John Crow's Devil (21 page)

“Me is here to see York.”

“Apostle to you.”

“Me is here to see him.”

“What a thing. What make you think him want to see you? Is the whore of Babylon you is, him say so himself.”

“Me no come her fi quarrel with you.”

“Then hi, what you come here for, fi labrish? Come make me lap frock tail and we can sit down and correspondence.” As Lucinda stood in her way with her arms akimbo, the Widow remembered the last time they were this close. Long before Lucinda showed up in the rain to tell her that Bligh was invited back to church. Long before the Widow became a wife and Lucinda became a Sister.

It was shortly before the Widow got married, when she warned Lucinda to stay away from her husband-to-be by punching her in the face. Lucinda had found herself in love with Mr. Greenfield after he had fucked her and left her down by the river. Back then she vowed that over her dead body was Mary Palmer, her enemy since childhood, going to marry her man. Lucinda would lay in bed clutching a pillow and ramming herself with a green banana as she imagined Mr. Greenfield wetting her with his sweat. He was going to marry Mary over her dead body. The Widow had heard the rumors, most started by Lucinda herself.
“How him moo like cow when him cocky ready fi shoot and how him cocky bent but big.”
Then there were rumors that he would buy Mary’s house from Mr. Garvey and give it to Lucinda. Hearsay would have been enough were it not for Lucinda showing up wherever they went, laughing out loud at Mr. Greenfield’s jokes and sighing at how great a boyfriend he was. Gibbeah didn’t know what to think, especially when word spread that it was Lucinda, not Mary, who was going to be married. Lucinda’s mother, seeing the disgrace her daughter was bringing upon her name, followed her as she followed the couple to the grocery. She grabbed Lucinda by the hair and dragged her home, beating her all the way. The next week her mother was dead, drowned in the Two Virgins River, with Lucinda’s foot pinning her head underwater. Lucinda, who had waited all her life to cream her hair, told the hairdresser that she needed a hairdo for both a funeral and a wedding.

Lucinda remembered that day, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair as Mary stomped toward her. Maybe she said,
Cross-eye chi-chi, leave me man
, maybe she didn’t. Lucinda remembered thinking that only spirits could move so fast. She remembered Mary’s fist speeding toward her face. The rest was dark, like the swollen circle around her eye that throbbed when she touched it.

Both women remembered the last time they were so close and both now realized that the power had shifted. Lucinda raised her chin and looked down at the Widow.

“The Apostle don’t have no business with iniquity lacka you.”

“The Apostle can speak for himself, Lucinda.” The Widow saw his face and felt hope and distress. Coming toward them was Clarence, handsome as always, his eyes puffy from having awakened not long before. Both women knew that those clothes weren’t his. The Widow glared at Lucinda as she stepped past her and followed Clarence inside the church. Walking down an aisle that felt foreign even before the Apostle came, the Widow hoped that this was the same Clarence, the man she held an affection for despite his relentless attempts, when they were young, to force himself between her and her panties. But Clarence stepped with purpose, a determination that seemed reinforced by his silence. This was not the Clarence she knew. There was no hope in his stride. He left her at the door.

Hearing no call, she went in. He was at the desk writing in a big red book that looked like a Bible. “Well, what is it I can do for the Widow woman?” he said. The Widow read his tone as mockery. She looked left and right, fearing The Five at any second. “Well?”

“Mista York.”

“I prefer Apostle.”

“Apostle. Apostle York. I …”

“You …”

“I was—”

“You were—”

“I was—”

“Either you’re about to say something or you’re not. Which is it?”

“Is about the Preacher.”

“That malignant spot on the church’s backside. What about him? Is he well? Is he asleep? Is he in bed? Has that Devil recovered from trying to kill me?”

“Him …”

“He’s … well, out with it, woman, you can’t make sentences out of just one word. What are you trying to say to me? Are you trying to ask me something?”

“I know you stronger and him weaker.”

“Yes, God has made my strength perfect in his weakness. It was written, anyway. Children of darkness have no power over the child of light. He will not …”

“Leave him be.”

“Pardon me?”

“Leave him be. Me asking you to leave him be.”

“What is his welfare to you? Oh, I see.”

“I, I didn’t say nothing.”

“Yes you did, every fidget said more than words. Bligh seems to be doing more in his bed than just sleeping.”

“No! We not into nothing.”

“Then what is your business with him? You did your good deed, somebody had to. Now is the time to leave him to God’s judgment or God’s mercy, who knows.”

“But Mista Y—”

“Apostle.”

“Apostle. Him feeble, you know. Him feeble bad. Him can’t do you nothing. Him can’t even wipe him batty. Pastor Bligh can’t bother you no more. Him can’t even do nothing for himself. Just leave him be. I … I feel sorry him.”

“You feel sorry for a stray dog, but I don’t hear no barking coming from your bedroom. Maybe I should be listening for something else.”

“No sinning happening in me house.”

“We all sin, Mary. That’s what makes redemption sweeter.”

“Just leave him be.”

“No can do. You know what
no can do
means? Of course not, your negro head has never been to a Kingston school. It means, what you ask is out of the question. What God has begun He will see through to its completion. There’s no hope for Hector Bligh. But there may be for you.”

“What you say?”

“You heard me. Look, this is what the Lord is saying. Turn him over. Now, right now. Go home and turn him out. Drag him out, kick him out, push him out, lead him out like the Pied Piper. Hand him over to me.”

