Clearwater felt like he’d stumbled onto a gift. This boy had some enthusiasm, some energy, and as long as he kept him the right distance from the action — in the dark, that is — he’d be able to work Blinky’s route on down into Georgia and Florida, and then back up into the Carolinas, where they could visit some mill bosses, some big tobacco men, relieve them of a few fine cars. He’d gotten a raise on the cars from twenty-five percent to forty percent, and if he didn’t get caught or otherwise mess up, then by the time he met with Blinky again, his two-year road quota would be made and he’d be able to move up into more advanced jobs.
That night Henry continued reading in Genesis. About Abraham and Sarah, when their names were Abram and Sarai. He hadn’t known about a name change until he jumped ahead and figured it out. But when he jumped ahead he found out about Abraham saying for some reason that his wife Sarah was his sister. He had forgotten that Abraham had a wife, then he remembered: they’d had a baby when they were real old. And he certainly had never heard about what he read in Genesis 16, and then reread.
Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, bare him no children: and she had an handmaid, an Egyptian, whose name was Hagar.
And Sarai said unto Abram, Behold now, the Lord hath restrained me from bearing: I pray thee, go in unto my maid; it may be that I may obtain children by her. And Abram harkened to the voice of Sarai.
Henry saw that “go in unto” meant go to bed with her and have a sex relation. It was as plain as day. He kept reading. Abraham did it. God wrote it and didn’t worry a whiff about it, not a whiff. Nobody was bothered by it.
Something was wrong. The God that wrote this was not the God he’d been taught to pray to.
Why should he not have a sex relation or two before he was married? Outside of marriage, like Abraham.
He kept reading, skipping around, past Joseph’s coat of many colors and his brothers and the hidden cup. He’d heard all that. Then he read in Genesis 38 about a woman named Tamar, and when he finished that one he had to put down his Bible and walk outside and look up at the sky and say, “What in the world?”
So that more or less settled that. He wouldn’t have to wait until he got married. Why shouldn’t he do what they were doing in the very Bible — the good guys, with no consequences? Else the consequences would be mentioned, because God would want them mentioned.
It was three a.m. and he needed to go to sleep. He didn’t know what to pray.
MR. SIM SIMPSON BEATEN, NEW CAR STOLEN
WINSTON-SALEM, N.C. — Clarence “Sim” Simpson reported yesterday that he was assaulted by a stranger and his DeSoto automobile was stolen and driven away, leaving him helpless and injured on the ground in the parking lot behind Clark’s Furniture Store just south of town. Simpson was carried by bystanders to Leeds Hospital and released after treatment for a skull fracture.
Mr. Simpson is a retired Army master sergeant and now owns several grocery stores in the area.
Simpson reported that his car was taken in broad daylight by a man with long black hair, wearing a derby hat and sunglasses. The man was alone, seated in Simpson’s car, and claimed the car was his when Simpson approached him. Simpson said the man must have hot-wired the DeSoto while Simpson was buying a sofa in Clark’s Furniture Store.
“I thought he’d made a normal mistake and got in the wrong car,” said the injured Simpson. “And when he picked up a crow bar out of the floor board, I couldn’t imagine what it was for. Next thing I knew I was flat on my back.”
A witness, Ned Seagroves, reported that the car headed south on County Highway.
PART II
GENESIS
1937
WHEN HENRY WAS SEVEN
Henry held the army blankets like he might hold a dog — leaning back just a bit so he wouldn’t topple forward. Mrs. Albright’s faded red plank house, his destination, stood down the hard-frozen dirt road, the morning sun lighting the side of it.
New electric wires, strung from poles, hummed and seemed to silence the rest of the world. Frost sparkled in the road ditch. Henry was glad he wore his hat with the warm, furry earflaps — Aunt Dorie had pulled them down tight over his ears.
He was on a mission for God and Jesus, taking the blankets to Mrs. Albright and her son, Yancy. Trixie followed along behind, stopped, sniffed, squatted to pee near the ditch, steam rising through slanting sunlight. The hair around her mouth was gray.
