Last Bus to Coffeeville

by J. Paul Henderson

  ‘Hot dog, Eric!’ Jack exclaimed.

  The taxi driver said nothing but rolled down the car windows. Eric had been as surprised as anyone by the sudden expulsion of gas from his body. He spluttered his apologies to the driver, who told him not to worry – a lot worse things had happened in the back of his cab.

  ‘Try and sit on them while we’re in the car, Eric,’ Jack whispered. ‘As soon as we get to the church, you can let rip there.’

  The taxi dropped them at the church and they stood in the parking lot for a time, while Eric got as much gas out of his system as possible.

  ‘I think I’m okay now, Jack,’ Eric said eventually.

  They walked into the church and took seats mid-way down the hall, adjacent to the aisle. Jack looked around: the church was barely half full and there were less than five minutes remaining before the service started. The congregation, he noticed, was completely white and looked to be overwhelmingly poor. A few people sat in their finery, but most looked as if they’d either just walked in from ploughing a field or fixing a car engine. A woman belonging to the former category, and wearing a long shiny blue coat, turned around from the pew in front of them and smiled.

  ‘Sir, I don’t believe I know you,’ she said to Jack.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jack said.

  The lady’s smile became less certain, but her manner remained generous. ‘Well, happy to have you with us.’

  Jack’s mind had already wandered off to more important topics – namely his hair – and it was Eric who smiled back at the woman and thanked her. ‘That’s a nice coat you’re wearing, Ma’am,’ Eric said. ‘Is it waterproof?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t like to get baptised in it,’ she laughed. She then pointed to two young girls sitting on the other side of the aisle. ‘They’re getting baptised at the end of the service,’ she explained.

  At that point the music quieted and the minister of the church walked to a pulpit flanked by national and state flags. He was an old man with a kindly face but, worryingly for Jack, also as bald as a badger. He looked at the programme he’d been handed on entering the church and found his name: Brother James Bruister.

  ‘Welcome, welcome y’all to what I know is going to be a mighty fine night of worship and prayer,’ Brother James commenced. ‘It’s good to see so many old faces here tonight and good to see new ones as well,’ he said, looking in the direction of Jack and Eric. ‘I also want to thank Brother Logan for agreeing to come to our small church this evening and lead us in praise. If anyone’s going to get the Holy Spirit moving among us tonight, it’s Brother Logan, and those of you touched by it are welcome to come to the front of the church and commit yourselves to Jesus and be blessed in His name. Also, as this is a special night of worship, any of you with ailments you’d like the Lord to cure, Brother Logan and I will be happy to lay our hands upon you and pray for a healing. Praise the Lord, everyone. Praise the Lord!’

  ‘Amen, Brother James,’ the congregation responded. ‘Praise the Lord.’

  ‘It’s good to hear y’all are in the mood for prayer tonight, and I hope y’all are in good voice too. We’ve got Brother Wyatt playing guitar tonight, Sister Lurlean on piano and Brother Bill on drums; we’ll start our glorification of God with an old favourite of both mine and yours: Revive Us Again.’

  Everyone stood and the band started to play. Wyatt was a flamboyant guitarist who performed with a windmill action, occasionally falling to one knee and lunging towards the congregation. Lurlean was more restrained and hammered away at the ivories without show, while Bill battered the skins of his drums with an expression of unrelenting hatred.

  The hymn ended and everyone sat down. Brother James then invited the congregation to bow their heads in silent prayer. Jack lowered his head and stared at the floor, but was unable to focus on anything in particular – not even the floor. He wondered how much the room at the Union Hotel was costing Doc; how long the water supplies on the bus would last before running out; and how long it would be before the septic tank became full and, if it did fill up, how would they empty it.

  And then the silence was unexpectedly broken by the rallying call of a trumpet. The walls of Jericho weren’t about to come tumbling down, but Eric’s bowels were!

  ‘You okay?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘I think I need to go to the toilet, Jack, but I don’t know where it is.’

  ‘Okay, hang on until the prayer’s finished and I’ll ask someone. It can’t be too much longer – what do people pray about, anyway? I can’t think of a damned thing.’

