by Sacchi Green
“I do. I have three spare sets of sheets, all of them clean. And some dildos.”
“And cats,” Mavis reminded her, around a yawn. “Should I bring a moving van?”
“If you want.” Rhiannon stroked her hand down Mavis’s side.
“I just don’t want us to wander off and do our own thing for another twenty-five years.”
“Me neither. I think . . . I want to see how things turn out if we both stick around.”
“Like glue. Hey, I’ll take you for a sexy ride on my lesbian motorcycle.”
“We’ll go yell at all the protest marches. Together.”
“Next time, we’re not having matching signs, though.”
“We’ll make them together, just to be sure.”
SWEET OF MY HEART
Anna Watson
Charmed Soul, Sweet. 1931, New York City
I have never vibrated. I look upon Father’s sweet little face, I look upon His sweet little body, and I know He is God. I know this in every part of myself, but I do not vibrate like the other Sweets. Oh, I envy them. I yearn to join with them as they make their noises and move their bodies in hitches and starts and look almost as if they are taking fits, but it is the glory of God filling their bodies. The most pure expression of our love of God! Oh, it is ecstasy they show when they vibrate! How I wish to join them! I have failed, and must try harder.
Mimi LaRouge, Dance Hall Girl
When I first heard about the free meals given out by Father Divine’s Peace Mission, I was too worried about using up my shoe leather to walk there. If the bosses see you have holes or breaks in your shoes, they will give you a warning, and then another. But then it got to where I was just too hungry and I thought if I fainted from being so famished one evening, fainted right when I was dancing with some joe, wouldn’t that be worse than another layer of sole gone in the walk to Harlem?
Charmed Soul
We Sweets sit at the table with Father as He makes His rounds. Every Peace Mission banquet we visit, we see the beautiful work of God: hungry people finding solace in our good, honest food with no difference made between the light complected and the dark complected, for we are all equal, all worthy. My so-called mother thought I would come to ruin, but here I am, doing God’s work. I sit at the table and I can see God. I eat with God. “I raised you to be a lady!” my so-called mother would say. “To be nice and dainty! And look at you, ugly, gawky, clumping around like a common laborer!” I labor for God now, and He looks upon me with love.
Mimi LaRouge
When I got to that first banquet, there was a line reaching all around the block. Tidily dressed devotees, both white and Negro, ushered us along, saying, “Peace!” and “Welcome!” and “Come inside and eat!” I could smell the cooking, we all could, and I knew I had made the right decision, even though I could feel the scratch of the sidewalk through my soles.
Inside was clean and crowded, but we were moved right along. I was seated at a table between a Negro man who seemed to shrink away from me and a Negro grandmother, also shy. Across the table was another white girl, who stuck out her grubby hand and gave mine a shake. Her name was Nancy and she was only fifteen. She asked me if I knew God. Now, I’ve gotten in trouble before by saying the truth, that I am agnostic, so I just smiled. Nancy laughed out loud.
“I knew it!” she said, patting my hand. “I could see your goodness, I could see it shining out of your eyes! Shall I come over and tell you a secret?” She skipped around the table and put her lips to my ear. Up close, I could smell that she was unwashed, well, many of us are and thank goodness for the eau de cologne Maman left with me. “Keep coming back and one day, you will see God in this very banquet hall!” She would have said more, but just then the food was served, oh, chicken fricassee, oh, liver and onions, oh, creamed peas! Oh, tapioca pudding and angel food cake! Sacré bleu, I ate until I felt ill!
Charmed Soul
Dear Daughter tells us that Father will visit retribution on the newspaper journalist who cast aspersions on His holy name. “Flood, fires, broken limbs! Death!” She flings up her arms and looks to the sky and we all say with her, “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!” We sing, “Let them come in ‘dust and ashes,’ Let them moan and seek GOD’s Face; Let them feel the bitter lashes, And of their own evil get just a taste.” I know that Father can do these things. A woman came into our heaven and she said to our faces that she was virginal, snow white, as we must all be, but Holy Light Shines saw her duck down an alley with a man. Father cast her out and visited retribution on her for her falsehoods, and that woman began to take fits. She took so many fits that she shook herself right to death. That woman was destroyed by the wrath of Father. I must work harder.
