Kent Haruf - Benediction

What did the preacher do all this time? Lyle said.

Oh, he’s watching her like the rest of us and then he just goes on with his sermon from where he left off. And afterward we sing the last hymn and he gives out the benediction.

It woke us up at least, Dad said. I couldn’t sleep through that. But there was another one too. You remember, Mary. Reverend John Dupree.

You’re not going to tell about him.

What was that about? Lyle said.

He was a preacher here too. About twenty years back.

What happened?

Well, him and his wife, she was a lot younger, they had a boy about eight. They were having some kind of trouble and got separated from one another. She went off somewhere and left him.

She just went back to Denver, Mary said.

She went back to Denver and that put Reverend Dupree here alone with the boy. It was a god-awful mess. Dupree, he wasn’t any good at church anymore, wasn’t much good at anything at all, couldn’t concentrate on practical matters, and the boy was moping around town getting himself into trouble. Then the Sunday comes, and during the time for announcements he says, I got an announcement myself. My bride is coming home! She’s coming back to me this week. People in the church just applauded. The women, mostly.

There were men clapping too, Mary said.

Clapping at the news. I never heard such a thing in church before in my life.

Did she come back as he said she would?

Yes sir, she come back. All in good time. And shows up in church sitting with the boy and singing hymns. She seemed more or less all right, didn’t she, Mary.

Not really.

No?

No.

Well, she seemed all right to me, a man, but Mary’s correct, she must not of been completely all right because two Sundays later the preacher’s boy is sitting in the pew by himself again and we find out the woman has left Dupree and is living across town with Don Leppke, the young fellow that manages the radio station.

I guess people in Holt didn’t care much for that.

No, people didn’t care for it at all. The station lost some advertising.

What became of her?

Her and Don went off to Denver. We’d hear her on the radio broadcasting from Denver now and then. She seemed to have a talent for it.

That happened after I left home, Lorraine said.

Yes. I think it did.

It had grown darker outside the house and suddenly there was a flash of lightning and it began to rain. The wind came up. Thunder rolled across the sky and there was more lightning flashing. In the living room they watched it out the side window. The rain came down hard at a slant.

Let’s go outside and enjoy it, Lorraine said. Come on, Daddy.

They helped him move out to the front porch and stood watching the rain falling on the grass and out in the graveled street. There were already puddles in the low places and the silver poplar trees were dark, streaming with water. Lorraine held her hand out to the rain and patted her face and then cupped both hands and caught the overflow from the gutters and held her hands up to Dad’s face. He stood leaning on his cane, his face dripping. They watched him, he looked straight out across the lawn past the wrought iron fence, past the wet street to the lot beyond, thinking about something.

Doesn’t it smell good, Mary said.

Yeah, he said softly. His eyes were wet, but they couldn’t say if that was from tears or rainwater.

THAT AFTERNOON, when the rains came, John Wesley was standing at the counter in the Holt post office mailing a package for his mother. When he was finished he went outside and stood next to an old woman who was waiting under the porch of the little entryway. Cars went by on Main Street splashing up wakes of spray, their headlights on, their windshield wipers going fast. The old woman was staring at him. You’re that preacher’s boy.

My father’s a minister, yes.

I recognized you. She turned and looked out at the wet street. How about this rain?

I wish it’d quit, he said.

Oh no. You don’t know nothing about rain out here. You haven’t been in Holt long enough. You got to want it to keep on.

The rain came down hard and sheeted off the street, filling the gutters, running toward the town pond. Then as they were watching, it stopped as suddenly as it had started. The sun shone out from behind the racing clouds.

That’s it. That’s all we get, the old woman said. She stepped out briskly and walked away up the block.

He watched her. He moved out from under the porch roof and crossed Main Street and turned up Fourth Street. The trees were all dark and dripping, the sidewalk spotted with puddles. In the air was the sweet pure after-rain smell and the smell of wet pavement and wet ground. He was three blocks from his house when the two high school boys pulled up at the curb in a black Ford. One of them said, Hey. Come over here.

John Wesley looked at them.

We want to talk to you about something.

About what?

Something you need to know.

When he turned and went on along the sidewalk, they jumped out of the car and caught up with him.

Where you going? Wait up. Shake hands, son. The first boy put out his hand and when John Wesley only looked at it the boy snatched his hand and squeezed it.

What do you want?

What do we want. He turned to the other boy who was shorter but dressed in the same way, in long baggy shorts.

We want to help you.

That’s right. Why don’t we just walk along here and we can talk.

I don’t think so.

No, let’s just walk along here. He draped his arm around John Wesley’s shoulder, moving him forward, and the other boy came along on the opposite side. They walked to the end of the block and crossed the street.

I figure you’re headed home, aren’t you. The bigger boy stared closely at the side of John Wesley’s head. Am I right?

It’s none of your business.

You’re going back to your house. We know that.

He has to get himself ready, the other boy said. She’ll be picking him up any minute.

How’s she doing for you? the first boy said.

Who?

Genevieve. She’s fucking you now, we know that too.

Shut up. He pushed the boy’s arm off his shoulder.

Here now. Don’t get upset. I was just going to give you a few pointers. You don’t want to make a mistake about this.

Leave me alone.

Now be nice. We’re trying to be friends here.

We only want to give you some advice, the second boy said. Is she treating you right? Tell us that. John Wesley stepped off the sidewalk to move away but they moved in front of him now. I mean is she fucking you the way you want?

Fuck you, John Wesley said.

No, I can’t do that, the boy laughed. I might like to.

She fucked you pretty good, didn’t she, the second boy said. Like you told us she did for you.

Fucked me dry, the first boy said.

Shut your mouth, said John Wesley.

He don’t like that kind of talk.

He’s a preacher’s boy. Course he don’t. He don’t appreciate bad language.

He still never answered you.

No, he didn’t. Does she fuck you the way you want? Tell us the truth.

I said shut your stupid mouth.

Because she’s done about twenty of us by now. She don’t keep anybody for long, though. Fuck her while you can, is what I say.

John Wesley swung and hit the boy in the face. The boy coughed and bent over and spat in the grass. You little son of a bitch. I think you broke a tooth. He felt inside his mouth with his fingers and looked at the bloody piece in his hand. He grabbed John Wesley around the neck and hit him until his nose spurted blood and he fell down on the wet sidewalk. The boy leaned over him and wadded his shirt in his fist. I ought to beat the shit out of you. You little son of a bitch. He let go of the shirt and John Wesley dropped back on his elbows.