John took Delilah and sat down with her in the easy chair. His mother bent over Roy, and held him still, while his father, carefully—but still Roy screamed—lifted the bandage and stared at the wound. Roy’s sobs began to lessen. Gabriel readjusted the bandage. “You see,” said Elizabeth, finally, “he ain’t nowhere near dead.”
“It sure ain’t your fault that he ain’t dead.” He and Elizabeth considered each other for a moment in silence. “He came mightly close to losing an eye. Course, his eyes ain’t as big as your’n, so I reckon you don’t think it matters so much.” At this her face hardened; he smiled. “Lord, have mercy,” he said, “you think you ever going to learn to do right? Where was you when all this happened? Who let him go downstairs?”
“Ain’t nobody let him go downstairs, he just went. He got a head just like his father, it got to be broken before it’ll bow. I was in the kitchen.”
“Where was Johnnie?”
“He was in here?”
“Where?”
“He was on the fire escape.”
“Didn’t he know Roy was downstairs?”
“I reckon.”
“What you mean, you reckon? He ain’t got your big eyes for nothing, does he?” He looked over at John. “Boy, you see your brother go downstairs?”
“Gabriel, ain’t no sense in trying to blame Johnnie. You know right well if you have trouble making Roy behave, he ain’t going to listen to his brother. He don’t hardly listen to me.”
“How come you didn’t tell your mother Roy was downstairs?”
John said nothing, staring at the blanket which covered Delilah.
“Boy, you hear me? You want me to take a strap to you?”
“No, you ain’t,” she said. “You ain’t going to take no strap to this boy, not today you ain’t. Ain’t a soul to blame for Roy’s lying up there now but you—you because you done spoiled him so that he thinks he can do just anything and get away with it. I’m here to tell you that ain’t no way to raise no child. You don’t pray to the Lord to help you do better than you been doing, you going to live to shed bitter tears that the Lord didn’t take his soul today.” And she was trembling. She moved, unseeing, toward John and took Delilah from his arms. She looked back at Gabriel, who had risen, who stood near the sofa, staring at her. And she found in his face not fury alone, which would not have surprised her; but hatred so deep as to become insupportable in its lack of personality. His eyes were struck alive, unmoving, blind with malevolence—she felt, like the pull of the earth at her feet, his longing to witness her perdition. Again, as though it might be propitiation, she moved the child in her arms. And at this his eyes changed, he looked at Elizabeth, the mother of his children, the helpmeet given by the Lord. Then her eyes clouded; she moved to leave the room; her foot struck the lunchbox lying on the floor.
“John,” she said, “pick up your father’s lunchbox like a good boy.”
She heard, behind her, his scrambling movement as he left the easy chair, the scrape and jangle of the lunchbox as he picked it up, bending his dark head near the toe of his father’s heavy shoe.
The Outing
EACH SUMMER the church gave an outing. It usually took place on the Fourth of July, that being the day when most of the church-members were free from work; it began quite early in the morning and lasted all day. The saints referred to it as the ‘whosoever will’ outing, by which they meant that, though it was given by the Mount of Olives Pentecostal Assembly for the benefit of its members, all men were free to join them, Gentile, Jew or Greek or sinner. The Jews and the Greeks, to say nothing of the Gentiles—on whom, for their livelihood, most of the saints depended—showed themselves, year after year, indifferent to the invitation; but sinners of the more expected hue were seldom lacking. This year they were to take a boat trip up the Hudson as far as Bear Mountain where they would spend the day and return as the moon rose over the wide river. Since on other outings they had merely taken a subway ride as far as Pelham Bay or Van Cortlandt Park, this year’s outing was more than ever a special occasion and even the deacon’s two oldest boys, Johnnie and Roy, and their friend, David Jackson, were reluctantly thrilled. These three tended to consider themselves sophisticates, no longer, like the old folks, at the mercy of the love or the wrath of God.
