie watched the spinning body and listened, in terror and anguish, to the bestial sobs. Of the men it was only Elisha who danced and the women moved toward him and he moved toward the women. Johnnie felt blow over him an icy wind, all his muscles tightened, as though they furiously resisted some imminent bloody act, as the body of Isaac must have revolted when he saw his father’s knife, and, sick and nearly sobbing, he closed his eyes. It was Satan, surely, who stood so foully at his shoulder; and what, but the blood of Jesus, should ever set him free? He thought of the many times he had stood in the congregation of the righteous—and yet he was not saved. He remained among the vast army of the doomed, whose lives—as he had been told, as he now, with such heart-sickness, began to discover for himself—were swamped with wretchedness and whose end was wrath and weeping. Then, for he felt himself falling, he opened his eyes and watched the rejoicing of the saints. His eyes found his father where he stood clapping his hands, glittering with sweat and overwhelming. Then Lois began to shout. For the first time he looked at Roy; their eyes met in brief, wry wonder and Roy imperceptibly shrugged. He watched his mother standing over Lois, her own face obscurely troubled. The light from the door was on her face, the entire room was filled with this strange light. There was no sound now except the sound of Roy’s tambourine and the heavy rhythm of the saints; the sound of heavy feet and hands and the sound of weeping. Perhaps centuries past the children of Israel led by Miriam had made just such a noise as they came out of the wilderness. For unto us is born this day a Saviour who is Christ the Lord.
Yet, in the copper sunlight Johnnie felt suddenly, not the presence of the Lord, but the presence of David; which seemed to reach out to him, hand reaching out to hand in the fury of flood-time, to drag him to the bottom of the water or to carry him safe to shore. From the corner of his eye he watched his friend, who held him with such power; and felt, for that moment, such a depth of love, such nameless and terrible joy and pain, that he might have fallen, in the face of that company, weeping at David’s feet.
Once at Bear Mountain they faced the very great problem of carrying Sylvia sufficiently far from her mother’s sight to present her with her birthday present. This problem, difficult enough, was made even more difficult by the continual presence of Brother Elisha; who, inspired by the afternoon’s service and by Sylvia’s renewal of her faith, remained by her side to bear witness to the goodness and power of the Lord. Sylvia listened with her habitual rapt and painful smile. Her mother, on the one side and Brother Elisha on the other, seemed almost to be taking turns in advising her on her conduct as a saint of God. They began to despair, as the sun moved visibly westward, of ever giving her the gold-plated butterfly which rested uncomfortably in David’s waistcoat pocket.
Of course, as Johnnie once suggested, there was really no reason they could not go up to her, surrounded as she was, and give her the jewel and get it over with—the more particularly as David evinced a desire to explore the wonders of Bear Mountain until this mission should have been fulfilled. Sister Daniels could scarcely object to an innocuous memento from three young men, all of whom attended church devoutly and one of whom profe
ssed salvation. But this was far from satisfactory for David, who did not wish to hear Sylvia’s “thank-you’s” in the constricting presence of the saints. Therefore they waited, wandering about the sloping park, lingering near the lake and the skating rink and watching Sylvia.
“God, why don’t they go off somewhere and sleep? or pray?” cried David finally. He glared at the nearby rise where Sylvia and her mother sat talking with Brother Elisha. The sun was in their faces and struck from Sylvia’s hair as she restlessly moved her head, small blue-black sparks.
Johnnie swallowed his jealousy at seeing how Sylvia filled his comrade’s mind; he said, half-angrily, “I still don’t see why we don’t just go over and give it to her.”
Roy looked at him. “Boy, you sound like you ain’t got good sense,” he said.
Johnnie, frowning, fell into silence. He glanced sidewise at David’s puckered face (his eyes were still on Sylvia) and abruptly turned and started walking off.
“Where you going, boy?” David called.
“I’ll be back” he said. And he prayed that David would follow him.
But David was determined to catch Sylvia alone and remained where he was with Roy. “Well, make it snappy,” he said; and sprawled, full length, on the grass.
