There was a commotion outside. The impact hit the church in waves, from outside to in. The Apostle was hit by reverberation. At the front of the church he would be the last to catch the news.
“DISGRACE!” said the voice. Firm, with an authority that nobody had heard from him before. Pastor Bligh stood gleaming at the foot of the church’s steps. His left hand held an open Bible and his right pointed to the steeple. The few who had come to church when he was Pastor were astonished to hear the man shout, yet there he was, bellowing like a risen spirit.
Inside, the Apostle did not know what was taking place. “Church, settle down. Let’s not have any distractions.
And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much Earth; and immediately—
“ABOMINATION!”
The Apostle heard a war cry. Anger was an emotion he cursed. Bemusement was better, amusement was better than that.
“Looks like somebody escape from Bellevue in God’s good morning. Now what is the world coming to, church? Let’s get back to the scripture and let the Lord have mercy on that poor soul.
And immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of Earth: But when the sun was up, it—
“ANTICHRIST!”
The Apostle’s own three words had returned to curse him. The book fell from his hand.
“Who the Hell is that?”
Rumor would spread that his eyes went red. Lucinda was already ahead of him, and she returned, hopping and skipping like an imp with a secret.
“Is Pastor Bligh! Is Pastor Bligh!”
Hector Bligh held his ground as the sun baked his back. He felt what he thought was youth, but was the disappearance of twenty-two years of burden. People had a way of carrying afflictions like possessions, thinking suffering was the evidence of life. But the Holy Spirit had made him new. It had revitalized his moribund body with purpose and promise. Maybe he was overextending like Icarus, but his hand felt greater than the wind and mightier than the sun. He would stand in the middle of the road and not be moved. They came out to meet him, Lucinda first, followed by The Five, Clarence, and finally, the Apostle York.
“Well, you too ugly to be any woman’s son so what should we call you? The Prodigal Bastard?” the Apostle said.
“I can think of a couple names for you,” returned Bligh.
“Really now. But look at you, eh? Maybe I should have my congregation’s arse’s flogged. I mean, look at what it did for you.”
“I know your ways. I know you.”
“You don’t say. Couple days ago you didn’t even know yourself. But let me remind you, because you’ve gone from drunk to deluded. You, Hector Bligh, are a stupid old man. You’re a failure, you’re a drunkard, and you’re the mess that never turned into a message. Now you’re rising up like you were dead for three days, but do mankind a favor, Bligh. Do Gibbeah a favor. Stay down. You hear me? Stay down on the ground. It’s the only place you’re fit for. Just go back where you came from and have a good sleep. Speaking of sleeping, how is the Widow? Does she have you under heavy manners?”
The crowd laughed in uneven rhythm. Some had never felt tension so tight.
“Bligh. Bligh, stop embarrassing yourself. Stop embarrassing the God you serve. He forgives you. I forgive you. In good time Gibbeah will forgive you. And you know what? I’m sure somewhere deep down in Hell even your brother forgives you. Did he trip, did something he saw push him over, who can tell these days?”
No sound came from the crowd.
“God was there, Bligh. God was there the day your brother died. It must have felt really — what’s the word I’m looking for? What, what, what. Noooo, not that one, no that’s too … no … I know! I know the word you would use. Heavenly. Le petit mort. The little death. Must be something for a man to see his preacher brother mounting his wife like a dog bucking a bitch. You see this man?” York shouted. He was circling Bligh as he spoke. “Everybody in Kingston knows this man! Everybody know the destruction this man unleash from his pants! Everybody know about you and the in-law!”
“She wasn’t a bitch … th, th, that have nothing to do with this.”
“But it has everything to do with this, you uncouth negro.”
The Apostle continued to circle the Pastor as he spoke, but then stopped right in front of him. Close enough for Bligh to see the scar below the Apostle’s lip.
“You think that because your clothes are washed clean suddenly your soul is white as snow? You think purity comes from washing soap? Why don’t we all do it like you, Hector? Here we are sanctifying ourselves before the Lord, covering ourselves in the blood of the lamb, when all we needed to do was take a bath. But I believe your story, you know, Bligh. I think he just tripped. Ever hear a neck break, Bligh? You think there would be a crunch because of bone, but it’s almost like when you snap a carrot.
“Thwock!”
The crowd jumped. The Apostle’s face was less than a foot from the Rum Preacher. He whispered.
“But I’m sure he forgives you. I’m sure the woman would write a letter to you right now, if she could get two sentences out without crapping herself. Did you know she was in Bellevue? Stop making a spectacle of yourself. Please. I could let this town know all about you, but you know what? Even I believe in redemption, Bligh, and you’re an old man. Show some dignity and stop embarrassing God.” The Apostle York turned his back to him and walked to the church. Mid-stride he turned around, smirking.
“Besides,” he shouted, “I’m sure we can find some way to occupy you in church! Maybe a broom to sweep the floor. You’re already doing it with your arse.” The man in black walked away while the man in white held his ground.
Lucinda followed behind the Apostle quickly, stopping once to glare at Bligh.
“Ye are of your father, the Devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do,” spoke the Rum Preacher.
The man in black stopped.
“He was a murderer from the beginning and abode not in truth, because there is no truth in him.”
“Bligh.”
“When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh his own: for he is a liar and the father of lies.”
“Hector Bligh, by all that’s Holy.”
“Not a damn thing bout you Holy, but I know you.”
“I serve the way and the truth and the light,” countered the Apostle.
“Your light blacker than black. I know you.”
“You know me? What do you think you know? Half of your mind you already burn away with liquor. You who throw your dung on God’s altar. Backward Kingston boy lost in country, what do you think you know?”
“I know bout your red books and your black books. And I know why you come here.”
“Rhetoric, rhetoric, so much rhetoric. Tell me, does God have His hand up your arse? You being a dummy, I figured, but God a ventriloquist? This is new. You’re mad, Bligh. Such a sad development. There was a time when people smiled when they spoke of you. Now they laugh.”
“Then let them laugh. Who laugh last, laugh best. Soon there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. But I will deal with you first.”
“Deal with me? You know who I am? You—”
“I know who you come for.”
“Bligh. Don’t come near this church again or I’ll—”
“Ephesians Two, verse twenty. Ephesians Three, verse five.”