James Marlon - John Crow's Devil

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.

Lucinda 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.