She watched him as he rose, looked at her as if to approach, and sat down again. “No,” she said, and turned to leave.

“Don’t condemn yourself to Hell along with him. I’m giving you a chance for life, and life more abundant. Turn him over now.”

“No.” The last time the Apostle wanted Bligh, she thought, he had sent his men to get him. But now he was asking her to hand him over.

“You wouldn’t be asking me for him if you could get him yourself.”

“I can bring Hellfire down on that damn house right now! Where are you going? How dare you step away from me, you whore. Clarence!”

She dashed past Clarence and Lucinda and ran toward her house.

“Clarence!” the Apostle shouted again. Both he and Lucinda ran to the office, but as Clarence stepped in, he shut the door in her face.

The Widow bolted her front door. Hector Bligh was still in his room. The knowledge gave her something she would never admit to be reassurance. God was working through him and he was working through her. She sat in front of the door and waited. She waited for Him, she waited for The Five, she waited for the Apostle and the Devil.

AN AROMA

L
ucinda went inside her house and shut the door tight. She lit a candle, but when the shadows began to dance before her, blew it out. At church, Clarence had shut the door in her face, hitting her nose. Lucinda was furious. She had the Apostle first. She prepared the way. She was his John the Baptist, Clarence was merely a Magdalene with a penis. She was disturbed to see them together. His beauty matched the Apostle’s and they looked like brothers, partners, or angels joined at the hip. She thought that there must have been something in her that now displeased him or made this man please him more. Day Lucinda whispered about her smell. How had she not smelt herself before? The aroma that tainted her. The smell of tea that he knew she drank. What did he want? He asked her to be pious, then he asked her to speak chants. He wanted her for God, he wanted her for Sasa, now he didn’t want her at all. He held her close, but gave her no secrets. She was still his helper, but felt outside his purpose. Perhaps he wanted beauty, which she did not have. He held her at bay like a cherished but smelly thing.

But she would enter his most holy place; Lucinda was determined. She would tear down the curtains as red as the bold red tip of his—no, she would not think of such things. The Apostle wanted a different kind of worship. Something Clarence seemed to understand already. No matter. She would do better than that pretty but stupid man who could never do arithmetic. She would get rid of the smell.

Vinegar. The sour jars that kept lizard skins and dog paws. She threw them away but the smell remained. She came to realize that the smell was a presence that was everywhere. In the flame of the candle she relit. In the soft sound of dew falling, the shrill cries of cicadas, and the little lights of fireflies dancing around her like tiny stars. The presence was in her secrets. The presence knew that even in day there was night in her heart that was black as tar.

“Me don’t know how it happen, Apostle,” Lucinda said. “One minute me cooking the dinner, next thing me know, whoom! Fire bursting out from everywhere!”

“Fire bursting out from everywhere. I see.”

“Is all me could a do fi save meself. Is the Devil.”

“I’m sure.”

“Me don’t have nowhere to live now.”

“But that’s not true, Lucinda. The fire didn’t burn down the house. I hear that the walls are still standing.”

“But me can’t go back there. Everything burn up. Me no even have no bed to rest me tired body.”

“I’m sure there’s a friend more than willing.”

“Me no have no friend. Everybody jealous o me. Oh Lord, see me dying trial. Is woe deh pon me. How me going to make it through, woi, Puppa Je—”

“Lucinda, enough! I will instruct the people.”

“You have a bedroom up in the steeple.”

“What? In the steeple? How do you know this? I’ve never heard about a room? Clarence, you know about this?”

“No. Plus, even if one up there, it must be full of dirt and cobweb.”

She noticed that he did not say “Apostle” or “sir” after “no.”

“No, it did clean,” she said. “Me did clean it before you come.”

They stood in silence as the Apostle made up his mind. She looked at Clarence and felt victory. He went over to the Apostle by the window and whispered. She saw their shoulders touch. “Alright, Lucinda, you can have the room until you sort out your business.”

“Thank you, Jesus,”
she whispered. She wanted to glare at Clarence, but his back was to her as he said something quietly to the Apostle again.

Midnight had come, but she could not sleep. She was higher now, higher than everybody in the village. From her window she could see everything. The dirty rooftops stained by fallen mangos. The lonely orange light in the Widow’s window, the very end of Brillo Road, and behind her, the Apostle’s quarters. She had watched all night. Clarence did not leave.

BANG

T
he next morning, the Apostle gave the church spiritual armor. It came from the Book of Mark:

And when ye hear of wars and rumors of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet.

For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in diverse places, and there shall be famines and troubles: These are the beginnings of sorrows.

The sun shall be darkened and the moon not give her light, and the stars of Heaven shall fall and the powers that are in Heaven shall be shaken.

And then they shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory. And then He shall send His angels and shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from the uttermost part of the Earth to the uttermost part of Heaven.

He told them he had come from the clouds in this, the end of days. God was rocking the very ground and shaking strongholds loose. Now was time to enter the ark. Gibbeah was the ark, already perfectly built by God to be surrounded by a river with only the bridge connecting it to weakness and evil. Every heart in Gibbeah was pure, save two. Those two. Satan’s emissary and the whore of Babylon. If action wasn’t taken soon, the enemy’s foothold would turn into a stronghold. Nine days ago, the Rum Preacher, that foot soldier of Hell, had tried to kill him, but evil could never triumph over good. In the twinkling of an eye, the Sodom cinema fell to judgment. God had judged with consuming fire.