“Yeah,” Devon replied. They walked away from the other boys until they were out of earshot.
“How you doin’ this year, Dev?”
“Good.”
“Gwen’s really got a great pair on ‘er this year, ain’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Sandy’s comin’ along nice, too. You still her boyfriend?”
“Yeah, I reckon.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I was kissin’ a girl, an’ I felt somethin’ warm an’ salty in my mouth, an’ when I turned on the lights, her nose was bleedin’?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Oh. Well, I just wanted to touch bases with you. You were the best student I ever had. You were my favorite.”
“Thanks.”
He started to walk away. “Talk to ya later.”
“OK.”
Devon walked back to the boys.
“What did he want?” Joe asked.
“Ah, he just wanted to talk.”
Joe had become Devon’s best friend this year. He had not been in Mr. Wilson’s class last year, but in Miss Daniels’. He, David, and Devon spent their recesses and lunches talking to each other on the field, watching the younger students play dodgeball and swing on the swings. They had no interest in such things now that they were in the seventh grade. They had been discussing girls’ periods when Mr. Wilson had walked up.
“So, this happens every month?” David asked Joe. Joe was the expert in girl knowledge.
“Yeah, it does. And to stop the bleedin’, they put Corn Chex on their pussies.”
“Corn Chex?” Devon asked incredulously. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Joe replied defensively. “I heard my mom ask Dad to get her some when he went to the drugstore. She said she needed ‘em right away.”
“I wouldn’t want a bowl o’ them for breakfast,” David said.
“Me neither,” Devon agreed. The bell rang, and the boys went to Miss Cruea’s science class.
“I see you got two fog lights peepin’ out at me,” Uncle Dwayne commented as he and Devon carried a trash can to the truck. Devon had two yellow pimples above his upper lip.
“Yeah, I started gittin’ ‘em last year, soon as I turned twelve.”
“Yep, that’s when they start. I had ‘em when I was your age.” They hoisted the can up the side of the truck and dumped its stinking contents. Uncle Dwayne shook it twice to ensure that everything had emptied. He set the can on the ground. “Take this back, an’ I’ll see if I can collect some money.” He started walking towards the front door.
“How long did they last?” Devon shouted at his back.
“What?” Uncle Dwayne said over his shoulder.
“Pimples.”
“Till I was twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five? I gotta put up with these for thirteen years?” he thought. He dejectedly walked to the rear of the house with the empty trash can.
At the end of the day, Uncle Dwayne gave him his usual one dollar. “At least we had a good lunch,” Devon thought. He had eaten what he always ate when he went with Uncle Dwayne and Aunt Melda on the garbage route—a bologna sandwich on Wonder bread, a root beer, Mike-sell’s potato chips, and a package of Hostess cupcakes. Del no longer went with them on the garbage route. He had his papers to deliver and had recently acquired a girlfriend, Linda. He was either with her or delivering papers.
That Saturday night, Uncle Dwayne preached at the little pink church. “Brothers an’ sisters, if you’ll turn to the sixth chapter o’ Joshua, the fifteenth verse an’ read along with me as I read:”
An’ it came to pass on the seventh day, that they rose
early about the dawnin’ o’ the day, an’ compassed the
city after the same manner seven times: only on that
day they compassed the city seven times. An’ it came
to pass at the seventh time, when the priests blew with
the trumpets, Joshua said unto the people, Shout; for
the Lord hath given you the city. An’ the city shall be
accursed, even it, an’ all that are therein, to the Lord:
only Rahab the harlot shall live, she an’ all that are
with ‘er in the house, because she hid the messengers
that we sent. An’ ye, in any wise keep yourselves from
the accursed thing, lest ye make yourselves accursed,
when ye take o’ the accursed thing, an’ make the camp
o’ Israel a curse, an’ trouble it. But all the silver an’
gold, an’ vessels o’ brass an’ iron, are consecrated unto
the Lord: they shall come into the treasury o’ the Lord.
