by Doug Worgul
*
The first thing Sammy Merzeti did his first full day out in the world was to go get the tattoo he’d been planning since Zorn was murdered. He had sketched the design so many times on sheets of prison-issued notebook paper it was already tattooed on his brain. It represented the name Zorn had given him—Degen—which Zorn said meant Sword of the Almighty’s Wrath.
Sammy’s tattoo started on his lower back, the bottom of the sword’s handle just above his belt line. The blade of the sword extended up along Sammy’s spine, up the back of his neck, over the top of his shaved skull, then down onto his forehead, where the tip of the sword ended at a point between his eyebrows. The blade of the sword was blue. Orange and red flames spread out from the blade across Sammy’s back. A scroll was wrapped around the handle of the sword, inscribed with the words Sword of the Almightys Rath.
Sammy was not a good speller. Nor was the tattooist.
Sammy was surprised to be out of prison. He had expected that sooner or later he’d be connected to the Rabbi’s murder and that he’d then spend the rest of his life behind bars. But that never happened, and now he was standing at the corner of 17th and Walnut, across from a restaurant with the words “SMOKE MEAT” painted above the door. It was one of the places on the list his parole officer had given him of businesses known to employ parolees. He smoked a cigarette as he tried to think of the words the parole officer told him to use to ask for a job application.
On the sidewalk outside the restaurant, a short older man with slicked back hair, a protruding beer belly, a big nose, and thick heavy-rimmed glasses handed an envelope to a scrawny guy in a greasy white apron.
He had a thought about his mother and about playing basketball. He thought the man with the big nose and thick glasses looked familiar.
A tall black man, also wearing a greasy white apron, opened the front door and said something to the scrawny one. That must be the guy that runs the place, thought Sammy. No way I’m workin’ for no nigger. He turned and started up 17th Street and the name Rudy Turpin came into his head.
He remembered that his mother said Rudy was never coming back. That was just before he hit her with the ashtray.
43
Marked
In the dream he had after Raymond died and was buried and was still dead every morning when he woke up, LaVerne is sitting high up in the bleachers in an empty, soundless gymnasium. Soundless. Not quiet. Hartholz is sweeping the gym floor. His broom makes no sound. LaVerne is holding an empty jar in his hand. He thinks there is supposed to be something in the jar. He tries to ask Hartholz about it, but when he speaks, there is no sound. Even his thoughts have no sound. He wants to ask Hartholz if Delbert will be coming soon. But he can’t form the question. Sitting up in the stands on the other side of the gym is his best friend Junebug. Junebug doesn’t see him. He wonders, Am I a child now? Is that why Junebug is here? He wants to ask Hartholz if he is a child now, but he cannot ask it. Hartholz does not look at him. On the other side of the gym, Junebug is gone. There is supposed to be something in the jar. He hopes Delbert will be here soon. There used to be somebody sitting in the stands on the other side of the gym but he can’t remember who it was. He looks down where Hartholz is sweeping. Hartholz points to the door at the far end of the gymnasium. There is somebody waiting on the other side of the door but he doesn’t know who it is and the door is closed. He reaches for the door but his arm has no sound. He can’t remember the name of the person who is sweeping the floor. There used to be something in the jar.
*
After receiving the letter saying that the restaurant’s rent had been reduced, LaVerne began having the dream again. The first time it woke him up, sweating and confused, Angela had to call his name three times before he could get his bearings. That morning he and Angela had a long talk about their life.
“There were times in those first few years that I hated that restaurant,” LaVerne said. “It represented all the things I hated about my life. That I wasn’t playing baseball. That I needed your father’s help. But after awhile, after I got good at it, it got to be a part of me. And I was proud of it. It was always hard work, but it was honest and it was mine. Recently, I’d been thinking that maybe when we retire, we’d sell the place to A.B. and he and Jen could keep the place goin’. A.B. practically runs the place anyway. But now what? What’s A.B. going to do if the place shuts down?”
Angela started to say that she had faith that God would take care of A.B., but LaVerne knew where she was going and he wasn’t going there with her.
“That’s just crap, Angela. God doesn’t give a damn about the restaurant or if I own it or A.B. owns it or asshole Johansson owns it. I’m not sayin’ God doesn’t love me, or A.B., or even asshole Johansson. I’m just sayin’ it’s our souls and our eternal salvation he cares about, not where we work for a living.”
Angela scowled. “He does care, LaVerne. Jesus says God knows when a sparrow falls from the sky and if he cares about one little sparrow then certainly he cares for you and every part of your life.”