Mimi LaRouge
I tie some rags around my shoes for the daily walk to Harlem, and take them off when I get to the banquet. Behind our chairs, the Divinites, who are called “angels,” sing and clap, joyful voices raised, and it is a joy surely echoed in my belly. I am beginning to have a bit more flesh on my body, and the men at the dance hall like that. They like a girl whose figure is filled out. At night, I dream of braised rabbit and mashed potatoes. There is even gravy! I’ve tried to get the other girls to go, especially Sue, as she is so slight to begin with, but she is vehement that she will not sit with a Negro, not even if she were starving! It is a flaw and a mistake for her to say so. Maman saw Josephine Baker dance and Maman herself danced the night through to music from the Negro jazz musicians, all of this in le gai Paris, before she met Daddy and he moved her here to America, to our farm in Vermont. Maman would never let me grow up with such narrow views about humanity as Sue holds.
I had nearly forgotten what Nancy told me that first day, but then one time, sure enough, I reached the banquet and there was a tremendous excitement and to-do. The angels bustled and ordered us around and then there was a great shouting and singing and here came a little Negro man in such important, fancy clothes, and on his head, there was a beautiful gray fedora and around him, adoring, a phalanx of ladies. Nancy was suddenly at my side, leaning against me, interpreting.
“Look there, you see the lady angels come in with Father? They are called his Sweets, they are his very special secretaries.” Some of the Sweets were pretty, some were young, some were older than Maman and very homely. One was what some might call mannish and what I call strong and calm, collected and capable, like a thoroughbred. A fine specimen. I watched her march to her place at God’s table. I had heard enough from Nancy and others by now to know that the angels and these Sweets truly believed this man was God. How Maman would have screamed with laughter! How Sue would screw up her face in disgust! Nancy bounced up and down, her dirty face wreathed with smiles.
“What do you think, oh, what do you think? He is truly God, do you not believe it as well?” She gripped my arm and shook it. I smiled and pulled away. I couldn’t answer her as she would have liked, but I had by now learned more about this Peace Mission. Both Negroes and white followers of Father Divine cook and serve the meals and no one is turned away. Diners are seated white next to Negro; it is a rule called “enacting the bill,” by which they mean The Bill of Rights. So although I do not believe little Father is Divine, I like his menu, and I approve of this work putting forward the equality of all men.
Charmed Soul
I praise, praise, praise Father! How good He is, to feed all these poor souls! I joyfully accompany the other Sweets to Harlem, coming to the city from our country heaven, where I work and where I first found God. There is a girl. I do not know her name. I see her take rags from her feet before she enters our heaven, I see how she has a good and hearty appetite and I like to see her tucking in. Some light-complected people like myself are wary and distrustful of dark-complected people, but this girl sparkles and is kind with those around her, no matter their complexions. I have seen her talking to an old, dark-complected woman, and pat her shoulder and offer her comfort. She has served from the pot to a little dark-complected child, and laugh
ed, and said the child was “a dear little thing” and said to the child’s mother, “What a pretty daughter you have!” She herself is very pretty. We have some pretty girls in the Sweets, though it is a sin for me to notice, but none as pretty as this girl. I am not sorry that Psalms of Praise has been removed from her duty, and I have been put in charge of this heaven’s banquet instead, although it means moving from the country. It is not right to say that I miss the cool evenings out-ofdoors when I can watch the moon rise if I am not working, but I am flawed and I think it anyway. I am flawed, and I think, “At least I may see the pretty girl.”