  ‘Other people,’ Eric whispered.

  ‘Other people? Why would anyone want to pray for other people?’

  Eric had no time to answer. Brother James drew the silent prayer to a close and announced the next hymn: Victory in Jesus. Jack tapped the lady in the shiny coat on the shoulder and asked where the restroom was.

  ‘Immediately outside the hall, sir: first door on your left.’

  Eric took off down the aisle in short fast steps, his buttocks clenched tightly together. He had no trouble finding the bathroom, as the door to the restroom was off its hinges and propped against the corridor wall, leaving the stall visible. He went straight to it, latched the door behind him and quickly pulled down his trousers. He was just in time: Montezuma was on the warpath, and he wasn’t happy.

  Unfortunately for Eric, a combination of factors ensured that his bowel movement would be heard by the entire congregation. (1) The start of the hymn had been delayed while Wyatt replaced a broken guitar string and then spent more time re-tuning his instrument. (2) There was no door on the restroom to prevent sound from entering the corridor. (3) The corridor had magnificent acoustics, and (4) The door between the church hall and the corridor had been wedged open. Consequently, the worshippers heard Eric’s every groan and strain, the echo of long unstable farts and the noise of faeces – sometimes solid and sometimes not – splashing into water. And then the smell came.

  At first it was no more than a gentle whiff, but the intensity of the smell grew quickly and very soon permeated the entire church – a funk of Biblical proportion both fearful and frightening. The noxious gases released by Eric cleared the back pews of the church as effectively as mustard gas had cleared enemy trenches during World War I, and those sitting there were forced to move forward and seek refuge closer to the front. One such person took Eric’s vacant seat and Jack, still unsure of how to behave in a church, forcibly took him by the lapels and threw him into the aisle after he refused to leave voluntarily.

  ‘Play the hymn, will you,’ Brother James hissed to Brother Wyatt. ‘Now!’

  The band started to play, the congregation to sing, and gradually the church reclaimed its aseptic sanctity. If anyone had turned to look behind them, however, they would have seen a small boy moving awkwardly down the corridor with his trousers bunched around his ankles, furtively glancing over his shoulder and pulling pieces of absorbent paper from the notice boards.

  The hymn ended and a man called George Herring came to the front and sang a song praising the Lord a cappella. He was interrupted three times by the sound of a toilet flushing and hard bristles scraping a porcelain bowl. To no one’s surprise, and with everyone’s understanding, George forgot the words twice and returned to his seat just as Eric was returning to his; the former took his seat in failure and the latter in red-faced and breathless triumph.

  ‘Feel better?’ Jack asked him.

  ‘A lot better, thanks, but my legs feel like jelly. I hope that taxi man doesn’t forget to come and get us: I wouldn’t want to have to walk back.’

  They sang another hymn – There is Power in the Blood – and then, quite fittingly, Logan Bloodworth came to the pulpit. Logan was dressed in a dark suit and wore a red silk tie. He looked sophisticated, but his delivery was self-consciously folksy. He talked about the importance of a person confessing their sins rather than those of other people, and the importance of prayer being sinless and
fervent, illustrating his message with a homespun homily about an old woman called Loretta, the prayers of a young girl called Becky and a wet map.

  ‘It ain’t too late,’ he cajoled them. ‘Pray to God with fervour and with your hearts open. Ask Him to forgive your sins and allow you to be baptised again in the blood of His son, the Lord Jesus Christ. You can walk to the front this very night and offer yourselves to Jesus and He’ll take you. He’ll take you in His arms, love and protect you from now until the day you go to Heaven and shake Him by the hand. Believe me, folks, if you do this, ev’ry day of yo’ lives will be as happy and rewardin’ as Christmas Day itself.

  ‘And those of you already havin’ a special relationship with Christ are welcome to step forward and renew your commitment, and when you do, make sure you bring someone with you that you feel is on the verge of steppin’ forward but just needs a helpin’ nudge to get ’em movin’ in the right direction.

  ‘An’ those of you here with sicknesses and illnesses, you get your weary bones down here too and let Jesus take care of you. Me and Brother James will lay our hands upon you and invoke the Lord’s power to make you well, and confound all those who told you to stop complainin’ an’ just make the best of things.’

