James Marlon - John Crow's Devil

“No.”

“Then I started to read people who realized what I did, that God had a limit. Stuff from Solomon. That lying Bible would tell you that Solomon got stupid when he strayed; no, he got even more wise. That’s when he started making sense. He could command angels and demons and gain wisdom that God had been fearing from man ever since Eve bit the apple. Knowledge, Bligh. That’s how you become God. Now angels and demons do my will too.”

“No.”

“Then I came back. You think Uncle was happy to see me? Him and his new batch of boys? You know what he did when we got too strong for him? Send us off to boarding school for more men to fuck with us. But I came back. I came back in the same clothes his preacher friend used to wear. The skinny black fucker thought I came bringing forgiveness, until he saw my sword. Cutlass, actually. Chop his head clean off. Then I chopped off his curse. Then I chopped up every little new demon he was growing in that house. Most of them were still sleeping when I send them to Hell.”

“No.”

“No? Not at all. I belong here, Bligh. I belong with these people. I belong with all these fuckers who suspected or even knew what my uncle was, but let their nigger ways allow it. And those same nigger ways now allowing me.

“I belong here. I drove you out but you wouldn’t leave. Now I can’t do anything for you.”

12:15. Apostle York had said 2:00. He declared it last night. Mrs. Fracas was getting ready. She had not worn the black dress since Lillamae’s funeral. She cursed it for being the most expensive yet least useful dress. But the Lord had taught her that what seems useless may have not yet come into purpose. People were like that too. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the miraculous slimming powers of pin stripe. God was going to use her as his instrument today.

Deacon Pinckney used his two good eyes to admire himself in his mirror. Tony Curtis had no black so he wore white: his grandfather’s pants and his mother’s blouse.

Clarence’s tie was crooked. From behind and facing the mirror, the Apostle tugged until it was straight. He smoothed out the shoulders of his jacket, then handed him pants to match.

Brother Jakes picked out a black veil for his wife, who had before decided not to go. The swelling around her battered eye signified her change of heart. A long dress made sure that her whipped thighs and bruised hands would be concealed as well. Even the children were dressed and ready.

The Rude Boys were finished. Two o’clock came and passed, so they left the tools and went home to change. The bridge had fallen to a cataclysmic crash, the sound of life coming undone, collapsing and killing other lives underneath. Through a series of night services the Apostle had shown them how it was possible. God’s people only needed God after all. York was serious.

The children were restless. Most were upset enough about wearing Sunday clothes on a Sunday, but this was Friday. Some of the children wondered why they stopped going to the school ten miles down past the valley. Today they were bound in stiff pants and starched shirts and dresses and shoes sent in barrels from Englan and New Yawk along with wide ties made for adults. The Pastor had told them that they were going to play a new game. And God wanted them looking their best.

Brother Jakes’s oldest son had also decided not to come. His subsequent brutal beating sealed his own prophecy. This was not a day for children to disobey fathers; this was a day to submit to Apostle York as if to God. This was the day that the Lord had made, and this was His work. Clarence dressed the Apostle. He straightened his necktie and wiped away lines of dirt from York’s shoes with his fingers. Clarence then guided the robes over the Apostle’s head gently, so that his hands slipped through the sleeves. The layers of cloth fell around him like a shower. Clarence gave the Apostle his red book and his black book, then he gave him something else.

The front door swung open and the Widow leapt through yelling.

“Is what unu do with him? Is what unu do wi—” The street was empty. The silence stunned her. Usually, if given time, the street could answer any question. But Brillo Road refused her. The Widow felt alone, more alone than she did in her empty house.

Mary.

She turned around, but no one was there. She went back inside the house. It was different now, smelling of neither her, Mr. Greenfield, nor the Pastor. A new smell that was already an old one; a familiar one whose meaning she knew. She knew the voice as well. The Widow went to the kitchen and took out the chicken that she had already seasoned. She turned on the gas stove. Then she went into the bedroom and took out another blue dress.

Lucinda was in her room combing her hair in two and plaiting the ends. She had heard the Apostle’s decree and though told to stay away, she put on her mother’s black dress anyway. It was only fitting, she had become her mother, another woman for whom men reflected the failure of life. She heard whispers coming from the mirror. Outside, below her, the dust awoke.

The Apostle stood at the door of the church looking out. He licked his lips and tasted the person behind him. “Clarence, tell the people that God is ready.”

Sikasa raboka makasetha likoso.

Go down Emmanuel Road

Gal an boy

Fi go broke rock-stone

Go down Emmanuel Road

Gal an boy

Fi go broke rock-stone

Broke them one by one

Gal an boy

Broke them two by two

Gal an boy

Finger mash don’t cry

Gal an boy

Remember a play we deh play

Since the truck stop come and gone, plenty rock-stone did leave. The Apostle say the truck bring evil spirit back into the village and anything of evil we have to cut it out! Cut it out! Cut it out!

A few came before, a few after, but most came at once, gathering in a jagged circle near the bridge where the stonebreakers used to work. The wind stirred up marl dust and grayed black jackets, dresses, and pants. Mrs. Fracas brought her umbrella. The only thing Estrella had that was black was her miniskirt. Nobody noticed. Brother Jakes stood up with more than enough pride for his ashamed wife and missing son. Mrs. Smithfield waved her hands to fan her face against the heat. A mumble rose but fell as soon as they saw the Apostle coming behind Clarence, who cradled his red and black books. He waved his fingers and the choir, scattered among the crowd, began to sing “Amazing Grace.”

“I say this unto you. Listen to what the Lord is saying, you followers of John Eight, verse seven. You hear the scriptures incorrectly. You misinterpret the word of the Father and as such are deceived by the Devil. When the Lord asked for he who is without sin to cast the first stone, He spoke to Jews and to Gentiles. We are neither Jew nor Gentile but Christian. To those who are reborn of the Lord we are no longer with sin. And if you are in Him you are a new …”