They were discovered there thus, late in the winter, by the first preacher to come to Stay More since the winter began. Most preachers seemed to have such a fondness for hellfire that cold weather was abominable to them, and not one had been seen since summer, until this one came. This one was a big man, almost as tall as Isaac Ingledew, and he was dressed up in furs, bearskins and coonskins and beaver skins, which made him look even bigger, positively mammoth, and the horse he was riding on was the biggest horse anyone had ever seen, big enough to support not only the mammoth preacher but also the girl, or young woman, riding behind him, also dressed all over in animal skins. The very sight of this couple and their horse was enough to banish the sourhours for the rest of the day. Beneath the preacher’s otterskin hat protruded bushy tufts of red hair surrounding a pink freckled face reddened by the cold, a large red mustache dripping with icicles: it was a surpassingly gentle face, not jolly, but capable of compassion and animation. He seemed to be close to forty, but not beyond it, while his companion was only a teenager. Her hair was the same color as his, which made people surmise that she was his daughter. He went from door to door in the village, speaking in a soft, almost inaudible voice, inviting everyone to join him at the meeting house on the following morning, which was Sunday. He and the girl, or young woman, were given beds for the night at the Dinsmores, who had boarded the unhungry Campbellite, and they noted that he, in contrast to the former, had a prodigious appetite. They offered him a second helping, and then a third, a fourth, and a fifth; they believed he would have accepted a sixth, if they had offered it, which they could not. His name, they learned, was Long Jack Stapleton. Brother Long Jack Stapleton, he said, although nobody ever learned which denomination, if any, he belonged to. No, the young woman was not his daughter; she was his “baby sister,” name of Sirena.
After supper the Dinsmores were treated to a preview of his powers of narration, when he told them the story of Samson and Delilah, creating such powerful word pictures that his audience could actually “see” the whole dramatic love story unfolding before their eyes. If the modern mobile home may be traced back to Viridiana Boatright’s “cat wagon,” if the monthly luncheon of Lions and Rotarians may be traced to Jacob and Noah Ingledew’s ceremony of the clock on the Second Tuesday of the Month, if the oral tradition may be traced to Jacob’s entertaining Lizzie Swain and her large brood with stories about Indians, then surely it would be no exaggeration to trace the motion picture, and by extension television, to Brother Long Jack Stapleton. Before his service on Sunday morning, the Dinsmores had spread word of his powers throughout the village, and all the men and boys crowded through the right door and all the women and girls through the left door, and the meeting house was packed to the rafters, so that body heat alone was sufficient to warm the room, which had been below freezing moments earlier. Brother Stapleton mounted the pulpit; without all his furs he did not look quite so imposing, but still he was the most striking figure ever to stand on that platform. He surveyed the “amen corner,” where the most prominent men of the church were sitting, spotted his host Clyde Dinsmore among them, and asked, “Brother Dinsmore, ‘sposin ye could lead us sing a hymn or two?”
Brother Dinsmore rose from his bench, shifted his cud of tobacco from one cheek to the other, and faced the congregation. “Brethern and sistern, let’s us sing one of them old’uns that we’uns all know—‘Warshed in the Blood.’” Then he cleared his throat loudly and gave out the key: “DO MI SOL DO! DO SOL MI DO!” and began swinging his arms vigorously as every voice sang at its top…every voice, that is, except Brother Long Jack Stapleton’s. Maybe he didn’t know the words. Then Brother Dinsmore requested that they sing “Lead, Kindly Light,” followed by “Abide with Me.” After that, Brother Stapleton asked for a volunteer to lead them in prayer, and Seth Chism stood up and thanked God for sending them a parson in the coldest winter ever known to man and beast, and asked God to grant the parson power to banish their sourhours and save their souls, in the Name of Jesus Christ, Amen. Then he sat down and Brother Stapleton began his sermon.
“Brethering and sistering,” he addressed them in his gentle voice that could barely be heard in the back of the room, “I take as my text this mornin the eleventh and twelfth verses of the second chapter of Solomon’s song, ‘For lo, the winter is past, the snow is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singin of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heared in our land.’”
