James Marlon - John Crow's Devil

“Wickedness. God sent Jonah to warn Nineveh about wickedness,” Hector Bligh said. “Elijah warned Ahab. John warned Herod. But nobody listens to the man of God. They burn him. They stab him, they whip him, and they chop off his head. They crucify him. They kill the messenger and spit out the message like a bitter orange seed. Everybody kills the messenger, nobody hears the message.”

The congregation had been here before. When he was drunk, Bligh’s sermon jumped from several points in the Bible at once and collapsed under convoluted scripture. When he was sober, he began in a sonorous mumble that grew to a sharp, bitter echo by the end. They had stopped listening to him, but he had stopped preaching to them. He spoke without pause for thought, preaching not to man or God or even himself. He accepted this as easily as he did all defeat. Bligh’s eyes swept the room to see a congregation looking but not seeing, all but one.

“Something’s coming. Something’s coming. Coming on mighty wings. I’m sorry for who not ready. This is not what I came to preach. I came to preach about forgiveness. The Lord had other … This is what Jesus told me to tell you.

“There are those among you not ready. There are those among you, if you died right now, will roast in the lake of fire. If the rapture comes tonight you’ll be swinging from a tree like Judas Iscariot. Satan coming like a roaring lion and he’s going to devour you unless you let the Lord come dwell in you. Unless you come back the Lord. There are those among you grieving the Holy Spirit. You need to purify your heart before it’s too late. Satan coming like a roaring lion.

“Whosoever want God healing stream, come to the altar. Tomorrow might be too late. God’s vengeance is swift and brutal. Nobody will escape the white throne of Judgment.”

Seven minutes later a man rose from his seat and went to the altar. His huge frame and squeaky army boots cut through the stillness of the church. The organist played “Closer Than a Brother My Jesus Is to Me.” The choir hummed. Soon a girl rose, and another, a woman. The altar, easy to approach for praise, was difficult to approach for forgiveness. Church people, through their stares, created a boundary of shame that few climbed over. But then another man stood up, and three more women. Then a child. Lucinda had no choice. She missed her favorite spot, to the right of the podium, that bore the permanent dent of her knees. She scowled. Pastor Bligh prayed.

“Father, forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us!”

He watched from the back of the church. The man had come with the night but darkness stayed with him in day. He was unnerved by all the excitement. The feeling was as strange as ecstasy or remorse. A fat day or a thin year carried the same weight if one had the same hate. He was taller than the Pastor, with black shoes, black suit, black shirt, black hair, and light skin that the sun had roasted. The altar called him and he made his way. Behind bent knees and prostrate bodies, he stood. The Pastor did not see him at first, but then gaze met gaze and Hector Bligh blinked. Bligh looked away and continued to declare his flock free. But the man’s eyes followed him. He stretched his arms wide and stepped toward the Pastor’s podium. A space cleared as if the church had been waiting for him. The Pastor noticed. The man shut his eyes, but looked upward, as if to a Heaven higher than the Pastor’s. Hector Bligh hesitated before approaching him; admonishing himself that fear was not of God. But surprise was to play no role in this incident. So when the Pastor laid hands on the man in black and he pushed them away, there was no aback to be taken. This was no conflicted soul whose path he would make straight. He knew this but felt compelled to be pastorly. Hector Bligh placed his hands on the man’s head but the man grabbed both, squeezing them to the bone. He made little effort. Hector Bligh knew he was weak, but never before had his weakness been made so manifest.

“So who’s going to forgive you? Who’s going to forgive all of you?”

Bligh did not understand the intimacy. This demon had the wrong man. The man tightened the grip on his arms and agony shot through his shoulders.

“Who’s going to forgive you, you ignorant son of a bitch?”

The man grabbed Pastor Bligh at the sides.

“Who’s going to wash away your sin? Who’s going to purify you of your unrighteousness? Who’s going to make you as white as snow?”

He flung the Pastor into the wall behind him. As he slammed into the bricks, Bligh felt the wind forced out of his lungs. But the man in black was not done. The organist stopped and the congregation was still.

The Five stormed the pulpit, eager to unleash the violence that brimmed in church muscle. The man had gone over to the Pastor and grabbed him by his robes. The Five circled him, about to pounce, but then he raised his hand and pointed two fingers. The men stopped, lunging forward in momentum, but with their feet firm on the floor. They knew they were not frozen. They knew they could walk if they chose to. The Five thought it ridiculous, crazy that this strange man had commanded them without words like they were cows, but none dared move. Someone in the congregation screamed. Another shouted. From the sea of grumbling rose curses and bellows, but then the man raised his hand again, pointed two fingers, and the congregation fell quiet.

Lawd a massy, you should a see it when all Hell break loose in the church!

Then pop story give we.

All we see is this man. First we think say is Devil. Then we think is Gabriel or Michael or one of them strong angel.

Tell we bout the Hell that break loose.

Yes me dear, the man set pon Pastor Bligh like when you a beat mangy dog.

Caca-fart!

You understand? This yah man just grab Pastor like him make out o paper and fling him clear cross the pulpit. Any higher and him would a crash in the stain glass.

Christmas!

If ever. Then next thing you know the man set pon Pastor like demon. Him slap him so, then so, then so, then so again. Before you know it, Pastor a spit blood.

Rahtid!

But him never done. Him thump Pastor in him head, him slap Pastor cross him back, then him kick Pastor in him seed bag. Pastor face mash up. To think just before that the Pastor warning we bout Satan the roaring lion.

Shithouse!

Then him call Pastor three thing.

Three thing? What three thing?

First him call him Disgrace.

Which him is, thank you Jesus.

Then him call him Abominational.

Oh babababa — lekim — shakam!

Then him call him Antichrist. And him say it like this: ANTICHRIST.

Lawd Puppa Jesus!

Eehi. Then the man start speak in tongue, but is no Abba babba tongue, and him still a drop lick pon the Pastor.

What is this pon we Puppa Jesus!

The man grab Pastor Bligh like him is garbage and drag him out of the church himself. We see it with we own eye.

Hataclaps! But hi, a who this man be?

A week later, Lucinda would say that the Holy Spirit was moving in a powerful way. But in that moment, another spirit seemed to be moving through the pews. The man grew taller in those few minutes, and his voice bounced from roof to floor with authority. He could have been Gabriel or Michael or the Avenging Angel sent by God to tell them that He was not pleased. This was judgment on their lying, thieving, and whoring generation. A good thing, then, that Lucinda’s body was blameless. But the man moved with so much darkness that she wondered if his soul was just as black. She cringed as the near-unconscious body of the Pastor was dragged past her. Bligh was muttering to himself, his left hand trailing on the floor and his right in the mighty grip of the man in black. He took Bligh down the aisle and through the church door that nobody remembered opening.