So the people shouted when the priests blew with the
trumpets: an’ it came to pass, when the people heard
the sound o’ the trumpet, an’ the people shouted with a
great shout, that the wall fell down flat, so that the
people went up into the city, every man straight before
him, an’ they took the city.
“So, Joshua led the people o’ God ‘round Jericho seven times after the seventh day o’ campin’ outside the walls, an’ when the priests blew their trumpets, Joshua commanded the people to shout, an’ when they shouted, what did God do? What did God do, brothers an’ sisters? He knocked them walls o’ Jericho down like they’s butter on a hot skillet, an’ the people o’ God walked right in and conquered the city. So what does this show us, brothers an’ sisters? That all you gotta do when you’re a fightin’ again’ the devil an’ his demons, all you gotta do is shout, an’ God’ll knock ‘em down like the walls o’ Jericho. Can I hear a shout?”
“Amen! Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus! Praise be his name!” the congregation erupted.
“I said SHOUT!!! The devil ain’t gonna fall ‘less God hears a MIGHTY ROAR!! NOW SHOUT!!!”
“HAL-LE-LU-JAH!! AMEN!! SHA LA NIC TA NIE!! PRAISE BE THE LORD!!! THANK YOU, JESUS!! PRAISE BE HIS HOLY NAME!! WOOOO!!
“That’s better! I feel a great outpourin’ o’ the Spirit here tonight! I think we oughta go outside an’ march round this church to show God we’re followin’ in Joshua’s footsteps, an’ we ain’t a gonna let the devil defeat us no more.” He walked off the dais and opened the former kitchen door. “Follow me! Let’s bring the walls o’ Jericho down! Let’s all sing ‘Joshua Fought the Battle o’ Jericho.’ Sister Hensley, bring that tambourine! Let’s march!”
Everyone got up and followed him out the door, singing,
Joshua fought the battle o’ Jericho,
Jericho, Jericho,
Joshua fought the battle o’ Jericho,
An’ the walls came tumblin’ down!
Right up to the walls o’ Jericho
They marched with spear in hand;
‘Go blow them ram horns,’ Joshua cried,
‘Cause the battle is in my hand.’
They marched into the backyard, along the east side of the church, around the front, singing all the while. When Devon was walking past the kitchen door for the second time, he looked up above the church. A blue halo, ten feet in diameter, hovered silently over the church. When he saw it, his legs trembled and he felt like dancing, but he would not allow himself to do it. Most of the adults were not so inhibited. Some jumped up and down, some twirled, some clapped their hands, some spoke in tongues, and some raised their arms in praise and cried. It was a great outpouring of the Spirit.
When they had marched three times around the church, singing all the while, Dwayne led them back inside. He beamed. “Didjou see it, brothers an’ sisters? Didjou see it? Didjou see the halo?”
“Yes, Lord! Amen! Hallelujah! Glory be his name!”
“It’s a sign o’ God that he has anointed this church, an’ that we’re doin’ his work. He’s leadin’ me to pray for each an’ ever one o’ you tonight. He’s tellin’ me ever one’s gonna be richly blessed. So I wantchou all to come up an’ let me pray for you.
Let’s start with the first row. Sister Agnes, come up an’ receive your blessin’.”
Sister Agnes waddled forward, and Dwayne inverted the bottle of olive oil onto his right index finger and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. He placed both of his hands atop her head. “Lord, we ask thee to bless Sister Agnes tonight. IN JESUS’ NAME!!” Sister Agnes swooned with the Spirit, and Adam, who was standing behind her, eased her gently onto the floor, where she lay with her arms upraised and tears streaming down her face. Uncle Rufus was next. As soon as Dwayne placed his hands on his head, he swooned in the Spirit without Dwayne saying a word. He lay on the floor and vibrated, bouncing up and down as though he were being electrocuted.
Devon was next. Dwayne anointed his forehead with the oil and placed his hands on his head. “You ready to be blessed, son?” Devon shook his head yes. “IN JESUS’ NAME!!” He felt a slight push on his head from Dwayne’s arms, and then nothing—a void, no thought, no feeling.
