Gone Fishin’ er-6 Page 9

  He opened his eyes wide, and a few laughs broke in the audience.

  ‘You look in the mirror from one day to the next and you’ll see what I mean.’ I glanced back at Reese.

  The minister went on, ‘You young ones might not know it today, but don’t worry, the Lord is gonna forgive ya. You give him a chance, a half a chance, just a glimmer, a bare sliver of a chance, and the Lord is gonna forgive ya. He will. I know it because he has saved me.’

  We were with him then, every soul in that church. And God was with us.

  ‘I was a sinner. Oh yes, Lord, I was a big sinner. I lied and cheated and you know the Lord don’t hold with no liar. I hated it but I couldn’t help myself because if the Lord ain’t wichya then you know that the devil is.’

  ‘If the Lord ain’t wichya, you know the devil is.’

  ‘And the devil was with me and I did his handiwork. You do it too. Oh yes you do! Don’t sit back there and tell me that the Lord don’t slip away from you sometimes when you see another woman wearin’ that pretty dress an’ you cain’t afford it. Don’t tell me that ‘cause that’s a lie and lyin’ is sin. Men and women is born to sin and the only way out is lettin’ Jesus in your heart. You cain’t help it, no you cain’t. You men see a pretty girl an’ you know what you feelin’ is wrong but you cain’t help it, you cain’t. You not gonna do it by yo’self! You need the Lord to help you do right.’

  He paused and took a glass of water from the piano. Somehow he made drinking a part of the sermon. You could tell that his sermon had just come to him as if God had flown down into him as he took the podium. No one was talking, no one was looking around, no one shifted in their chair. God was in the room with us in the shape of a fat minister about the color of coffee with three spoons of cream stirred in.

  Perspiration had broken out over the minister’s forehead. He took a fine white handkerchief from his pocket and ran it across his brow, then wiped his hands. By the time he was finished with his hands his head was beaded up again.

  ‘I’m sorry, brothers and sisters,’ he said with his head bowed. ‘I have another sermon to give and you know I don’t believe in a long sermon but today something got in me. That happens sometimes. When you let the Lord in there’s no tellin’ what might happen. The Lord might pick you up and throw you across the world. You could be a young girl on the farm until the Lord picks you up and makes you a general at the head of a great army. Yes he can... He might, he might.’ Reverend Peters got quiet then and it seemed like he’d lost his place. Sweat was running off his head but he didn’t bother with it.

  After a long moment he said, ‘You all know about Job. How he was a rich man and a family man, a man who had the respect of not only his fellow man but the love and the respect of God.’

  The words left such a silence in the room that I had to stifle an urge to shout.

  ‘Yes.’ The minister was calm now. ‘God loved him but he needed Job to prove that he deserved that love. Oh yeah, because you got to prove yourself to the Lord. He’s not gonna open up his great kingdom of heaven if you’re not worthy. And how is he to know if you’re worthy unless he tests you?

  ‘And the Lord took away Job’s thousands of sheep and took away his thousands of camels. The Lord brought disease, death, and division on Job’s family. And when the Lord was through, Job was a terrible sight to behold. He’d lost his wife, his chirren, his money, his health, Job had even lost his self-respect. He tore at his breast and wished that he was never born! His friends and people betrayed him and God turned a deaf ear.’ When the minister looked out you could see tears rolling with the sweat down his face. ‘And Job doubted. Who wouldn’t? Even if all you had was one dress and a tin pan - if someone took that and left you with nothin’ you’d be tempted to despair. And we know that it’s the devil causes despair. Think of Job; he was a rich man! A respected man! You don’t let that go without some tears and some bitterness. But when he realised that all he had taken for granted could be taken from him, Job was amazed. He wasn’t angry at God. He was angry that he had loved God for the wrong reasons. Because even in poverty, even with nothing, Job realised he had God within him. There was love and grace inside. And Job was saved.

