Freddie Owens - Then Like the Blind Man - Orbie's Story

Another preacher, a colored man, raised his eyes to the ceiling, “It don’t matter who you is or where you come from if you loves the Laud! Thank you Jesus!”

“Thank you Jesus, that’s right,” said the white boy and everybody laughed and clapped their hands and the boy went over to the side and a big man in coveralls stepped in and started to preach like the boy had. It went on like that for a long time, one preacher after another, all colored except for that boy, going on about healing and snakes and what all. One began to holler around about hell, fire and brimstone, how people that weren’t saved would be thrown in a lake of fire.

But what about Daddy? He was saved, wasn’t he? How come he got thrown in a lake of fire?

“Wha-what you crying about?” Willis said.

“I ain’t crying,” I said.

“Yes you is.”

“I’m scared Willis.”

Willis right away climbed down off the bench and went up to the front where Granny was standing. He took her by the hand and she looked down at him and then up where I was on the bench. Then she came back and sat down next to me. Willis stayed up front. Happy tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t mad or anything. She put her arm around me. “What’s the matter sweetheart?”

“I’m scared Granny.”

“Of what? These people?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh now, they won’t hurt you none.”

Granny’s arm around me made me feel better, even with all her veins. “Moses will be bringing them snakes out in a minute. You want me to take you home?”

I looked off to the front of the church house. Some of the people had cleared away. There was Moses, standing in front of the stage now. One of the boxes sat on the altar. I could see the words ‘In Jesus Name’ printed on the side.

“I’ll stay,” I said.

Somebody shouted again. Then another and another till there were a whole bunch of people, doing it all over again, crying and praising the name of Jesus.

“You’ll stay with me?” I said.

“I’m right here,” Granny said.

And she stayed too, all through Moses walking down the isle, taking snakes out and offering them around. Some people took, some didn’t.

The snakes turned their brown gold heads ever which a way, charging them around at the people. Their slick white bellies came up orange in the lamplight.

I hugged in closer to Granny.

A little black man with silver eyeglasses too big for his head stood with a copperhead draped over his hands. “Let a Baptist see one deze and he’ll sho back off. Sho ‘nuff. He be all right it come to baptizing and praying, but when it come to dis, he be partial. Ya’ll can’t be partial when it come to da Word.” He held the snake out like he wanted to give it to everybody there. “Dis here da Word!”

Right then I saw Willis up front. A big golden rattlesnake stood up from his hand — like a giant letter ‘S’ — bigger around than his arm.

“That boy’s something now ain’t he?” Granny was facing toward the front but with her eyes closed. Her eyeballs moved underneath her eyelids. “Uh huh. He shore got the gift.”

Moses came on down the aisle. The tall boy in the orange hat followed him with one of the boxes. Moses plucked snakes from the box, holding them up whilst they twisted and turned and slicked their tongues out.

“He offers you one, you just shake your head ‘no’,” Granny said. She stood up. I stood up with her.

Underneath Moses’ black coat, I could see where the sweat had soaked through his shirt. He was holding two little snakes in one hand and a great big snake with brown and gold beads all over its body in the other. He offered that one to Granny but she just smiled and shook her head ‘no’ and then, without even looking at me, he turned and went over to the other side of the aisle where there were some other people he tried to give the snakes to. They didn’t want any either.

That’s when he looked back at me. That’s when he walked over. Granny tried to shake her head — I think to tell Moses not to bother — but he wasn’t looking at her.

The big snake raised its beady head to look at me, and when it did, the two little ones in Moses’ other hand swung around to look at me too, pea-colored eyes, black slits up the middle. I could see their bellies, their tongues slicking in and out. I stared into the pea-colored eyes, unable to move.

The church house got quiet. I could feel all the people, looking at us. Then it was like all at once all the people went away, and then there was just Moses and me, standing off somewhere by ourselves, looking at each other.

Then Daddy’s face came on top of Moses’ face. Daddy’s voice, not out loud, but quiet came inside my head, spooky words I’d never heard before.

If you take this up son, you’ll have to live with it. All you got to do is reach out.

Daddy jerked his chin and Moses’ face came again. There was the church house again too and all the people. I could move now. I could run away if I wanted. I could shake my head for Moses to take away the snakes if I wanted. I looked around at all the people, at Miss Alma and Granpaw, at the fiddle-woman and at Bird. Granny stood beside me with her eyes closed like before. Without even looking at me, she raised her hand and put it on my shoulder.

That’s when I reached out.

Going the old wagon road from Kingdom Church to Kingdom Town, Miss Alma’s was the first house you came to. Kingdom Town was just clapboard houses — wet-wood shacks mostly — scattered over a hill of pine trees in front of the old railroad tracks. Miss Alma’s sat back from the road, nice, not junky, not like some of the other houses. It was painted yellow with white trim and had boxes in the windows full of pink and white flowers that seemed to nod and bob about even when there wasn’t any breeze.

Whenever Miss Alma laughed her teeth shocked out at you like a clean white plate. I liked her, and I think she liked me too because she was always kidding — not like Granpaw, not teasing or anything — just to get a smile across my face. “Boy I thought you’s gonna kiss dat old snake! I shorely did! I thought old Moses gone marry you to it. Here dey come, I thought. Mister Orbie and old Missus Coppahead! Sho ‘nuff!”

She was busy all the time. Everywhere you looked there her big self would be, hanging out clothes, chopping wood or sweeping the floors. She had two little boys me and Willis played with. Fable and Vern. There were other kids too — all colored — Dewey and Daryl and Daryl’s little sister, Jewel Anne. Jewel Anne had white eyes and braids going ever which a way over the top of her head.

They all seemed to like me. They liked me so much I forgot to be afraid. I think it was because of the grownups they liked me. And the grownups liked me because of how I held onto that snake. What with that and me being a white boy down from Detroit and all, I reckon they thought I was special.

Miss Alma put up with most anything we wanted to do as long as it didn’t hurt nobody. She let us use her chairs to make a jail. I’d make us up a story to play, you know, like Mighty Joe Young or Elvis Presley and Jailhouse Rock, or some other kind of show with gangsters and guns, and Superman or Dick Tracy to be the good guy. There were always stories you needed a jail for.

Fable made up stories too. He said his stories were for real even when we all knew it was a lie. He was a little bigger than the rest of us, had a round face with big eyes that would go wide open all of a sudden like in a surprise. Sometimes he stared and walked at you, zombie like, with his arms straight down to his sides. It was hard to tell if he was being for real or just pretending. One time we found him sitting on a tree stump, boohooing like he was hurt real bad. We all came up real quiet and stood around him there. Vern reached out and put his hand on Fable’s shoulder like to see if he was okay or not.