The entire church was going and for weeks in advance talked of nothing else. And for weeks in the future the outing would provide interesting conversation. They did not consider this frivolous. The outing, Father James declared from his pulpit a week before the event, was for the purpose of giving the children of God a day of relaxation; to breathe a purer air and to worship God joyfully beneath the roof of heaven; and there was nothing frivolous about that. And, rather to the alarm of the captain, they planned to hold church services aboard the ship. Last year Sister McCandless had held an impromptu service in the unbelieving subway car she played the tambourine and sang and exhorted sinners and passed through the train distributing tracts. Not everyone had found this admirable, to some it seemed that Sister McCandless was being a little ostentatious. “I praise my Redeemer wherever I go,” she retorted defiantly. “Holy Ghost don’t leave me when I leave the church. I got a every day religion.”
Sylvia’s birthday was on the third, and David and Johnnie and Roy had been saving money for her birthday present. Between them they had five dollars but they could not decide what to give her. Roy’s suggestion that they give her under-things was rudely shouted down: did he want Sylvia’s mother to kill the girl? They were all frightened of the great, raw-boned, outspoken Sister Daniels and for Sylvia’s sake went to great pains to preserve what remained of her good humor. Finally, and at the suggestion of David’s older sister, Lorraine, they bought a small, gold-plated pin cut in the shape of a butterfly. Roy thought that it was cheap and grumbled angrily at their combined bad taste (“Wait till it starts turning her clothes green!” he cried) but David did not think it was so bad; Johnnie thought it pretty enough and he was sure that Sylvia would like it anyway; (“When’s your birthday?” he asked David). It was agreed that David should present it to her on the day of the outing in the presence of them all. (“Man, I’m the oldest cat here,” David said, “you know that girl’s crazy about me”). This was the summer in which they all abruptly began to grow older, their bodies becoming trouble-some and awkward and even dangerous and their voices not to be trusted. David perpetually boasted of the increase of down on his chin and professed to have hair on his chest—“and somewhere else, too,” he added slyly, whereat they all laughed. “You ain’t the only one,” Roy said. “No,” Johnnie said, “I’m almost as old as you are.” “Almost ain’t got it,” David said. “Now ain’t this a hell of a conversation for church boys?” Roy wanted to know.
The morning of the outing they were all up early; their father sang in the kitchen and their mother, herself betraying an excitement nearly youthful, scrubbed and dressed the younger children and laid the plates for breakfast. In the bedroom which they shared Roy looked wistfully out of the window and turned to Johnnie.
“Got a good mind to stay home,” he said. “Probably have more fun.” He made a furious gesture toward the kitchen. “Why doesn’t he stay home?”
Johnnie, who was looking forward to the day with David and who had not the remotest desire to stay home for any reason and who knew, moreover, that Gabriel was not going to leave Roy alone in the city, not even if the heavens fell, said lightly, squirming into clean underwear: “Oh, he’ll probably be busy with the old folks. We can stay out of his way.”
Roy sighed and began to dress. “Be glad when I’m a man,” he said.
Lorraine and David and Mrs. Jackson were already on the boat when they arrived. They were among the last; most of the church, Father James, Brother Elisha, Sister McCandless, Sister Daniels and Sylvia were seated near the rail of the boat in a little semi-circle, conversing in strident tones. Father James and Sister McCandless were remarking the increase of laxity among God’s people and debating whether
or not the church should run a series of revival meetings. Sylvia sat there, saying nothing, smiling painfully now and then at young Brother Elisha, who spoke loudly of the need for a revival and who continually attempted to include Sylvia in the conversation. Elsewhere on the boat similar conversations were going on. The saints of God were together and very conscious this morning of their being together and of their sainthood; and were determined that the less enlightened world should know who they were and remark upon it. To this end there were a great many cries of “Praise the Lord!” in greeting and the formal holy kiss. The children, bored with the familiar spectacle, had already drawn apart and amused themselves by loud cries and games that were no less exhibitionistic than that being played by their parents. Johnnie’s nine year old sister, Lois, since she professed salvation, could not very well behave as the other children did; yet no degree of salvation could have equipped her to enter into the conversation of the grown-ups; and she was very violently disliked among the adolescents and could not join them either. She wandered about, therefore, unwillingly forlorn, contenting herself to some extent by a great display of virtue in her encounters with the unsaved children and smiling brightly at the grown-ups. She came to Brother Elisha’s side. “Praise the Lord,” he cried, stroking her head and continuing his conversation.