  ‘You might think that this is a simple story. Something you learn in Sunday school; a Bible story for children to remember if hard times should strike. And that’s what I thought about it too. But you know I was turnin’ soil last Thursday, ‘cause you know I’m just like the rest of ya: son of a sharecropper, salt of the earth. I was watchin’ the soil turn up under the plow like water in the wake of a great boat, and I thought, “This land belongs to God.” It’s for sure it don’t belong to me or any of you here this morning. We all know whose name it is on the deeds to all our places and even on this buildin’ we prayin’ in.’

  I remembered Miss Dixon’s fears and I thought that maybe she was right.

  ‘I remembered the poverty of my daddy’s sharecroppin’ days. And I thought about Job; how the very ground from under him fell away and all he had left was the deaf ear of God. I wondered, “What did Job eat when he had lost everything?” And I knew even then that Job scratched in the ground and hunted in the wild and he lived off fish from the lakes. He created a life from God’s greatest gifts: the mind and the heart and the land too.

  ‘You might wonder why I tell you this. It’s because I see a day coming when the Lord is gonna test us. He’s gonna pull the land away from us and he’s gonna strike down with his open hand and smash away this village. He’s gonna take it all and the only thing you’ll have left is your wits and the love of Jesus in your hearts. You’ll have to make your way against a terrible storm. Your hearts will be full of tears but remember, it’s God testin’ you. He’s lookin’ to see that you love him as the spirit not just for the fleshly desires he can satisfy. And he needs to know that you will survive to praise his name.’

  The minister let his head fall forward. The room had the silence of grace in it. Everybody, from Reese Corn to Sweet William to Miss Alexander, everybody felt a mighty presence. Not necessarily a presence of love or even salvation. But there was truth in the room; it was almost solid it was so real.

  ‘The land don’t belong to you. No it don’t. Your houses and your clothes and your chirren too. None’a them belong to you.’

  A small boy was sitting on the other side of Theresa, his eyes filled with tears.

  ‘It’s all the love of Jesus, the love of God. If he wants it, then he’ll take it, an’ it’s not fo’ us to question his infinite will. This life is just a test for your love an’ your faith.

  ‘I feel love for my land and my labours. I feel rage when I am being mistreated and cheated. But all that takes a backseat to the love of God.’ Reverend Peters was crying but his face was full of light. ‘And when the time comes it will be his scriptures I look to for my answers.’

  He bowed his head again.

  Somehow he must have signalled the pianist because she started playing softly. Brother Decker got in front of the podium and said, ‘Sunday school will begin at half past nine at Miss Trevor’s house. There will be a meeting of the church council directly after this service.’

  We were all quiet in the balmy morning outside the chapel. I wondered at the sermon’s meaning. I could see something in what Miss Dixon told me. But there were parts that I just didn’t understand. Why did I have to live so close to disaster? Why would God want that?

  It was a mystery but I didn’t have time to think about it because that’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Where Raymond?’ daddyReese asked me.

  The whites of his eyes had gone yellow, and the smell of his breath was like the stench of a corpse. I told him that I hadn’t seen Mouse in a few days.

  He grabbed my wrist and leaned against me; he hissed into my face, ‘You tell him that I don’t care what happens. I see my soul in hell fo’ I let up on a dime, you hear that?’

  ‘I hear ya, Reese.’

  ‘Not one fuddn’ dim
e!’

  ‘I ain’t seen’im, Reese, an’ I don’t know when I’m gonna.’

  Reese pulled on my arm with one hand and went for his pocket with the other. He was weak and sick but I wasn’t too spry myself. I don’t know if I had the strength to hold him from cutting my throat.

  ‘Hi, Reese,’ Momma Jo said. ‘Been a long time since I seen you at church.’

  At the sound of her voice Reese let me go and fell back. ‘Get away from me, witch. Get away from me.’ And he turned, running from her.

  ‘What he want, Easy?’

  ‘I dunno, Jo. He want Mouse, not me.’

  When we all walked back to the store Jo said to me, ‘I’m havin’ supper wit’ Domaque and Ernestine, Easy, why’ont you come on out?’

  ‘I’m sick, Jo,’ I said to her feet. ‘I gotta get some rest.’

  She put her hand on my throat again.

  ‘You is hot,’ she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I got to the room a calm had set in on me. I was wondering if the minister was right. Was everything I experienced the whim of God or his test to see if I was worthy? I laid down on the bed and let the strength flow from my arms and legs; and in my weakness I gave up my responsibilities.