  ‘Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!’ the congregation responded chaotically.

  Logan Bloodworth then stood back from the microphone, stretched his arms high into the air and started to jabber. Sister Lurlean played a melancholic hymn on the piano and Brother Bill accompanied her by slowly stroking the drums with a pair of wire brushes. Brother Wyatt, however, had put his guitar to one side in readiness for a more important gig – that of translating the tongues spoken by Brother Logan into intelligible English.

  It was difficult to judge if Brother Logan had lost his touch or not, for not one person stepped forward to take up even one of his offers. People looked around the church to see if others were on the edge of commitment, occasionally nodding encouragements with their heads, but no one moved. Jack looked at his watch. The taxi would arrive in ten minutes. It was now or never. He took a deep breath and rose from his seat. Eric looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Wait here for me, Eric. I need to talk to Brother Logan about something.’

  Eric had no intention of being left alone and grabbed hold of Jack’s coat. Having started to fear a revival wash out, a look of relief now swept over Brother James’ face, and he smiled warmly as the two strangers approached. Brother Logan didn’t come cheap!

  ‘We’re here for a healing,’ Jack said.

  ‘The boy’s bowels?’ Brother James asked earnestly.

  ‘No,’ Jack said, surprised by the suggestion. ‘He’s just cleared them out.’

  ‘Is it his hands then?’ Brother James said, noticing Eric’s washing-up gloves.

  ‘No,’ Jack said again, getting a little exasperated. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘What’s your name, son?’ Brother James asked.

  ‘Jack. Jack Guravitch.’

  Brother James asked him to kneel. Once Jack was positioned, he and Brother Logan placed their hands over his head and Brother James called out to Jesus.

  ‘Lord Jesus, please have mercy on your servant Jack who is kneeling here before you tonight. In need of your help, he is here to commit his life to you and…’ Jack interrupted him.

  ‘I don’t want to commit my whole life to Him just yet,’ he said, ‘I’m Jewish. I just want to commit my hair to him, and if He can stop it falling out I’ll look to committing myself fully at a later date.’

  Brother James and Brother Logan looked at each other hesitantly. This was something they’d have to pray about before continuing, and Logan now unleashed the full power of his tongues. All Jack could hear was gibberish, but fortunately Wyatt was on hand to hear and interpret the words of God. Although Brother Wyatt was born again, his vocabulary had remained untouched by the experience, and his translation of Brother Logan’s words was unceremonious.

  ‘God says to fuck off and stop wasting His time!’

  Brother James was taken aback by Wyatt’s words. ‘You sure He said that, Wyatt?’ he asked. (He had reason to be sceptical. On a previous occasion, Wyatt had translated similarly strange language as a message from God instructing Brother James to buy him a new Fender Telecaster. Wyatt played beautifully, God had said, but would be able to play more beautifully and please Him more if he had a new guitar.)

  ‘Words to that effect,’ Wyatt replied. ‘He said He didn’t want any truck with a Christ killer.’

  Both Brothers James and Logan were surprised by the strength of the words, but in complete agreement with their sentiments. They lifted their hands from Jack’s head and Brother James spoke quietly to both him and Eric.

  ‘I think it’s best if you both leave the church now,’ he said firmly. ‘To save you embarrassment, I’m going to ask Brother Bill to escort you to the back entrance. As far as the congregation’s concerned, you’ll be in the vestry having one-on-one counselling – and Bill, wait there a good ten minutes, will you? If you come straight back empty-handed, we’ll never get anyone to step forward!’

  Somewhat shaken by this turn of events, Jack and Eric meekly followed Brother Bill to the rear entrance and left the church. They walked to the front of the building and found the taxi waiting for them.

  ‘I don’t think we need to mention this to the others, do we, Eric?’ Jack said.

  ‘Probably not,’ Eric replied. ‘You didn’t really kill Jesus, did you?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t. But if I ever meet Brother Wyatt again, I’ll probably kill him!’

  The Honky-tonk Thief

  ‘Do you remember if Doc mentioned the name of this music bar?’