“Hold on, Parson!” said Brother Chism, rising to his feet. “Turtles aint got no voices!”
“It means turtledove,” Brother Stapleton explained, and described one, and held out his hand, and a real, or seemingly real turtledove flew down and alighted upon his hand, and everyone’s mouth gaped open…everyone’s but his sister Sirena, who had seen him do this trick many times before. Then the preacher’s gentle voice lifted and quickened, and he pounded his Bible and said, “That’s what it says here, friends, ‘For lo,’ it says, ‘the winter is past,’ it says, ‘the snow is over and gone,’ it says!” And the rhythms of his voice lulled his audience, hypnotized them, their eyes glazed over as he painted pictures of springtime and bloom and the renewal of the verdant earth.
The chief difference between Brother Stapleton’s magic and that of the motion picture and television is that while the latter are only visual, the former was not only visual but also tactile, olfactory, and gustatory. His audience could feel the spring breeze blowing through their hair, smell the blossom of dogwood, taste the first-harvested sprout of sparrowgrass. For the length of his sermon, which lasted two and one-half hours, the winter actually was over and gone. The main body of his sermon he devoted to the story of Solomon, dwelling upon the legendary love between the wise King and the Dark Girl of the Song. He did not use the word “love,” which was an embarrassment, but everybody knew exactly what he was talking about, and everybody could see vividly depicted on the “screen” of the mind the exact lineaments of the dazzling Solomon in all his glory and the exquisite exotic beauty of the girl, and they could see as clearly as if they were there the nut orchards and fruit orchards and shepherds’ tents where the lovers met. We may appreciate the suitability of Stapleton’s selection of the subject matter, for Solomon himself (or whoever wrote his Song) was a master of description who gave us a vivid image of his beloved, step by step from her eyes to her toes. Brother Stapleton’s “projection” or “showing” or “screening” concluded after two-and-a-half hours with the words, “And so, my friends, we may think that God keers fer each of us jist like King Solomon keered fer that purty gal, and we air comforted by it.” Then he ceased.
His audience, like an audience at a movie theater when the house lights come on after a gripping film, sat motionless and unseeing for several minutes. Then most of them smiled and looked very entertained and satisfied, but a few of them looked perplexed, and one of these, Seth Chism, rose and asked, “Aint there to be no call to the mourner’s bench?”
Brother Stapleton stared for a moment at that front bench, empty, reserved for sinners seeking salvation. He shook his head.
Clyde Dinsmore rose and asked, “Aint there to be no communion? We done brung the grape juice and sody crackers.”
Brother Stapleton replied, “No, Brother Dinsmore, but mightn’t ye lead us in the closin prayer?”
Brother Dinsmore made a short prayer, thanking God for the “show” and apologizing to Him for the absence of the call for sinners and communion, in Jesus’ Name, Amen. Everybody had their heads bowed, except the male Ingledews, who noticed that Brother Stapleton crossed his fingers at the moment Jesus’ name was invoked.
Then the service was over.
Salina Ingledew invited Brother Stapleton and his sister Sirena to Sunday dinner, and everybody went home, marveling to one another about how real that “show” had been, everybody, that is, except the deacons of the “amen corner,” Brothers Chism, Dinsmore, Plowright, Coe and Whitter, who remained behind in the meeting house to
discuss their new minister and his unorthodox ways of conducting a service. They granted that he sure spoke a right powerful sermon, they even admitted that they had seen those images plain as day, but some of those images seemed a mite too bold; for instance, in that part toward the end, what was the King and that girlfriend of his doing out there in that orchard as night was coming on? The deacons might be mistaken, but it sure looked to them like that King and his girlfriend were actually fornicating! Right there in full view of everybody, even the women and children. The rest of the show was all right, real pretty in fact, but that part was scandalous! The deacons agreed that they should speak with Brother Stapleton, and find out if the King and his girlfriend were really doing what it looked like they were doing, and, if so, how come Brother Stapleton allowed it to be shown right there in front of the women and children?