Lorraine and Mrs. Jackson met Johnnie’s mother for the first time as she breathlessly came on board, dressed in the airy and unreal blue which Johnnie would forever associate with his furthest memories of her. Johnnie’s baby brother, her youngest, happiest child, clung round her neck; she made him stand, staring in wonder at the strange, endless deck, while she was introduced. His mother, on all social occasions, seemed fearfully distracted, as though she awaited, at any moment, some crushing and irrevocable disaster. This disaster might be the sudden awareness of a run in her stocking or private knowledge that the trump of judgment was due, within five minutes, to sound: but, whatever it was, it lent her a certain agitated charm and people, struggling to guess what it might be that so claimed her inward attention, never failed, in the process, to be won over. She talked with Lorraine and Mrs. Jackson for a few moments, the child tugging at her skirts, Johnnie watching her with a smile; and at last, the child becoming always more restive, said that she must go—into what merciless arena one dared not imagine—but hoped, with a despairing smile which clearly indicated the improbability of such happiness, that she would be able to see them later. They watched her as she walked slowly to the other end of the boat, sometimes pausing in conversation, always (as though it were a duty) smiling a little and now and then considering Lois where she stood at Brother Elishas’ knee.
“She’s very friendly,” Mrs. Jackson said. “She looks like you, Johnnie.”
David laughed. “Now why you want to say a thing like that, Ma? That woman ain’t never done nothing to you.”
Johnnie grinned, embarrassed, and pretended to menace David with his fists.
“Don’t you listen to that old, ugly boy,” Lorraine said. “He just trying to make you feel bad. Your mother’s real good-looking. Tell her I said so.”
This embarrassed him even more, but he made a mock bow and said, “Thank you, Sister.” And to David: “Maybe now you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut.”
“Who’ll learn to keep whose mouth shut? What kind of talk is that?”
He turned and faced his father, who stood smiling on them as from a height.
“Mrs. Jackson, this is my father,” said Roy quickly. “And this is Miss Jackson. You know David.”
Lorraine and Mrs. Jackson looked up at the deacon with polite and identical smiles.
“How do you do?” Lorraine said. And from Mrs. Jackson: “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Praise the Lord,” their father said. He smiled. “Don’t you let Johnnie talk fresh to you.”
“Oh, no, we were just kidding around,” David said. There was a short, ugly silence. The deacon said: “It looks like a good day for the outing, praise the Lord. You kids have a good time. Is this your first time with us, Mrs. Jackson?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Jackson. “David came home and told me about it and it’s been so long since I’ve been in the country I just decided I’d take me a day off. And Lorraine’s not been feeling too strong, I thought the fresh air would do her some good.” She smiled a little painfully as she spoke. Lorraine looked amused.
“Yes, it will, nothing like God’s fresh air to help the feeble.” At this description of herself as feeble Lorraine looked ready to fall into the Hudson and coughed nastily into her handkerchief. David, impelled by his own perverse demon, looked at Johnnie quickly and murmured, “That’s the truth, deacon.” The deacon looked at him and smiled and turned to Mrs. Jackson. “We been hoping that your son might join our church someday. Roy brings him out to service every Sunday. Do you like the services, son?” This last was addressed in a hearty voice to David; who, recovering from his amazement at hearing Roy mentioned as his especial pal (for he was Johnnie’s friend, it was to be with Johnnie that he came to church!) smiled and said, “Yes sir, I like them alright,” and looked at Roy, who considered his father with an expression at once contemptuous, ironic and resigned and at Johnnie, whose face was a mask of rage. He looked sharply at the deacon again; but he, with his arm around Roy, was still talking.
“This boy came to the Lord just about a month ago,” he said proudly. “The Lord saved him just like that. Believe me, Sister Jackson, ain’t no better fortress for nobody, young or old, than the arms of Jesus. My son’ll tell you so, ain’t it, Roy?”