  ‘He didn’t say. He just said it was the only one here.’

  ‘It must be this place then,’ Jack said. ‘I wonder why they call it the Cow Wash.’

  It was 8:15 pm and Doc, Bob and Nancy hadn’t yet arrived. Jack asked for a table by the wall that would seat five and ordered drinks – a beer for himself and a Coke for Eric.

  ‘I think I need to use the toilet again,’ Eric said.

  ‘Hot damn, kid! There’ll be nothing left of you if you go on like this. You know where the restrooms are, don’t you – we passed them on the way in.’

  On his way, Eric bumped into Doc. ‘Can’t talk, Doctor Gene. Got to go to the toilet. Jack’s over there.’

  Doc smiled to himself and waited for Nancy and Bob to catch up. They joined Jack at the table and Bob waved to the waitress to attract her attention.

  ‘I got you a wall table, Bob. I hope you appreciate that.’

  ‘Sure I do, but how I know you ain’t done this outta self-interest? If gravy went down my neck tonight an’ I fell down dead, you’d have no driver to chauffeur your butts to Miss’ippi, now would you?’

  ‘Hey, Bob, what do want to drink?’ Doc interrupted. ‘The waitress is coming.’

  ‘The usual,’ Bob said.

  Doc placed the order. ‘How did your service go?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Jack said nonchalantly.

  ‘That’s it! Just fine? You’re not telling me something, are you? I’ll ask Eric when he gets back – he’ll tell me. By the way, I told you Mexican would do the trick.’

  ‘Eric will tell you the just same as me,’ Jack said. ‘I hope to God he gets his bowels cleaned out before we get back to the bus, though. That stuff coming out of his body smells something awful – like it’s been stewing in there for weeks.’

  ‘He’s a nice boy, isn’t he?’ Nancy said. ‘He’s like a good egg cooked sunny side up.’

  ‘He is,’ Jack said. ‘But he’s giving off the smell of rotten eggs at the moment, Nancy, so don’t be surprised if the air gets a bit cloudy every now and again.’

  ‘Thank God we’re in the Union Hotel, Nancy,’ Doc said. ‘I think we should close the window tonight though, just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘He’s coming back,’ Jack said. ‘No more wisecracks.’

&
nbsp; ‘I think that’s it,’ Eric said. ‘I hardly did anything that time and it wasn’t sloppy. What was your meal at the hotel like, Doctor Gene?’

  ‘It was good thank you, Eric. It turns out the restaurant was desegregated this very morning, so Nancy and Bob were both happy.’

  ‘It’s probably because they heard me talking to you last night, Gene,’ Nancy said. ‘But it’s good we’re making progress, slowly bringing about change. I’m going to bring Dora with me next time I visit Nashville and take her to the hotel. She’ll give them a piece of her mind if they’ve gone back to their old ways.’

  ‘What’s desegregated mean?’ Eric asked.

  ‘It’s when you join people of different races together, rather than separating them,’ Doc said. ‘At one time, you, Nancy and I wouldn’t have been allowed to sit at the same table as Jack and Bob, because Jack’s Jewish and Bob’s black. They’d have been discriminated against and forced to eat in different restaurants, go to different schools and sit in different parts of a cinema or church. Nowadays, people wouldn’t sit with them because they’re both disagreeable people – not because they’re racially different.’

  ‘Al’ays gotta get a dig in, don’t you, Gene? Never happy less you makin’ some po’ soul miserable,’ Bob laughed.

  ‘They discriminated against Jack in church tonight,’ Eric said. ‘One man called him a Christ killer, but Jack said he’d never even laid a finger on Him.’

  ‘This sounds more like it,’ Doc said grinning. ‘What else went on at the church tonight?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, Doctor Gene. Jack said I hadn’t to say.’

  Doc burst out laughing. ‘I knew it. I damn well knew you were up to something, Jack. Are you going to tell me now?’

  ‘Nope, and neither is Eric.’

  ‘I bet it was something to do with your damn hair, wasn’t it?’

  ‘How did you know that, Doctor Gene?’ Eric blurted out, and then turned sheepish when he saw Jack staring at him.