As soon as he was alone his pace slackened; he leaned his forehead against the bark of a tree, shaking and burning as in the teeth of a fever. The bark of the tree was rough and cold and though it offered no other comfort he stood there quietly for a long time, seeing beyond him—but it brought no peace—the high clear sky where the sun in fading glory traveled; and the deep earth covered with vivid banners, grass, flower, thorn and vine, thrusting upward forever the brutal trees. At his back he heard the voices of the children and the saints. He knew that he must return, that he must be on hand should David at last outwit Sister Daniels and present her daughter with the golden butterfly. But he did not want to go back, now he realized that he had no interest in the birthday present, no interest whatever in Sylvia—that he had had no interest all along. He shifted his stance, he turned from the tree as he turned his mind from the abyss which suddenly yawned, that abyss, depthless and terrifying, which he had encountered already in dreams. And he slowly began to walk, away from the saints and the voices of the children, his hands in his pockets, struggling to ignore the question which now screamed and screamed in his mind’s bright haunted house.
It happened quite simply. Eventually Sister Daniels felt the need to visit the ladies’ room, which was a long ways off. Brother Elisha remained where he was while Roy and David, like two beasts crouching in the underbrush, watched him and waited their opportunity. Then he also rose and wandered off to get cold lemonade for Sylvia. She sat quietly alone on the green rise, her hands clasped around her knees, dreaming.
They walked over to her, in terror that Sister Daniels would suddenly reappear. Sylvia smiled as she saw them coming and waved to them merrily. Roy grinned and threw himself on his belly on the ground beside her. David remained standing, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket.
“We got something for you,” Roy said.
David produced the butterfly. “Happy birthday, Sylvia,” he said. He stretched out his hand, the butterfly glinted oddly in the sun, and he realized with surprise that his hand was shaking. She grinned widely, in amazement and delight, and took the pin from him.
“It’s from Johnnie too,” he said. “I—we—hope you like it—”
She held the small gold pin in her palm and stared down at it; her face was hidden. After a moment she murmured, “I’m so surprised.” She looked up, her eyes shining, almost wet. “Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said. “I never expected anything. I don’t know what to say. It’s marvelous, it’s wonderful.” She pinned the butterfly carefully to her light blue dress. She coughed slightly. “Thank you,” she said.
“Your mother won’t mind, will she?” Roy asked. “I mean—” he stammered awkwardly under Sylvia’s sudden gaze—“we didn’t know, we didn’t want to get you in any trouble—”
“No,” David said. He had not moved; he stood watching Sylvia. Sylvia looked away from Roy and up at David, his eyes met hers and she smiled. He smiled back, suddenly robbed of speech. She looked away again over the path her mother had taken and frowned slightly. “No,” she said, “no, she won’t mind.”
Then there was silence. David shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Roy lay contentedly face down on the grass. The breeze from the river, which lay below them and out of sight, grew subtly more insistent for they had passed the heat of the day; and the sun, moving always westward, fired and polished the tips of trees. Sylvia sighed and shifted on the ground.
“Why isn’t Johnnie here?” she suddenly asked.
“He went off somewhere,” Roy said. “He said he’d be right back.” He looked at Sylvia and smiled. She was looking at David.
“You must want to grow real tall,” she said mockingly. “Why don’t you sit down?”
David grinned and sat down cross-legged next to Sylvia. “Well, the ladies like ’em tall.” He lay on his back and stared up at the sky. “It’s a fine day,” he said.
She said, “Yes,” and looked down at him; he had closed his eyes and was bathing his face in the slowly waning sun. Abruptly, she asked him:
“Why don’t you get saved? You around the church all the time and you not saved yet? Why don’t you?”
He opened his eyes in amazement. Never before had Sylvia mentioned salvation to him, except as a kind of joke. One of the things he most liked about her was the fact that she never preached to him. Now he smiled uncertainly and stared at her.
“I’m not joking,” she said sharply. “I’m perfectly serious. Roy’s saved—at least he says so—” and she smiled darkly, in the fashion of the old folks, at Roy—“and anyway, you ought to be thinking about your soul.”
