“Come on,” Enoch whispered. He went past the two cases in the middle of the floor and toward the third one.
He went to the farthest end of it and stopped. He stood looking down with his neck thrust forward and his hands clutched together; Hazel Motes moved up beside him.
The two of them stood there, Enoch rigid and Hazel Motes bent slightly forward. There were three bowls and a row of blunt weapons and a man in the case. It was the man Enoch was looking at. He was about three feet long. He was naked and a dried yellow color and his eyes were drawn almost shut as if a giant block of steel were falling down on top of him.
“See theter notice,” Enoch said in a church whisper, pointing to a typewritten card at the man’s foot, “it says he was once as tall as you or me. Some A-rabs did it to him in six months.” He turned his head cautiously to see Hazel Motes.
All he could tell was that Hazel Motes’s eyes were on the shrunken man. He was bent forward so that his face was relected on the glass top of the case. The reflection was pale and the eyes were like two clean bullet holes. Enoch waited, rigid. He heard footsteps in the hall. Oh Jesus Jesus, he prayed, let him hurry up and do whatever he’s going to do I The woman with the two little boys came in the door. She had one by each hand, and she was grinning. Hazel Motes had not raised his eyes once from the shrunken man. The woman came toward them. She stopped on the other side of the case and looked down into it and the reflection of her face appeared grinning on the glass, over Hazel Motes’s.
She snickered and put two fingers in front of her teeth. The little boys* faces were like pans set on either side to catch the grins that overflowed from her. When Haze saw her face on the glass, his neck jerked back and he made a noise. It might have come from the man inside the case. In a second Enoch knew it had. “Wait!” he screamed, and tore out of the room after Hazel Motes.
He overtook him halfway up the hill. He caught him by the arm and swung him around and then he stood there, suddenly weak and light as a balloon, and stared. Hazel Motes grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “What is that addressl” he shouted. “Give me that address!”
Even if Enoch had been sure what the address was, he couldn’t have thought of it then. He could not even stand up. As soon as Hazel Motes let him go, he fell backward and landed against one of the white-socked trees. He rolled over and lay stretched out on the ground, with an exalted look on his face. He thought he was floating. A long way off he saw the blue figure spring and pick up a rock, and he saw the wild face turn, and the rock hurtle toward him; he shut his eyes tight and the rock hit him on the forehead.
When he came to again, Hazel Motes was gone. He lay there a minute. He put his fingers to his forehead and then held them in front of his eyes. They were streaked with red. He turned his head and saw a drop of blood on the ground and as he looked at it, he thought it widened like a little spring. He sat straight up, frozen-skinned, and put his finger in it, and very faintly he could hear his blood beating, his secret blood, in the center of the city.
Then he knew that whatever was expected of him was only just beginning.
CHAPTER 6
That evening Haze drove his car around the streets until he found the blind man and the child again. They were standing on a corner, waiting for the light to change. He drove the Essex at some distance behind them for about four blocks up the main street and then turned it after them down a side street. He followed them on into a dark section past the railroad yards and watched them go up on the porch of a box-like two-story house. When the blind man opened the door a shaft of light fell on him and Haze craned his neck to see him better. The child turned her head, slowly, as if it worked on a screwť and watched his car pass. His face was so close to the glass that it looked like a paper face pasted there. He noted the number of the house and a sign on it that said, Rooms for Rent.
Then he drove back down town and parked the Essex in front of a movie house where he could catch the drain of people coming out from the picture show. The lights around the marquee were so bright that the moon, mov* ing overhead with a small procession of clouds behind it, looked pale and insignificant. Haze got out of the Essex and climbed up on the nose of it.
A thin little man with a long upper lip was at the glass ticket box, buying tickets for three portly women who were behind him. “Gotta get these girls some refreshments too,” he said to the woman in the ticket box. “Can’t have ‘em starve right before my eyes.”
“Ain’t he a card?” one of the women hollered. “He keeps me in stitchesl”
Three boys in red satin lumberjackets came out of the foyer. Haze raised his arms. “Where has the blood you think you been redeemed by touched you?” he cried.
The women all turned around at once and stared at him.
“A wise guy,” the little thin man said, and glared as if someone were about to insult him.
The three boys moved up, pushing each other’s shoulders.
Haze waited a second and then he cried again. “Where has the blood you think you been redeemed by touched you?”
“Rabble rouser,” the little man said. “One thing I can’t stand it’s a rabble rouser.”
“What church you belong to, you boy there?” Haze asked, pointing at the tallest boy in the red satin lumberjacket.
The boy giggled.
“You then,” he said impatiently, pointing at the next one. “What church you belong to?”
“Church of Christ,” the boy said in a falsetto to hide the truth.
“Church of Christi” Haze repeated. “Well, I preach the Church Without Christ. I’m member and preacher to that church where the blind don’t see and the lame don’t walk and what’s dead stays that way. Ask me about that church and I’ll tell you it’s the church that the blood of Jesus don’t foul with redemption.”
“He’s a preacher,” one of the women said. “Let’s go.”
“Listen, you people, I’m going to take the truth with me wherever I go,” Haze called. “I’m going to preach it to whoever’ll listen at whatever place. I’m going to preach there was no Fall because there was nothing to fall from and no Redemption because there was no Fall and no Judgment because there wasn’t the first two. Nothing matters but that Jesus was a liar.”
The little man herded his girls into the picture show quickly and the three boys left but more people came out and he began over and said the same thing again. They left and some more came and he said it a third time. Then they left and no one else came out; there was no one there but the woman in the glass box. She had been glaring at him all the time but he had not noticed her. She wore glasses with rhinestones in the bows and she had white hair stacked in sausages around her head. She stuck her mouth to a hole in the glass and shouted, “Listenť if you don’t have a church to do it inť you don’t have to do it in front of this show/’
“My church is the Church Without Christ, lady,” he said. “If there’s no Christ, there’s no reason to have a set place to do it in.”
“Listen,” she said, “if you don’t get from in front of this show, I’ll call the police.”
“There’s plenty of shows,” he said and got down and got back in the Essex and drove off. That night he preached in front of three other picture shows before he went to Mrs. Watts.
In the morning he drove back to the house where the blind man and the child had gone in the night before. It was yellow clapboard, the second one in a block of them, all alike. He went up to the front door and rang the bell. After a few minutes a woman with a mop opened it. He said he wanted to rent a room.
“What you do?” she asked. She was a tall bony woman, resembling the mop she carried upside-down.