Meanwhile, the new minister was enjoying himself at the Ingledew’s table, where he had six helpings of spit-roasted mallard with all the trimmings. Salina and her daughters held Brother Stapleton in absolute awe, not alone for his fabulous sermon but also for his appetite. It was the custom, then and for many years afterward, for the women and girls to wait until the men and boys had finished eating before serving themselves, but Salina and her daughters couldn’t help hanging around the table and watching Brother Stapleton eat. Sirena Stapleton, who usually tried not watching her brother eat, hung around too, because she was falling in love with all four of the Ingledew brothers. At the table, Brother Stapleton tried to engage Isaac in conversation, but quickly discovered that Isaac was taciturn, so he talked instead with the “boys” (even though the boys were as grown as they would ever be, Ingledew brothers would always be known as “the boys,” even in their old age). The boys did not hold Brother Stapleton in such awe as their mother and sisters did, but still they sure had enjoyed watching that show, they said, and hoped he would put on some more shows for them to watch. He replied that he wasn’t in any great hurry to move on. Denton Ingledew, the oldest brother, was brave enough to ask, “How come, durin the prayer, you crossed yore fingers at the end?”
Brother Stapleton choked on a bite of mallard wing, but composed himself and eyed Denton coolly. “How’d ye know I had my fingers crossed?”
“I was watchin,” Denton declared. He looked to his brothers, who nodded in affirmation. “We’uns all saw ye.”
“Why weren’t yore haids bowed durin the prayer?” Brother Stapleton asked.
“We don’t bow our haids,” Denton said. “Aint ary one of us believes in God, ’ceptin Maw and them gals.”
“Too bad,” said Brother Stapleton. “How kin ye believe in Jesus iffen ye don’t believe in God?”
“I reckon we’uns don’t believe in Him neither,” Denton said.
“Me neither,” said Brother Stapleton. “Which is why I crossed my fingers when His name was taken.”
Salina Ingledew was unable to restrain herself from rushing this news to the other ladies of Stay More, and her daughters passed it on to their friends, and soon the talk of the town was about the heterodox beliefs of Brother Stapleton. The deacons of the meeting house decided that he must be a Jew and ought to be hanged or better yet burned. Meanwhile, Sirena Stapleton was trying unsuccessfully to draw the attention of the four Ingledew brothers; not one of them would even look at her. Their sister Perlina took her aside and explained, “It aint no use. Ingledews is always shy toward gals.”
Salina Ingledew felt a little uncomfortable having in her house a minister who did not believe in Jesus, but since it was always customary to urge the parting guest to remain, when Salina said to Brother Stapleton, “Stay more. Stay and eat you some supper with us,” he replied, “Why, thank you,” and stayed to eat six helpings of scrambled eggs. Again, after supper, Salina was obliged to say, “Stay more. Better jist spend the night with us,” and Brother Stapleton replied, “Why, thank you.” There weren’t any spare beds, but Salina prepared a pallet on the floor of the boys’ sleeping loft for him, and one on the floor of the girls’ sleeping loft for his sister Sirena. In the middle of the night, Sirena, sleepless on the thin pallet, and very cold despite the heap of quilts covering her, and doubtless feeling frustrated over her failure to get any of the Ingledew boys to notice her, climbed down from the girls’ loft and climbed up to the boys’ loft, where the four boys were all sleeping in one bed. She managed to crowd in beside them without waking them, and was warmed, and slept, rising before dawn to return to her own pallet.
Brother Stapleton and his sister remained with the Ingledews thereafter, because it was unheard of for anybody not to say “Stay more,” and Salina went on saying it. Each night Sirena crept into bed with the Ingledew boys without waking them; each day they went on ignoring her existence. Although the deacons were talking about burning Brother Stapleton, everybody else was impatient to view another of his movies, and their impatience made their sourhours ever sourer, so that in the end they prevailed, and prevailed upon Brother Stapleton the following Sabbath to give them another picture show. This time he told them the passionate and touching story of the prophet Hosea and his marriage to the prostitute Gomer, whom he continued to love despite her infidelities, and whom he sold into bondage and then redeemed from bondage and carried away to the desert to remove her from temptation and have her for his own. The deacons were convinced that there was one scene toward the end, where Hosea and Gomer were lying together behind a sand dune in the desert, when the intercourse was so explicit you could even see their genitals, but the deacons were so enthralled that they did not protest, until the sermon was over and the rest of the congregation had departed, when they accosted Brother Stapleton, and one of the deacons, Seth Chism, said to him, “Pastor, was I jist imaginin things, or didn’t that there Hosea actually commence to shaggin his wife in that part toward the end in the desert?”