When he opened his eyes, he discovered that he was speaking in tongues. He had been filled with the Holy Ghost after tarrying for it since he had been saved last year! Tears of gratitude streamed down his face. He had truly been redeemed and forgiven for blaspheming the Holy Ghost! The voice in his head that had tormented him for years with its concomitant fear of going to hell was mute now forever. He was saved and filled with the Holy Ghost! He reveled in the language he heard his mouth speaking, “Sha la la nie lahso sum banie nee som so nee bana lahso la noe.” Suddenly, he had the thought that this was just him making up sounds and not the Holy Ghost speaking to God. Instantly the language changed. “Tahmo lahk kahn kun lae kane kene dome mahn kana leen doe nun.” “Oh, this ain’t me,” he thought, surprised. “The Holy Ghost can talk to God in different languages.” He thanked God for releasing him from his torment, “Thank you, Jesus, thank you! Thank you God for answerin’ my prayers!”
That evening at home, Dwayne got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water in the kitchen. His throat was parched; he had been sleeping with his mouth open. He poured himself a glass of cold water from a jug in the refrigerator and closed the door. He turned to go back to the bedroom and was startled by a petite, smiling woman in a blue nurse’s uniform standing in the doorway that led to the living room. She was surrounded by a luminous blue light which flickered like a failing fluorescent tube. She asked, “Is everything alright with thee?” Dumbstruck, it took him a moment to find his voice.
“Y. . . yeah. Everything’s fine. Are you an angel?”
“Thou sayest. I bring thee tidings from the One concerning thy firstborn.”
“Joe? What about him?”
“The tidings are thus: if thou raiseth thy hand unto any labor from this day hence, thy firstborn shall be called home.”
“What?” Dwayne asked, his voice rising. “You’re gonna take my son if I work?”
“Thou sayest.”
“How are we s’pose to live if I don’t work?”
“Look into thy heart. There ye shall find an answer.” The woman raised her right hand, pointed her forefinger at Dwayne’s heart, and disappeared.
Dwayne slumped against the kitchen counter, took one sip from the glass of water, and placed it on the kitchen table. He got back into bed beside Melda and lay with his eyes wide open. “This dudden make any sense! Why would God take my son away if I work? This dudden make any sense! This dudden make any sense! How’re we gonna live if I don’t work? How’re we gonna live?” he thought. He shook Melda gently on the shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” she asked groggily.
“I saw an angel in the kitchen when I went to get a drink.”
“You saw an angel?” she repeated, instantly awake. She turned on the lamp beside the bed and sat up.
“Yeah.”
“Wha’d he look like?”
“She. It was a woman dressed like a nurse in a blue dress an’ a blue cap. She was in this kinda blue light.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Wha’d she say?”
“She told me that if I ever work again, God would call Joe home.”
“No! She coulden’ve said that. That dudden make any sense.”
“I know it dudden, but that’s what she said.”
“Are you sure?”
“Course I’m sure. How’re we gonna live? Who’s gonna pay the mortgage or put food on the table?”
“You’re sure that’s what the angel said?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. She said, ‘If thou raiseth thy hand unto any labor from this day hence, thy firstborn shall be called home.’”
“Wow! Well, God will provide an’ has better things in store for you, or he woulden’ve sent you the angel with the message in the first place.”
“You’re right. That does make sense. Why would he send an angel with a message like that if he wudden gonna provide for us?”
“He woulden. Now let’s go back to sleep.”
After several more minutes of thinking about it, Dwayne decided that Melda was right. “Why would God send an angel with a message like that if he wudden gonna provide for my family? God is a lovin’ God.” He went back to sleep.
It turned out that God’s plan for Dwayne and his family involved the largesse of his brother, Butchie, and his sister, Marie. They began to give him money and food, which they could ill afford, so that he and his family could pay the bills and have food on the table. No measure of remonstrance from them could dissuade Dwayne that he had seen an angel and that his son would die if he ever worked again.