  I thought about how Mouse was like Job’s devil; how he had called daddyReese the devil. I didn’t even care about the dogs.

  When I opened my eyes Mouse was sitting on the crate facing me.

  ‘How you feel, Ease?’

  ‘li’l sick I guess, but ‘I’ma leave soon as I can walk down t’the car.’

  ‘Well, by then everything should be done.’ There was a serious tone in his voice, not the brash way he usually sounded.

  ‘What you tryin’ t’do, Raymond? What’s all this mess wit’ Clifton an’ Ernestine an’ Reese?’

  ‘It’s more than that. I got wheels turnin’ all over. Wheels inside’a wheels, like a great big ole clock.’

  I didn’t have the strength to even ask him anything but he started talking again.

  ‘Yo’ daddy run out on you when you was a boy, right, Ease? I know that that prob’ly hurt you. You prob’ly want him back so bad. I know how it feel. I was hopin’ fo’a daddy when I’as a chile. Momma loved me but you know kids ain’t never satisfied so I wanted me a daddy too. I always be pesterin’ her ‘bout my real daddy, an’ I knew I was hurtin’ her. So she married Reese. She wouldn’ta done it if not for my pesterin’.’ Mouse’s dear eyes had the light of honesty in them. ‘An’ he kilt her. Abused her an’ hurt her through me. Reese is a harsh man. A woods man. The kind of man that likes to hurt. She knew what he was but she did it for me.’

  Mouse clasped his hands between his knees. ‘So it’s like I killed her by never bein’ satisfied wit’ what we had. ‘Cause you know from the first day in that house me an’ Reese was at it; an’ me an’ Navrochet, that’s Reese’s blood son me an’ Navrochet was at it too. They had my momma workin’ and toilin’ while they was just as mean as they could be. An’ they come down on me too. I was young, Easy, an’ I could take it. But they wore Momma out.’

  Sunlight came through the muslin curtains with a small breeze. I was breathing softly and watching the cloth wave; I had forgotten Mouse was there until he went on.

  ‘I thought I had let it go. Before she died Momma borrowed some money from Sweet William an’ sent me t’Houston when I was still just a kid. That was about the same time you come into town. I had me a new life an’ I never even thought about Momma or Reese or Pariah at all. Cousin Pernell an’ his wife Justine took good care’a me until I could see after myself. Momma axed Sweet William to drop by an’ check in on me now and then.’ Mouse smiled. ‘I grew up like a weed an’ all I cared about was my friends and a good time. But Etta changed that. It’s not like she reminds me’a Momma or nuthin’ like that; you know my momma was a slight girl with a little smile and soft ways. But it’s what we did together kept remindin’ me of the ole days ‘fo’ she married Reese.

  ‘You know Etta always have breakfast waitin’ fo’me in the mo’nin’. I got a hundred girls suck my dick all night long but who gonna worry ‘bout how I be eatin’ in the mo’nin’? An’ when we talk she know how I feel. An’ when I love her I always be thinkin’ ‘bout babies; I see her sucklin’ my son... An’ then you know what I be thinkin? I think about Reese. I think about how he hurt me an’ how he kilt Momma an’ I know he gotta pay fo’it. That’s why I come out here; ‘cause Momma wanna see me wit’ a fine weddin’. If she was alive she’d get a church and all her friends and they’d cook fo’a week and she wouldn’t let me lift a finger or spend a dime. An’ since she cain’t do it I’ma make sure that Reese do it fo’her.’

  I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to warn him about Reese and ask him just to come back home with me. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was sick but I don’t think I was too sick to talk. I just felt helpless. What was I going to do? Raymond couldn’t help what he was; Raymond couldn’t stop himself. That’s what I thought then; maybe it was true.

  ‘But now, Easy, I’m scared,’ Mouse said. “Cause I know I got Reese by his nuts wit’ that doll. He from voodoo country an’ a curse gonna tear him up, I know that. But now I’m ascared he gonna die fo’ I get what’s mine. My li’l spies be tellin* me ‘bout how Reese is sick. But I gotta have that man’s money. He cain’t die ‘fore that.’