“I didn’t say he doesn’t care about me,” LaVerne snapped back. “I’m saying he doesn’t care about my job. He doesn’t care if I own a restaurant or if I drive a bus. Jesus never said God cares if the sparrow has a nest in a tree or in a bush. He only just cares about the sparrow. And you know the other thing Jesus doesn’t say? He doesn’t say God does anything at all to keep that sparrow from falling from the sky. He lets the sparrow fall and die. He knows about it. But He doesn’t stop it. He knows about that asshole Johansson is about to close down the restaurant, but I don’t expect him to do a damn thing about it. That’s just not his deal.”
Discussions like this became more frequent over the course of several weeks until eventually they dried up, and there was nothing left but sighs. Angela worried that LaVerne might retreat to the place he had gone before, when the Athletics let him go and when Raymond died. But instead of becoming remote and hostile, he exhausted his anger early, leaving him only tired and sad.
Whenever Bob Dunleavy came into the restaurant, he’d say things to LaVerne like, “Cheer up, friend. Don’t worry. It’ll all work out. At least for now you’re not paying as much rent.”
Mother Mary Weaver’s response to Ute Johansson’s plans was to call him a son of a bitch whenever the subject came up. Pug just shook his head.
Suzanne Edwards and McKenzie Nelson started a “Save Smoke Meat” petition drive and brought the signed petitions in to show LaVerne. LaVerne looked at them and started to say thanks but the words wouldn’t come out so he just nodded. Leon and Vicki were there and they signed the petitions.
Jen and A.B. set a date for their wedding and had begun making plans, but A.B. was distracted by the restaurant situation and by LaVerne’s response to it. Jen understood the significance of it all, but found herself increasingly irritated that eventually all conversations ended up at the corner of 17th and Walnut.
“You know, A.B., for most of my adult life I thought I’d never get married. Then you come along and we fall in love, and now that I actually have a wedding to think about and plan for, you and everybody else can’t think about anything but that restaurant. I know it’s important and all, but the timing sucks.”
Angela also noticed the effect all the worry had on A.B. and Jen. On a Wednesday night after prayer meeting at which LaVerne hadn’t prayed, Angela decided the time was right to address the problem.
“You need to start thinking about someone other than yourself, LaVerne. You need to quit moping around with your head down and your ass draggin’ like a whipped dog. You said yourself that you wanted to leave the business to A.B. when you retired. So, do it. You’re in the barbecue making and selling business. If you can’t do it in the building you’re in now, then find another building to do it in. Find a part of town that needs a barbecue joint and set one up. You owe it to A.B. The only job he’s ever had is worki
ng for you. If you just quit and walk away, the only choice he’ll have is to go work for some other barbecue place. How will you feel about that? You’re the one who said you were worried about what he would do if the restaurant shut down. Well, you can do something about it. You have a responsibility to that young man. Especially now that he’s getting married. You need a plan, LaVerne. You need a strategy.”
This lecture had a familiar ring to it, as did the disagreeable feeling LaVerne had that Angela was right.
His response was to pretend that he no longer felt that the rug was about to be pulled out from under him. He went to work in the morning determined not to say a thing about asshole Johansson or any related subject matter. Instead he asked A.B. how the wedding plans were going, which he regretted after the third hour of an A.B. monologue on the subject of rental halls.
*
Jen Richardson’s parents are in their late-seventies and live in Florida, so Jen’s mother did not take on the usual mother-of-the-bride role in planning the wedding. Jen pretty much did most of the planning herself, with A.B.’s and Angela’s help. Jen and her family didn’t go to church when she was a child, so there was no home church for her to get married in. She’d been attending New Jerusalem Baptist Church with A.B. and the Williams’ since she and A.B. had become a couple and was even thinking about joining the choir, so she and A.B. decided the wedding would be held there, with the Rev. Norton B. Timms officiating. Warren and Leon would be A.B.’s groomsmen. Jen’s bridesmaids would be her cousin, Sharon, who lived in Higginsville, and her friend, Clarissa, from the Harley plant.
“Do you think it’s okay that we get married in a Baptist church?” A.B. asked Ferguson. “I mean, my mom said we were Catholics. I was baptized when I was a baby and everything. Even though I was baptized again later at New Jerusalem when I was saved.”
Ferguson smiled. “God doesn’t care where you get married, A.B. God’s not a Catholic, or a Baptist, or even an Episcopalian. God’s not even a Christian.”
A.B. was reassured, right up to the point where Ferguson said that God wasn’t a Christian, which concerned and confused him, and which he decided not to ask about.
“So, does he care about baptizing? And why are there different ways to do it? I don’t get that.”
“Both ways of baptizing are deeply sacred symbols of our relationship with God,” Ferguson said. “They’re more than symbols, actually. Something real happens when we’re baptized. It’s a mystery. But it’s real.
“Immersion, when a person is brought all the way under the water and back up, is the way Jesus himself was baptized. That’s why Baptists do it that way. It symbolizes death and resurrection. And it symbolizes being washed of one’s sins.