In the spring, Rig and Devon went to see Del perform in the play Bye Bye Birdie. He was playing Mr. Johnson, a minor character. None of the other members of the family went to see him; Adam and Marie did not participate in the things of the world, like watching plays. They also had never seen him play his trombone at Northridge High School in the fall or spring concerts. They had only seen him play when he was in a parade outdoors. Apparently, God did not object to their listening to the devil’s music as long as it was outdoors and they had not paid to listen to it.
After the play, as Rig and Devon were walking along North Dixie Drive back to Devon’s house, they suddenly heard a voice from behind them shout, “Let’s get ‘em!” They glanced behind them and saw three high school boys running toward them, about thirty feet away.
The icy fist plunged instantly into Devon’s stomach and he ran. Rig was right beside him. They had never run so fast in their lives. They ran toward the river and quickly turned left onto Embury Park Road. They ran down the embankment and then doubled back along the river and hid under the bridge. They crouched in the shadows and waited to see if the boys would find them. Apparently, they had outrun them, as they never passed below them along the riverbank.
“I think we outran ‘em,” Rig whispered.
“Yeah, I think we did,” Devon replied. I do believe in the Holy Ghost. I do believe in the Holy Ghost. I do believe in the Holy Ghost. I do believe in the Holy Ghost. The torment had returned. “Let’s go home,” he said.
“OK,” Rig agreed. “Wonder why they were chasin’ us.”
“Prob’ly wanted to beat us up, I guess.” I do believe in the Holy Ghost. I do believe in the Holy Ghost.
“Yeah, I reckon.”
As their hearts returned to normal and they came out from beneath the bridge, a noxious, oppressive, petrochemical smell like the black smoke from an eighteen-wheeler wafted up from the river.
“Whew! What’s that?” Rig asked.
“I doeknow. Look down there!” Devon pointed to the river. Something dark, obscuring the moon’s reflection, was floating down it. “Let’s go see what it is.” They walked down to the riverbank. The closer they got to the bank, the more pungent the smell became. They stood on the bank. The river was clogged from bank to bank with large clumps of dark material floating silently downstream. “What is it? You don’t see this in the day.”
“I doeknow,” Rig said. “Sump’n’ comin�
�� from a fact’ry, I reckon. Sump’n’ they don’t want people to see in the day.”
“I never seen this before.”
“Me neither. Should we tell someone?”
“Who we gonna tell?”
“I doeknow.”
“Let’s go home.”
“OK.”
They began walking up the embankment to Devon’s house.
“Del was good in the play, wudden he?” Rig said.
“Yeah, he was, but the guy playin’ Conrad was great.” I do believe in the Holy Ghost. I do believe in the Holy Ghost.
“Yeah, he was.”
As they walked past the convenience store behind Devon’s house, they heard the last verse of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” coming from the open door.
Devon won the school spelling bee again. And again, whomever had written the certificate announcing him the winner had erased a previous name. On the night of the district contest, Gina was sick and Marie had to stay home to care for her. Uncle Rufus and Aunt Uma took him to the contest, which this year was being held at the University of Dayton. The main judge was an English professor.
In the first round, Devon approached the microphone more confidently than he had the previous year. He was a veteran; this was his second year representing Grafton-Kennedy. The professor gave him his first word: “chauffeur.”
“Shofar?” Devon repeated. He had never heard this word before. “Will you repeat the word, please?”
“Chauffeur.”
“Shofar. Can you use it in a sentence, please?”
“The chauffeur drove the man from his home to the airport.”
Devon was relieved. “Oh, he’s sayin’ chauffeur,” he thought. But because he had the word “shofar” in his mind, he spelled it “s-h-a-u-f-f-e-u-r.” He was walking confidently offstage when he heard the bell ding. “Oh, no!”
“The correct spelling,” the professor intoned, “is c-h-a-u-f-f-e-u-r.”
Fiery Rivers Page 24