Then a breeze rattled the poplars and I saw a spooky shadow disappearing along the ground. It came into view again further up — disappearing and reappearing with the shifting light, with the breeze. “There’s a path Willis. I can see a path.”
“Mo place up dat way. In dem wood. Talk to da rain up dare.” Willis smacked Chester with the rope and we went on.
I wondered how a person could talk to the rain, or to any thing that didn’t have a mouth and couldn’t talk back. “Moses talk to trees too?”
“Say he do.”
“Don’t you know? Haven’t you never seen him?”
“I seen him talk to da sa-sky.”
“How’s he do it?”
“Smoke. And a broom.”
“A broom?”
“Uh huh. He smoke da sky. Den sa-sa-sweep it. Make da rain be good.”
I wondered what might happen if Moses and Victor were to get in a fight. Victor had those Superman muscles, but Moses had magic. At least, it seemed like he did. I bet he was strong too. He looked strong. Maybe he could beat Victor. “Let’s go up there Willis. Let’s go see Moses!”
“See him at da house. He painting.”
“I know, but he ain’t never there when I look. He’s always sneaking up. Like you. Then he goes.” It was true. Granny and Granpaw’s house was getting painted, but, except for that one time, I’d never seen Moses do any work. “Let’s go up there Willis.”
“Na uh,” Willis said. “Not ‘less Mo say.”
We went down a hill and up another. Then we found a path through the woods and turned off.
“This ain’t the way home,” I said.
“Ain’t goin’ home,” Willis said.
In a while we came onto a field of yellow grass that went over a low hill with a church house near the top. It was a white cinder block rectangle with yellow stained glass windows along the sides and a silver cross, sticking out bent-wise from the roof over the main doors. A dirt road curved down from the church and went off in the woods on the other side.
“Dat Kingdom Church. Fourth of July be dare,” Willis said. “Ra-Road go Kingdom Town.” He reached around with the rope and smacked Chester’s rump. We went up the hill right up to the church house doors. There was a porch there with a little roof and a sign above the doors that read, KINGDOM CHURCH / WELCOME TO GOD’S HOUSE.
Willis slid off Chester first, then me. I followed Willis around the side of the church to where there was a junk car sitting up in the weeds, nudged up against the cinder block wall of the church house — a rusty old Buick — faded milky blue with flat white-wall tires and no glass in the windows at all.
Willis tied Chester to the door handle and gave me his walking stick. Then he grabbed himself up the front of the car, dragging his potato foot over the hood and up onto the roof to a place just under one of the windows. I could see someone had left the window open a crack. As Willis raised himself to a standing position, the roof of the car made a bunch of loud banging noises.
I reached the walking stick up. “Somebody sees you, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Willis pushed the window up with his stick and crawled in. A breeze whooshed through the trees behind me, bringing the sound of voices. “Goddamn it, Willis!” I whispered.
Willis stuck his head out. “What ya’ll be waitin’ on boy?”
“There’s somebody out here,” I whispered. “Out there in the woods!”
“Ain’t nnnobody.”
“Is too! Willis? Willis!” Willis had ducked back inside. I looked around again at the woods. Another breeze whooshed in through the trees. “Shit,” I said, and climbed up onto the roof of the car. I tried to move careful but the roof made another bunch of loud banging noises. Through the window I could see Willis, standing on a little stage next to a preacher’s stand. Down the front was draped a silk flag — purple with flowing gold letters that read: They Shall Take Up Serpents.
“What you ’fraid of, boy?” Willis said.
“Don’t be calling me that, Willis.” I pulled myself inside and around and down on the floor next to a row of benches, plain long planks nailed together with high plank backs.
“Dis here Kingdom Church,” Willis said.
“You already said that.”
“Mo preach here. Bring da snakes.”
It was pitiful — the hall of the church house was — more worn out and crack-walled than our store front church in Detroit, used up, plain as bones, strewn with tattered red songbooks and cast off bibles. Kerosene lamps, ugly with oily green dust, gawked pot bellied from the windowsills. Some stood guard on little tables off to the sides.
“We fixing to get in a whole heap of trouble,” I said.
Willis walked himself to the front part of the little stage, looked at me and smiled. Then he looked up at the ceiling; his eyes all big and smiley like they were seeing something good. And then he closed his eyes. And then he started to sing — just like he did with the chickens — real high and pretty like a girl.
I sat back on one of the benches and felt my own eyes close. Suddenly I was on top of a hill, looking out over an ocean of white clouds, nothing but blue peaceful spaces and the sun overhead. The sound of Willis’s singing was everywhere, peaceful, filling up the sky, filling up me.
I wasn’t mad any more. Nor was I afraid. I couldn’t even remember how I got to be afraid in the first place. Or why I’d become mad. The whole world had gone to some deep quiet place. I opened my eyes and saw Willis at the preacher’s stand, looking way off somewhere, I thought, with his eyes closed. We could’ve stayed that way a long time, but then came the sound of somebody laughing.
“Willis!” I whispered. “There’s somebody out there!”
Willis came down from the stage, went over and unlocked one of the windows. He pushed it up a crack.
“They’ll see somebody’s here Willis. They’ll see Chester.”
“He on da otha side.” Willis looked out the window. I went over and looked too. There were six or seven white boys out there, laughing, playing around, pushing at each other. A couple of them looked our age, the others older. Bigger. The littlest boy was without a shirt. He had a thick piece of rope in his hand; holding it away from him and shaking it, making it wiggle. “Lordy, Lordy, don’t let this here snake bite me! Please Jesus! Don’t let it!” The other boys laughed. I laughed too.
“Shhh!” Willis said.
Another boy started talking funny, shaking himself all spastic like. “Blah! Blah blah! Blah! Glah glah! Glah glah blah!” He got down on the ground and started rolling around, all the other boys laughing.
One boy stood away from the rest. A fat boy — so fat his cheeks made little bellies under his eyes. He had a gray ball cap with a winged horse on the front.
“That boy’s wearing my hat!” I said.
“Shh,” Willis said. “Dem Circle Stump boys.”
Right then a rock smashed through one of the windows. Glass splashed all over the floor with one of the kerosene lamps.
“Holy rollers!” one of the boys shouted.
“Niggers! Jungle Monkeys!”
Another rock splashed through the window.
“Goddamn,” I said.
“Be still,” Willis whispered.
I looked out again. The boys were all running off up the road now; laughing and yelling. The fat boy was last. He had one hand on top his head; trying to keep the ball cap from falling off.
Willis walked himself over to where the glass was and started picking it up — sharp splinters of yellow glass.