Mimi LaRouge
Maman assures me there are many girls such as I have proven to be. She knew some in Paris, she says, and they were good, fine people. “But you will be luckier in love in a big city, chérie,” she told me, and that has certainly proven to be true. There have certainly been a few girls who made my heart flutter, but none of them have had such an effect as the girl at the Peace Mission banquet. There are other heavens within walking distance, but I return again and again to the first place where I met my little friend, Nancy, and where my fine specimen is the Sweet in charge. It is a pleasure to watch how skillfully she manages every aspect of the banquet, how she makes things run so smoothly. And she is so handsome! She is clearly indifferent to making any feminine efforts with appearance, although she is as clean and neat as any of Father Divine’s angels. Her strawberry blonde hair is gathered in one long braid, keeping it out of her honest, freckled face. Her lips are somewhat thin, but slightly curved up in a private smile much of the time. All the same, her hazel eyes with their long lashes strike me as harboring some secret worry.
As for myself, with the money I’m saving on meals, I can afford to bathe regularly now, and I keep the eau de cologne for when I go to the banquet and I know I will see my crush. I know her name now, too, a strange one, as all the angels have. It is Charmed Soul, but to myself, I call her Charlie.
Charmed Soul
Father is here today, blessing us with His presence, eating with us at this banquet and now, it has begun! We are singing “Just to Look at You” and first it is Beatific Garden who leaves off singing and shouts, “God! God! God!” her face shining, her limbs beginning to wander as she rises from her seat, pushes back the chair and spins and spins in place, still shouting out. Many Acts of Love remains seated, but her whole body trembles and goes into spasm, lifting her almost completely out of her chair. Adoring Child is crying and hollering; Smiling Every Day falls to her knees and crawls under the table where she rolls around, knocking into our feet, keening and weeping and filled with such love for God. They are so lively and radiating! They express their love so perfectly! I am filled with love, as well, but I do not vibrate. Desperately, I look up and around the banquet. So many angels filled and filled and filled, spilling and vibrating! The regulars and the newcomers who are hungry pay little attention, but my gaze catches that of the pretty girl, who has shoved her plate away and leans her elbows on the table, watching with such merry eyes. I look away quickly, but I have caught it! I have caught the joy! “God! God! God!” I shout and do not remember what follows, only that I am consumed by a great love.
Mimi LaRouge
Some agitation is growing at the table of Sweets. They have been singing one of their quirky, many-versed songs, the one about seeing his dear little feet and hands and the rest of it. The object of their worship pays no heed at all. Then, with no warning whatsoever, the Sweet to his right contracts upon herself, as if gut shot. She lets loose a great whoop and seems overcome with the fidgets. The flailing movements of her limbs propel her backward in her chair, which tips over into the singing mass of Divinites behind her. She tumbles onto the floor where I can no longer see her, but I can hear her breathy yelps. Now the effect spreads, and one after another, the Sweets careen full tilt into ecstasy. They quiver, they teeter-totter. They rise or fall from their chairs, they stagger and convulse. Across from me, Nancy begins to breathe heavily and I reach over to squeeze her hand. “Oh, see their devotion!” she sighs, calming. It certainly is what Maman would call un spectacle. Unbound bosoms jiggle and sway, hips thrust forward and back, eyes are wide and staring, mouths mumble, drool, and call upon Father Divine. The God himself seems to take all this as his due, and calmly continues to wield his fork and knife.
My gaze keeps returning to Charmed Soul. I want to see how her devotion will possess her. I want to see her hair come loose from its stern braid and her slim torso dance. I want to see her feeling this passion. I want to see her control disturbed. But she alone among her sisters remains calm. Sad, defeated, she looks the very picture of a child left lonely on a playground where other, swifter children have abandoned her. Is her love of God not strong enough? The poor darling! As I am thinking this, she raises her head and our eyes meet.
Charmed Soul
Now that I have at last vibrated, I believe Father will hold me in higher esteem, but that does not happen. Perhaps He sees into my greedy, selfish heart. Perhaps He sees that some of the love that must be His I now hold for my pretty girl, and that images of her lodge themselves in my heart, affecting my corporeal form with sinful degradation. Father must see this in me, for He tells Many Acts of Love to say how I am no longer a Sweet and I am even removed from managing the banquet, though previously He had praised my efforts. I am now washing floors and lavatories in another heaven. “Work hard and hope there is no retribution!” Many Acts of Love scolds me. I am lucky, for the newest Sweet, Eternal Life, has drawn attention away from my disgrace, taking the seat at Father’s right hand, the very closest. I have failed my God.
