James Marlon - John Crow's Devil

Judgment goin come pon the Rum Preacher for all iniquity that him bring with him. Judgment goin come for what him do to the Apostle.

The Rum Preacher strike and kill the Apostle. But the Apostle rise after three day. Evil get beat by good, black get beat by white. The Apostle is the way, the truth, and the light. The Lord goin send signs and wonders. The Lord goin exalt the Apostle and put him on the right hand of God. The Rum Preacher goin be wailing with gnashing of teeth.

And the Widow too.

Judge them two by two.

But the biggest judgment that ever goin fall, goin fall on the black house. The house of Sodom where Gibbeah pitch tent. The house of sin where rivers of damnation flow. Is through him that all sin come. From in him and out him, all sin be.

The one them call Mr. Garvey.

Fire pon him cause him fuck batty.

Fire pon him cause him think him better than we.

Fire pon him because it easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.

The Lord have judgment for the rich too.

Is not we to judge, not me not you.

We no know what a go on. The Apostle don’t say nothing bout that house yet.

But sin must come from it or the house wouldn’t be black.

See them John Crows how them line up on him roof.

Judgment coming to smite the house down.

The John Crow know.

Him have six nephew who don’t look like him.

And them never grow up, what a thing.

Man mustn raise boy, is mother them need.

Him sin like Onan and throw way him seed.

But is rich man things, so make we see what God goin do.

When judgment come pon him, judgment goin come true.

Judge the sodomite and the Rum Preacher.

Judge them two by two.

So who judgment goin fall pon next?

Who?

Pon who judgment goin fall?

Who?

Could a be me, could a you.

The Apostle made a proclamation for the extermination of all bovines by axe and fire. Since nobody understood the proclamation, including Clarence who went to the crossroads to proclaim it, the Apostle issued another one. All cows and goats were to be slaughtered and burnt before Sunday; swine would be spared. The first was a stubborn kill, a bull whose life and will were as joined as sin and consequence, Sodom and Gomorrah. The bull had seen enough of humans to pay them no heed, but snorted when he caught the murderous glimmer of cutlasses and axes. The first took a swing, missed, turned to run, and was gored straight up the ass, then tossed like an old flower. The second struck as a midnight thief, chopping off the tail and crippling its balance. Another struck the bull’s left hind leg and he collapsed. Chops fell upon the bull like rain.

The Widow left his door alone. She had sat facing it all night, falling asleep in her armchair and waking as her chin struck her chest. She stared at the door’s deep blue through the haze of her barely awake eyes and thought of the Rum Preacher who probably hadn’t slept. He would be writing on the floor even now, or perhaps on his skin. There was no coming back — he was mad as Hell. But he was hers now and she felt like a mother and a lover whenever she allowed herself to. Most times the Widow reached for a cynicism and scorn that she could barely conjure. She tried to hate but hate came out as pity, she spoke a curse but curse came out as prayer. He was inside her. She hated him, she thought, as all women must hate the men who undid them. Who was he, this bastard who came into her house with so little and now had even less? But that less included her heart, even though she would never admit such a thing. A man who lost his mind was like one who lost his life; unable to hurt or promise. But he had hurt her. Pain came in waves through the promise of the light blue door. Was he writing about her? Outside, children awoke to the scream of goats.

She made him breakfast, knowing it would be left uneaten and waited until 11 o’clock. The Widow Greenfield was going to see the Apostle. She knew he was strong where Bligh was weak, so maybe he would listen to her plea. She ignored the trees and wind that whispered her folly. The street was empty, but at the church doorway, as if waiting, was Lucinda.

“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.