“A man sees what he wants to see,” Brother Stapleton replied.
“A man, yeah,” Brother Chism said, “but what about all the womenfolk and childreng? It aint fitten to show things like that to their innocent eyes.”
“No eyes is innocent,” the minister replied.
Through the rest of that bitterly cold winter, the people of Stay More lived from one Sunday to the next, suffering intolerable sourhours in between, just to go to Brother Stapleton’s cinema. He showed the romantic stories of Abraham and Sarah, of David and Bathsheba, of Jacob and Rachel, of Ruth and Boaz, even the incestuous story of Amnon and his half-sister Tamar. Each of the Ingledew brothers was aroused by these shows, and each of them had private daydreams of being able to do that with that pretty redhead Sirena, but each of them knew that it was impossible because they couldn’t even get up the nerve to look at her. Sirena continued, unbeknownst, sleeping with them. One morning she awakened before daylight to discover that the brother next to her had a risen root, although he was still asleep and mildly snoring. She thought that was amazing: getting a serviceable dinger while sleeping. She also thought it was exciting. She lifted his nightshirt and her nightdress, and climbed aboard. He never woke. She wondered which one of the four brothers he was; she couldn’t see a thing. She wondered what he would think if he woke. She wondered how vigorous she could be without waking him. She was very vigorous, and at the end she stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle her sound. Before leaving the room she gave his shoulder a gentle shake and whispered into his ear, “Which one are you? What’s your name?” “Nmpth,” he responded. “What’s your name?” she said again. “John,” he said without ever fully waking.
Before the start of each of Brother Stapleton’s shows, one of the deacons would request, “Show us a pitcher of heaven, Preacher!” or one of the other deacons would request, “Show us pitchers of hell!” but Brother Stapleton could not show them heaven or hell because he did not believe in them. He could, however, show them paradise, and he told them the exquisitely connubial story of Adam and Eve, depicting Eden as the setting for their dramatic romance and temptation and fall. The congregation vi
ewed the enchanting scenery of Eden with delight, until one of them observed and exclaimed: “Why, it aint no different than Stay More in the middle of summer in a good year!”
All the others nodded their heads and chimed in with: “It’s a fact!” “That’s the Gospel truth!” “Sure thing!”
Brother Stapleton smiled and went on with the show. Adam came on the screen, naked as a jaybird, and all the women blushed and covered their eyes. Then Eve appeared, and she wasn’t wearing a stitch either; some of the men whistled, panted or clapped. The deacons rose as one from the amen corner and stalked out of the meeting house, but most of them could later be seen peeking in the windows. When Adam and Eve looked at each other, they didn’t seem to mind that they didn’t have any clothes; in fact, they didn’t seem to notice, and pretty soon the congregation took it for granted too, because although Adam and Eve were naked they weren’t fooling around with each other or anything, they were just talking about the fruit that Eve wanted to eat, and then they were eating it, when all of a sudden they got embarrassed about not having clothes, so they made some skirts out of fig leaves, with which they made do, until God gave them some buckskins to wear. Adam and Eve never did sleep with one another as long as they were in the Garden, but as soon as they were driven out of Eden they began doing it all the time, usually behind bushes and large rocks, but eventually they were so desperate to couple that they didn’t care whether they were seen or not, and they were doing it so often that all the women and children had to leave the meeting house, and even the men were finally forced to follow the women because of their excitation. One of the deacons took a lump of charcoal and scrawled a large “X” on the front of the meeting house, and the deacons decreed that the people could watch no more of those shows.
The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 1 Page 102