Mimi LaRouge
I have been to every one of Father Divine’s banquet halls over the past month, and I cannot find her. No one I ask will help me. If I could get close enough, I would go right up to that God’s table and ask him what has been done with my Charmed Soul, but he is too well protected. I am worse than the worst of the girls who cry and run after joes they’ve convinced themselves are their only, their true sweethearts. But Charmed Soul has grown to fill my heart, every small part of it. I believe that she, too, was growing fond of me. I saw it in how she strode over to make sure my glass was filled with water, how she straightened the flowers on my table, offered me fresh pie, hot from the oven. And there was that time she passed by and brushed against the back of my chair and my coat fell. She gasped, then stooped to pick it up, smoothed it and shook it, blushing, holding it out to me. As I took it, our hands touched and fire kindled between us. She went to move away, but I held her fingers until she had to tug herself free. Oh, and where is she now?
Charmed Soul
I am very alone. God has withdrawn Himself from me. I fear retribution. After my chores at this new heaven, I walk and walk and walk. I wander Central Park, which, though tamed, is still more natural than sidewalks and buildings and paved streets. When I am almost dead with weariness, I allow myself to rest on the lawn, the poor, trodden-to-bits remnant of grass.
Mimi LaRouge
How strange that after haunting every heaven I could find, I practically tumble over her here in Central Park. She is sitting on the grass, her feet tucked up beneath her. I join her. She raises her head and I see that perhaps she has been crying, but she greets me as they all do, “Peace.”
“Peace,” I say, then, “I’ve missed you at the banquet! Aren’t you working there anymore?” I think I may have been too forward, as her expression darkens, but it is only that she is indeed very troubled. She tells me she is no longer a Sweet. “He fired you?” I am indignant. She smiles a little and shakes her head, and then the whole story comes out, how she must not have been fully giving of herself, how God must see into her heart where she is surely holding something back, how she has tried and tried but only keeps being assigned different and more unpleasant tasks, how she knows it’s her own fault.
She touches my arm and says earnestly, “If only I could go back to our heaven in the country, perhaps there I could pro
ve myself to Father!” It is quiet around us as we watch a squirrel scramble up the trunk of a tree. He shakes his tail and scolds down at us. “He is very vexed!” exclaims Charmed Soul, and I see how she loves nature and all things in nature. I feel for that moment that even if her God cannot, I see right down into her loving and generous heart.
Charmed Soul
I feel that I am floating, that this lawn here in poor old Central Park is a sturdy raft or a flying carpet and that Mimi—her name is Mimi! —calls me on to some great adventure down the Mississippi or into the scented air of Arabia. There are other people walking by, even sitting near us, but we possess a private scrap of the park for just us alone. She watches me and listens and is kind. It could be that I will regret it later, but on our raft of green, I tell Mimi my worries and as I do, my heart lightens. I do not tell her about my doubts, but I wonder what those friendly eyes read in my face. I almost feel that she can see my thoughts and that she knows what I am only now coming to understand myself: if I have failed my God, it is perhaps only because (oh, dare I even say it?) He has first failed me.
Mimi LaRouge
It is late. Charlie is late. I have bribed my roommate to go and sleep in another girl’s room tonight, a common practice among us, and I’m sure she thinks some joe is on his way to me. But it is my Charlie who taps on the door at last, my Charlie who comes shyly but with much determination into my small room. I stand up to embrace her and she is stiff, so stiff. Does she know this is why I invited her? Did I misinterpret her sighs and glances as we spoke in Central Park? No, now she relaxes. Now she clings to me.
“I was jealous of your God,” I murmur to her, thinking of that time when all the Sweets were filled with divine love. “I felt almost angry. I wanted that from you!”