“That is one odd bird down there,” Uncle Jack had said over and over about Yancy, the son. “One odd bird. And all them cats. I bet she’s got a sandbox in there as big as a barn door. God a-mighty.”
Last night Henry and Uncle Jack played carom, with Uncle Jack leaning over Henry’s back, a matchstick in his mouth, showing Henry how to hold the carom stick like a pool cue. Uncle Jack was a little bit hard and cold sometimes, but funny too. Aunt Dorie was warm — and always the same. Uncle Jack forgot he had his matchstick in his mouth and kissed a baby on the head one time and made it cry.
Small, frosty bushes lined the dirt walkway to Mrs. Albright’s front door. She wore a black dress and black hat to church every Sunday and sat beside her odd son in a pew halfway down the right side.
Henry opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch — it was dark and quiet in there — and knocked on the front door. It opened and Mrs. Albright smiled at him and bent down. A toothbrush twig stuck out from her mouth, and snuff juice had started little rivers from the corners. “Well, hey there, little Henry.”
“I brung you some blankets,” said Henry. “May God bless you.” Henry smelled snuff and another smell too, coming from inside the house, something that had a little bit of a dirt and stink and fertilizer smell in it.
“God bless you, son. Come on in the house and let me give you a little pretty or a piece of candy or something.” She took him by the arm. “It’s mighty cold out there, ain’t it? We can always use blankets.” She closed the door behind him. “Always use blankets. Can’t have too many.”
Several cats came into view and then more — cats that weren’t moving much, lolling around, some very still, one licking its shoulder. “It’s like a cat heaven and hell down there,” Uncle Jack had said. “A hundred cats that talk.”
A fire blazed in the fireplace. “We can sure use a couple of blankets,” said Mrs. Albright. “Yes sir. We sure can.”
Henry wanted to go home. It was dark and hot. Mrs. Albright’s and Mrs. Tyler’s houses were the only two without electricity. Uncle Jack had said, “She gets electricity down there and one of them cats’ll get his tail stuck in a outlet and blow up.”
Mrs. Albright held his lapel. “Let me have your coat and hat, son.”
Yancy, dressed in blue flannel pajamas, emerged from behind a closed door. The ball on his neck was a “broiter” or something like that.
“We got company, Yancy. Get outen your pajamas.”
Yancy threw up a hand and smiled his odd smile. Yancy was a grown man, but he wasn’t too tall, and Aunt Dorie said he had the mind of a child. He had a round face that was kind of red, especially around his chin — and the ball down on his neck between his chin and ear was red too. His forehead had a crowd of bumps and wispy hair. He made sounds. He turned back into his room. He always did what Mrs. Albright said to do. “At least he’s well behaved,” people said. And everybody knew he didn’t like the cats.
Mrs. Albright led Henry to a chair in which a calico cat lay, looking up at them. “Git outen the chair, Angel,” said Mrs. Albright.
Angel had a bobbed tail and only one eye open. Crust lined the slit of the other.
“Git!” Mrs. Albright waved her arm.
When the cat lit on the floor she turned to look at Henry over her shoulder and said, in a little high voice, “Glory to God in the highest! Peace on earth, goodwill toward men!” then strode away, her shoulders slowly rising one after the other like she was Miss Smarty-Pants.
Mrs. Albright said to Henry, “You sit down. That one sitting beside the wood is Moses. Have you ever
seen any other cats that can talk, Henry-Boy?”
“No ma’am.”
“Say something, Moses.”
“I was found in the bulrushes,” he squeaked. “I said to the pharaoh: ‘Let my people go!’ ”
It was Mrs. Albright talking. That’s what it was. She was throwing her voice. He wanted to get on back home, maybe. Unless she had that little pretty, or a piece of candy.
“Don’t you tell nobody my cats talk, now, you hear? Especially no little children.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Now, would you like some corn bread and molasses or a piece of candy?”
“A piece of candy.”
“Good. I ain’t got no corn bread, anyway.” She laughed. “You’re all boy, ain’t you? All boy.” She moved into the kitchen. “Judas. Git off the table.”