  Then he was still, sitting there wringing his hands. I didn’t have anything to say or maybe it was all a dream. Because I had a terrible fever that night. There was nothing I could do to stop what was going to happen. And as much as I knew I didn’t know everything, I’d like to think that if I knew what Mouse’s plans were I’d’ve tried to stop him right then. But maybe what happened was ordained like that minister said. Maybe it really was out of my hands.

  It wasn’t until years later, after the war, that I understood about Mouse; long after I’d learned to read and write I came across the meaning of the word that described him: inspiration. Raymond wasn’t smarter than the next man; he didn’t do anything new in the world. But he created lead from gold. He created his revenge on Reese from his love of EttaMae or maybe he found that revenge in her love of him. He changed the world to fit his twisted feelings.

  Raymond was an artist. He always said that a poor man has got to work with flesh and blood. ‘Po’ man ain’t got time t’be worryin’ bout finery, Ease; po’ man cain’t even watch his own ass, ‘cause you know if you so much as flinch down here that’s all she wrote fo’ you.’

  I kept fading out and coming awake again to see Mouse sitting there, wringing his hands and thinking. Finally I opened my eyes and he was gone. That’s when the fever set in and I was lost.

  We were running out of the slaughterhouse and everybody was yelling. One man grabbed my father but he sent that man to the floor. Another man came up and he went down too. I noticed then that the rest yelled but they kept their distance.

  We ran out into the truck yard in front of the building and down an alley. My father had picked me up into his arms and he was running fast. You could see the fear in his face, and that fear is what I remembered most. A scared little colored man with a child in his arms; the world shaking up and down like it was about to break apart and we were panting like dogs on the run.

  Only dogs are hunters and we were hunted.

  We ran down to the stream, where we had been trawling for crayfish not three days before, and fell into a heap. My father was breathing so hard that his throat sang.

  ‘You gotta run up home, Ezekiel,’ he said to me. ‘You gotta go up the back way an’ get yo’ momma an’ them an’ go down t’Momma Lindsay’s. You hear me, Ezekiel?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’

  ‘I love you, boy.’

  ‘Where you be?’

  ‘I gotta run right now, son. I don’t know where I end up but I tell ya when I get there.’

  ‘You gonna come get us?’

  He said, ‘Take care’a yo’self, boy,’ then he kissed me on the lips
and hurried me on my way. And then I was a man running down the path yelling for my mother but never getting there.

  There was something tickling my stomach. I looked down and saw a white cloth taped to my belly; it was writhing against me. I reached out to pull it away but a big black hand grabbed my hand and tied it to the bedpost.

  My mother and I sat in the parlour of Momma Lindsay’s house. My mother was on a chair and I was sprawled out on the couch. I was thirsty and she had made lemonade. Everything was natural except that a line of black ants ran down from the arm of her chair, they seemed to be coming from her clothes, and I was a full-grown man - I knew that she had been dead for many years.

  ‘Where’s Daddy, Momma?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know, honey,’ she said. She was smiling at me with so much love...

  ‘But I wanna know where he gone. He said he gonna come get us.’

  She just kept on smiling, nodding slightly. The ants had cut across her forehead and they made a sound like bees buzzing.

  Out of the window there were clothes on the line. The wind was blowing hard and they snapped so violently that I was afraid they’d blow off completely.

  Then I’d have no clothes to wear.

  I was aware of being naked on the couch so I sat up and crossed my legs. I was hoping that Momma would leave so I could go save my clothes before they blew away. But she just kept smiling at me with the ants all over her and the buzzing coming louder and louder.

  I was running out into the bright and windy day; all my clothes had blown away. I ran full out in an open grassy field. The blades of grass beat against my bare ankles, pelicans and gulls glided far above.

  ‘What you callin’ fo’, honey?’ a voice asked.

  ‘My daddy!’ I yelled, not like a man at all.

  ‘Where is he, Easy?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ I said and then the world started to cry. Everything was tears and crying. I was so thirsty that I started sticking my tongue out and praying for rain. But the rain didn’t come.