Beulah!
Lil Judy, Jacky, and Rochelle — Hatch’s first cousins, age exact versions of himself, Jesus, and Porsha but raised differently, living now in a place they had never been, possibly living a life they had never known and would never know; when had he last seen them? Surely at their father’s funeral, old drunk Dave — followed Beulah up to the coffin, a mocking light in their eyes, indifferent to the proceedings. They had never been close to Lula Mae. Only Hatch and no one else from his family had attended Dave’s funeral, and only he and Uncle John had gone to their grandmother’s funeral, Big Judy, Dave’s mother, the woman Dave’s crumb snatchers called Mamma — they called Beulah that too — since she had raised them.
The church was crowded with people. Standing at the back and along the walls. Who would have thought that Lula Mae had so many friends and acquaintances? Who would have thought?
She walked in the road with her black umbrella open to the pounding sun. She spoke to everyone she saw.
How you duche?
Fine.
Alright.
And the next person she saw a few feet ahead.
How you duche?
Fine.
Alright.
And the next person.
How you duche?
Fine.
Alright.
Children greeted her. How you, Miss Pulliam?
Alright. Yall be careful playing in that road.
She knew everyone. All of West Memphis. Now all of West Memphis came to say goodbye, stopped by the first pew to offer their condolences to the family. Hatch didn’t recognize most of the well-wishers. Perhaps he knew them beyond recognition. Memory knowledge.
The hot church made hotter with hot people, two small windows to let in the hot air and let out the sweat. The church was a small one-story structure with chipped and dusty stained-glass windows. A little piece of church pastored by a little piece of preacher. No white-robed nurse standing with one white-gloved hand behind her back to hold Sheila in her seat and fan her when she got the Holy Ghost. Yes, Lord. Oh come oh come oh come oh come oh glory. No ark that rocked to Beulah’s shouts. You may bury me in the east. You may bury me in the west. But I’ll hear that trumpet sound in the morning. Lula Mae, dear sister, hear that trumpet blast.
Porsha sat next to him bent forward on the pew, face in her hands, water escaping between her fingers. Lula Mae would greet Porsha with a hunk of grease in the palm of one hand and a straightening comb in the other, the necessary tools to keep her hair from going back home.
Hatch, put some of this Duke on yo head. Make you look like those nice boys I work for.
I hate white folks.
Hush yo mouth. You don’t hate nobody.
How you know?
What I tell you bout talkin back! You have to love somebody before you can hate them.
Porsha had wanted to track down Jesus and notify him of Lula Mae’s death. Reasoning swiftly, Hatch had persuaded her not to. Remember how he acted Christmas? What if … The family was none the wiser about the situation with Jesus, John, and Lucifer. He would keep it that way.
The choir sang:
Swing low
Sweet Lord
And carry all home
When I shall stand
Before the great white throne
When he shall wrap me
In the flapping wings of his robe
If I make it home
My saviour let me hold his hand
You’ll know, he satisfied me
Their bodies swayed, following the motion of the spirit.
I AM THE WAY, the preacher said. No one comes to the Father except through me.
Yes, Lawd.
My sheep, hear my voice. Know and follow me that I give eternal life. No one shall snatch you out of my hand.
Wooh. Beulah let her soul escape through her mouth. If I could have been there, sister. Wooh. I would have seen you through. Mamma and Daddy told me to watch over you. Wooh, Beulah howled. Wooh.
Hatch looked at Porsha. They both wanted to laugh, Beulah’s grief humorous to hear.
Aw, Sam! Wish I had been there. To hold up yo head. To put a pillow under you. Mamma told me to take care of you. You were her only boy. The youngest. She told me to take care of you. And I did my best. But this wicked woman … Sam!
O Grave, where is thy sting? Beulah, humming the words, preacherlike, singing them. O Death, where is thy victory?
The young organist — judging by the looks of him, about Hatch’s age — dripped water from the wells of his eyes. He wiped his eyes quickly to keep from missing a chord.
Wooh. Ah, Lula Mae!
Sheila attempted to quiet Beulah. He understood. She had faith. Belief. But he would not give in. Both grief and belief deceived.
Let us rise now. Heavy though we are. Rise as on that great getting-up morning.
The words dimly echoed what Hatch was attempting to slip away from.
For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.
Yes!
Stand now, and go, stand, having your loins girth about with truth, and having on the breastplate of salvation. Stand now, and go.
MISS JONES, Reverend Blunt said, we got a problem here. He took both of Sheila’s hands with his long-fingered preacher hands. He wore a sky-blue suit made in heaven. I couldn’t find nobody to fix the air conditioning. Sheila said nothing.
Hatch gave the reverend his meanest look but the reverend wouldn’t look in his direction. The reverend had promised that the faulty air-conditioning units in the two limousines would be fixed by the time the funeral ended. A promise he either couldn’t or wouldn’t keep. Now they would drive two hours to the Houston graveyard in the full heat. Lula Mae’s instructions for her burial written in her own hand: BURY ME WITH MAMMA DADDY AND THE REST.
Now, I’m gon return some of yo money. The reverend rubbed Sheila’s hand as he spoke. We can discuss that later. Why don’t yall hurry on. It’s a long drive.
They loaded up the limousines. Rolled down the windows. Prayed for a cool breeze. Started the engines.
Reverend Blunt leaned into the open driver’s window and passed his mother what looked like a brick of hundred-dollar bills. In case of emergency, he said. The mother smiled. I’ll see you when I get back, he said.
SUN WHIPPED THE LIMOUSINE FROM SIDE TO SIDE. Slapped him across the face. He struggled out of his blazer. Loosened his tie. The wet heat touched him everywhere at once, a hot bath. Sheila looked quietly ahead, determined. Intact and withdrawn and conscious all at the same time. Lula Mae’s long spell in bed had prepared her for this moment. Death was a challenge, for that was what it was, a war. Beulah appeared to be asleep. Porsha was looking out the open window, wind moving her hair. Gracie and the rest of the family followed in the other limousine. Sweat moved in the wind and he thought of Elsa’s fragrant rain of black hair. It came to him just like that. The first thought of her in days. Since … He leaned forward in the limousine to get a better view of the tall trees that lined the road and held the sky in place. (He would sit like this for two hours and let the heat prey on him.) Looking and seeing, everything neither familiar nor strange. Abu had never been down South, and Hatch had spent many hours talking up images of his southern experience. He wanted to tell himself these now, bring it all back, but that past was hidden behind a screen of trees. Mules and shadows of mules black-moving against the green. Black-moving into the red ‘Sippi delta. Black images glided through the blue sky. He sat and watched from the black limousine. Black absorbs without reflection, roots itself in unreflecting calm.