“Well, I don’t know,” David said. “I think about it. It’s—well, I don’t know if I can—well, live it—”
“All you got to do is make up your mind. If you really want to be saved, He’ll save you. Yes, and He’ll keep you too.” She did not sound at all hysterical or transfigured. She spoke very quietly and with great earnestness and frowned as she spoke. David, taken off guard, said nothing. He looked embarrassed and pained and surprised. “Well, I don’t know,” he finally repeated.
“Do you ever pray?” she asked. “I mean, really pray?”
David laughed, beginning to recover himself. “It’s not fair,’ he said, “you oughtn’t to catch me all unprepared like that. Now I don’t know what to say.” But as he looked at her earnest face he sobered. “Well, I try to be decent. I don’t bother nobody.” He picked up a grass blade and stared at it. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I do my best.”
“Do you?” she asked.
He laughed again, defeated. “Girl,” he said, “you are a killer.”
She laughed too. “You black-eyed demon,” she said, “if I don’t see you at revival services I’ll never speak to you again.” He looked up quickly, in some surprise, and she said, still smiling, “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it.”
“All right, sister,” he said. Then: “If I come out can I walk you home?”
“I got my mother to walk me home—”
“Well, let your mother walk home with Brother Elisha,” he said, grinning, “Let the old folks stay together.”
“Loose him, Satan!” she cried, laughing, “loose the boy!”
“The brother needs prayer,” Roy said.
“Amen,” said Sylvia. She looked down again at David. “I want to see you at church. Don’t you forget it.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
The boat whistles blew at six o’clock, punctuating their holiday; blew, fretful and insistent, through the abruptly dispirited park and skaters left the skating rink; boats were rowed in furiously from the lake. Children were called from the swings and the seesaw and the merry-go-round and forced to leave b
ehind the ball which had been lost in the forest and the torn kite which dangled from the top of a tree. (“Hush now,” said their parents, “we’ll get you another one—come along.” “Tomorrow?”—“Come along, honey, it’s time to go!”) The old folks rose from the benches, from the grass, gathered together the empty lunch-basket, the half-read newspaper, the Bible which was carried everywhere; and they started down the hillside, an army in disorder. David walked with Sylvia and Sister Daniels and Brother Elisha, listening to their conversation (good Lord, thought Johnnie, don’t they ever mention anything but sin?) and carrying Sylvia’s lunch-basket. He seemed interested in what they were saying; every now and then he looked at Sylvia and grinned and she grinned back. Once, as Sylvia stumbled, he put his hand on her elbow to steady her and held her arm perhaps a moment too long. Brother Elisha, on the far side of Sister Daniels, noticed this and a frown passed over his face. He kept talking, staring now and then hard at Sylvia and trying, with a certain almost humorous helplessness, to discover what was in her mind. Sister Daniels talked of nothing but the service on the boat and of the forthcoming revival. She scarcely seemed to notice David’s presence, though once she spoke to him, making some remark about the need, on his part, of much prayer. Gabriel carried the sleeping baby in his arms, striding beside his wife and Lois—who stumbled perpetually and held tightly to her mother’s hand. Roy was somewhere in the back, joking with Elizabeth. At a turn in the road the boat and the dock appeared below them, a dead gray-white in the sun.
Johnnie walked down the slope alone, watching David and Sylvia ahead of him. When he had come back, both Roy and David had disappeared and Sylvia sat again in the company of her mother and Brother Elisha; and if he had not seen the gold butterfly on her dress he would have been aware of no change. She thanked him for his share in it and told him that Roy and David were at the skating rink.
But when at last he found them they were far in the middle of the lake in a rowboat. He was afraid of water, he could not row. He stood on the bank and watched them. After a long while they saw him and waved and started to bring the boat in so that he could join them. But the day was ruined for him; by the time they brought the boat in, the hour, for which they had hired it, was over; David went in search of his mother for more money but when he came back it was time to leave. Then he walked with Sylvia.
Going to Meet the Man Page 4