Judas said, “I’m gonna hang myself by the neck, I messed up so bad, or cut open my stomach.”
“Git off there.”
Henry heard the soft thump of cat feet hitting the floor.
Judas said, “If I had a gun, I’d shoot myself.”
Yancy, dressed in overalls and long johns, came out again, moved a cat away from his doorway with his foot, closed the door.
“Here you go,” said Mrs. Albright. “A stick of red-and-white candy. Your Aunt Dorie is the best thing.” She looked at Yancy. “She sent us some blankets, Yancy.” She bent closer to Henry. “BOO! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha. Did I scare you?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Yancy, bring me that pad and pencil.
“Let’s see now. Let me write a nice note here. A nice note. ‘Thank you God for Christian neighbors’ is a note I could write to God, now, couldn’t I, Henry?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Mrs. Albright held her hand to Henry’s shoulder as he left through the front door, then she stood on the porch as Henry walked away.
Back inside she went to the kitchen and from a whiskey bottle poured a little of her gold liquid into a glass, added some water, walked back to the living room, and sat in her favorite chair.
Isaac said to Paul, “He’s the one his daddy got killed by the truck timber, ain’t he?”
“That’s right,” said Paul. “When he was a baby.”
“He might consider himself lucky,” said Isaac, “that he didn’t have no stinky old man to give him grief on the mountain.”
“There’re more mountains than one, you know.” Paul rolled onto his back, curled his paws in, closed his eyes.
“You traveled around too much,” said Isaac, “entirely too much. You should have stayed home more, raised a family.”
Angel and Mary Magdalene stood, stretched, and moved toward the kitchen.
Judas jumped into Mrs. Albright’s lap and purred.
Mrs. Albright took a little sip of the devil’s disciple, placed her hand on Judas’s neck, looked down at him.
Back in his yard, Henry didn’t notice the shiny black car in the driveway until he almost walked into it.
Inside, Aunt Dorie sat on the living room couch, and on the floor nearby a man knelt beside an open valise and several Bibles. He was dressed like a gentleman and had silver hair. He looked up and said, “This must be the young man.”
Aunt Dorie had taken off her apron, Henry saw, but still had the green scarf on her head. “Henry, this is a Bible salesman, Mr. . . . I’m sorry I —”
“Levingson, Mr. Levingson.” Still kneeling, he extended his hand to Henry, looked back at Aunt Dorie. “Just call me Tommy.”
Henry almost stopped and stepped backward, but he didn’t. He took the hand.
“What a handsome young man,” said Mr. Levingson. “You were certainly right about that. Your mama told me all about you, son. She tells me you’ve started memorizing scripture.”
“I’m his aunt,” said Aunt Dorie.
“Your aunt, I mean.”
Aunt Dorie said, “Recite John three, sixteen, and Timothy three, sixteen, son.”
“John three, sixteen,” said Henry. “ ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ Timothy three, sixteen: ‘All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.’ ”
“Goodness gracious,” said Mr. Levingson. He could smell that they’d had bacon for breakfast, and he hoped the lady might offer him a little something to eat. “She told me you were going to grow up to be a Christian gentleman. And I’ll bet you will.”
“He’s won the Bible sword drill in his age group twice this year already,” said Aunt Dorie, her eyes still on Henry.
“Sword drill?”
“You never did sword drills?”
“No ma’am. I was a, ah, Presby—am a Presbyterian.”
“Well, have you got a Bible Henry can hold? And one you can hold? We’ll show you.”
“Here you go.” Mr. Levingson handed Henry a Bible and got one for himself out of his valise. What the hell is this? he was thinking.
“Okay, now,” said Aunt Dorie, “you-all stand side by side and pretend there were six or eight more children standing beside you. I’ll just move to this chair so you can face me. I’m the general. Okay, now. Hold the Bible down by your side,” she said to Levingson. “You watch Henry and you’ll see how it works.”
Levingson glanced down at the boy, held the Bible at his side in his right hand. He sure hadn’t counted on something like this.