They considered Roy with a stiff, cordial curiosity. He muttered murderously, “Yes sir.”
“Johnnie tells me you’re a preacher,” Mrs. Jackson said at last. “I’ll come out and hear you sometime with David.”
“Don’t come out to hear me,” he said. “You come out and listen to the Word of God. We’re all just vessels in His hand. Do you know the Lord, sister?”
“I try to do His will,” Mrs. Jackson said.
He smiled kindly. “We must all grow in grace.” He looked at Lorraine. “I’ll be expecting to see you too, young lady.”
“Yes, we’ll be out,” Lorraine said. They shook hands. “It’s very nice to have met you,” she said.
“Goodbye.” He looked at David. “Now you be good. I want to see you saved soon.” He released Roy and started to walk away. “You kids enjoy yourselves. Johnnie, don’t you get into no mischief, you hear me?”
He affected not to have heard; he put his hands in his pants’ pockets and pulled out some change and pretended to count it. His hand was clammy and it shook. When his father repeated his admonition, part of the change spilled to the deck and he bent to pick it up. He wanted at once to shout to his father the most dreadful curses that he knew and he wanted to weep. He was aware that they were all intrigued by the tableau presented by his father and himself, that they were all vaguely cognizant of an unnamed and deadly tension. From his knees on the deck he called back (putting into his voice as much asperity, as much fury and hatred as he dared):
“Don’t worry about me, Daddy. Roy’ll see to it that I behave.”
There was a silence after he said this; and he rose to his feet and saw that they were all watching him. David looked pitying and shocked, Roy’s head was bowed and he looked apologetic. His father called:
“Excuse yourself, Johnnie, and come here.”
“Excuse me,” he said, and walked over to his father. He looked up into his father’s face with an anger which surprised and even frightened him. But he did not drop his eyes, knowing that his father saw there (and he wanted him to see it) how much he hated him.
“What did you say?” his father asked.
“I said you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t think I’ll get into any mischief.” And his voice surprised him, it was more deliberately cold and angry than he had intended and there was a sardonic stress on the word ‘mischief.’ He knew that his father would then and
there have knocked him down if they had not been in the presence of saints and strangers.
“You be careful how you speak to me. Don’t you get grown too fast. We get home, I’ll pull down those long pants and we’ll see who’s the man, you hear me?”
Yes we will, he thought and said nothing. He looked with a deliberate casualness about the deck. Then they felt the lurch of the boat as it began to move from the pier. There was an excited raising of voices and “I’ll see you later,” his father said and turned away.
He stood still, trying to compose himself to return to Mrs. Jackson and Lorraine. But as he turned with his hands in his pants’ pockets he saw that David and Roy were coming toward him and he stopped and waited for them.
“It’s a bitch.” Roy said.
David looked at him, shocked. “That’s no language for a saved boy.” He put his arm around Johnnie’s shoulder. “We’re off to Bear Mountain,” he cried, “up the glorious Hudson”—and he made a brutal gesture with his thumb.
“Now suppose Sylvia saw you do that,” said Roy, “what would you say, huh?”
“We needn’t worry about her,” Johnnie said. “She’ll be sitting with the old folks all day long.”
“Oh, we’ll figure out a way to take care of them,” said David. He turned to Roy. “Now you the saved one, why don’t you talk to Sister Daniels and distract her attention while we talk to the girl? You the baby, anyhow, girl don’t want to talk to you.”
“I ain’t got enough salvation to talk to that hag,” Roy said. “I got a Daddy-made salvation. I’m saved when I’m with Daddy.” They laughed and Roy added, “And I ain’t no baby, either, I got everything my Daddy got.”
“And a lot your Daddy don’t dream of,” David said.
Oh, thought Johnnie, with a sudden, vicious, chilling anger, he doesn’t have to dream about it!
“Now let’s act like we Christians,” David said. “If we was real smart now, we’d go over to where she’s sitting with all those people and act like we wanted to hear about God. Get on the good side of her mother.”