Aunt Dorie said, “Attention.”
The boy jerked to attention. Levingson did too.
“Draw swords.”
What the — ? The boy snapped his Bible to a position in front of him, held the Bible as if he were about to open it — left hand on top, right on bottom. Levingson did the same. Wait a minute, he wasn’t going to have to . . . She was going to call out a verse? And he didn’t know from holy crap where anything in there was, except Genesis.
“Prepare to advance,” said the woman. “Psalms one hundred, verse five. Charge!”
The boy snapped open his Bible, turned a couple of pages, placed a finger on a page, stepped forward, clicked his heels together.
Holy Christmas! Levingson opened his Bible and pretended to look.
“Henry,” said the woman.
“Psalms one hundred, verse five. ‘For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting, and his truth endureth to all generations.’ Psalms one hundred, verse five.”
“Very good,” said Aunt Dorie. “You beat the Bible salesman. You see how it works?” she said to Mr. Levingson.
“Yes ma’am, I do.”
Henry looked at the Bible in Levingson’s hands. “Why are you looking in the front?”
“Oh, just kind of . . . messing around. Letting you win.”
“You open to the middle to get to Psalms. Didn’t you know that?”
“Oh yeah. I just —”
“Want to play again?”
“Oh no. I see what a sword drill is now, and I’ve got to be getting on down the road right soon here.”
“Henry, son,” said Aunt Dorie, “I reckon it’s time you had your own Bible.” She reached to the table beside her chair. “I think you ought to have this one. It has India paper and a zipper. Look. Here you go.”
The Bible felt thin and a little bit limp. It seemed kind of precious.
Aunt Dorie was proud. Henry was admiring his own Bible, the nice man was standing there, sunlight was coming through the window.
“That’s a fine Bible,” the man said to Henry. “One of our best-selling models. We can’t keep them in stock. And then the Family Edition,” he said to Aunt Dorie, “would be good for the whole family. It’s a model that —”
“Henry,” said Aunt Dorie, “go get me the scissors off the table in the kitchen.”
Henry left, and Dorie said to the Bible salesman, “I’m sorry, we can’t afford another Bible. My husband’s checking some rabbit boxes, and I just realized
he’s due back, and he shouldn’t know right yet that I’m buying one for Henry even. It’s part cigar money I’m using.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Sorrell. Of course. Let me just get these things together. And I appreciate those names you gave me. May God bless you and all the people you love.” He stood, stuck out his hand, bowed a little bow, sort of a neck stretch.
Henry was back with the scissors.
“You be good, son,” said the man. “Take care of that Bible. It’s a fine one.”
As soon as the door closed, Aunt Dorie said, “Look at those pages.” She reached over and thumbed a page. “It’s India paper, and you can almost see through it.”
This Bible felt almost as thin as a New Testament. It was like a little fire truck — not a big clumsy fire truck. It was small and swift and would maybe be easy to understand because it was thin, and it felt good in his hands. “Was he a preacher?” asked Henry.
“He was a Bible salesman. Spreading the Gospel that way.”
“Why did you need the scissors?”
“Oh, I just need to cut something in a minute.”
Henry walked to the front window, saw the man open his car door and place his valise inside, then look over the top of his car down toward Mrs. Albright’s house, knock a cigarette up out of a pack, pick it out with his lips, put the pack away, and then light the cigarette with a match cupped in his hands. He looked back at Aunt Dorie’s front door before he got in the car. He seemed sad.
He backed out of the driveway, turned, and headed down the hill. He slowed and turned into Mrs. Albright’s driveway. Henry wondered about Mrs. Albright’s husband. He got killed in a war about the Spanish something. He was a hero and left behind a widow and two children. Uncle Jack said Mrs. Albright’s daughter was unhappy because she didn’t have anything wrong with her, so she left home. Aunt Dorie said you were supposed to take care of orphans and widows. Widows were not the same as black widows. Black widows ate their husbands, Uncle Jack said.
The Bible Salesman Page 3