“But Jesus was also brought to the temple as an infant to be presented to God and marked as one of God’s chosen. And that’s why Catholics baptize babies. It’s a mark that assures us that God will recognize that person as his very own.”
Ferguson gave A.B. a light slap on the back.
“So, A.B., when you die, you’re going straight to heaven. No doubt about it. You’ve been baptized twice—washed of your sins and marked as God’s own. You’re twice blessed.”
A.B. thought about this. “I’ve been blessed more ways than I can count,” he said.
*
A.B. and Ferguson had just concluded their theology seminar when Pug came in for a slab of ribs to take to Mother Mary. As A.B. wrapped the ribs in red butcher paper, Pug and Ferguson exchanged small talk.
“LaVerne tells me that you and Ms. Brown are taking a trip together. That right, Rev.?”
“It’s true, Detective. We’re going to Kenya, right after A.B.’s and Jen’s wedding.”
Pug grinned. “Things must be getting pretty serious between you two. Maybe we all ought to be keeping our wedding clothes handy.”
A.B. handed the ribs to Pug, who turned to go, then turned back.
“By the way, there was a fellow across the street a bit ago I didn’t like the looks of. Tattoo up the back of his head down to his eyes. He was studying the restaurant here real hard. Maybe he was casing the joint, or waiting for somebody. In any case, I went over there and showed him the badge and asked him what he was up to. He just looked at me and didn’t say a word. I told him he best be on his way and not to come back unless he had specific legitimate business. So, if you see a suspicious looking character hanging around, give me a call, I’ll take care of it. Like I said, evil-looking tattoo. Plus, he’s missing his index finger on his left hand.
44
It Is Well
There is a shady place under a tall wild cherry tree on the west bank of the Trinity River where Delbert went to be apart from his cares. To be by himself. Sometimes when he went there he brought his harmonica or his fishing pole or a flask. Sometimes he’d fall asleep on the cool grass.
Rose knew Delbert had this place and asked him once if it was where he went to pray. But it was not a place for praying. Praying made him think of all the things that needed praying about, and the reason he went there was to not think of those things. Just sitting there watching the water was prayer enough.
It’s where he decided to ask Madeleine to marry him. And near where they found her floating face down, broken and bloated. He didn’t go back to place under the cherry tree after that. He understood that it was lost to him. But sometimes, when life pushed down hard on him, he wished there was another place like it where he could go.
*
When LaVerne was 14 years old, Pastor Elmer Jackson of the Plum Grove Second Baptist Church came to Rose and asked if perhaps LaVerne was ready to be baptized. Rose had been thinking about this as well. LaVerne went to church with her and Delbert every Sunday without complaint. He sat attentively in the pew and sang the hymns with strong, clear voice. He didn’t curse and didn’t appear to be in danger of straying off onto the path his mother had taken. But he never talked about God. He didn’t ask questions about being a Christian. And Rose had never seen him read the Bible that children at Second Baptist are given when they reach the third grade.
Rose asked her brother his thoughts on the matter.
“I don’t know why you’re asking me, Rose. Seems like you should ask LaVerne. The boy’s incapable of telling a lie. If he’s ready, he’ll say so. But if you’re waiting for him to bring it up, well, don’t. That’s not the kind of things the boy talks about. He doesn’t talk about much to begin with.”
Rose did ask LaVerne, out on the porch on a humid summer night after he’d come home from the butcher shop where he’d worked all day with Delbert and Hartholz smoking briskets and making sausage. His clothes and hair smelled of smoke.
“Yes, Grandma, I probably am. I believe in Jesus. I know he died for my sins.”
Rose embraced her grandson and wept. The joy of loving and raising this child had filled her soul, pushing the sorrow of losing Loretta into a small dark corner. If allowed to choose, she would not change a thing about her life.
*
Pastor Jackson had also recruited for baptism, William and John, the twins from down the road; their younger cousin, Esther; Mrs. Irma Sykes, who had come to the Lord at the tent meeting that spring; and Mr. Roosevelt Washington, Mrs. Sykes father, who decided that if Jesus was good enough for his daughter, he was good enough for him. The time and place for the baptizing were set by the deacons and the mothers of the church: 3:00 in the afternoon, the last Sunday of August, on the west bank of the Trinity River, with a picnic to follow in the churchyard.
If Delbert had thought about it beforehand, it wouldn’t have surprised him, as it did, that the baptisms were going to be at the Trinity River.
“I don’t know if I can go back to that river,” he told Hartholz. “But I can’t miss the boy’s baptizing. It’s an impossible situation.”
He knew what Rose would say if he expressed his misgivings to her: “Br
other, I know that river saddens you, but this will be the most important day in his young life and you need to be there to bless and support him.”
Hartholz was inclined to agree with Rose. “Lutherans don’t baptize in a river. So I don’t know about it. But if your sister says it is important, it must be. She doesn’t ask for much. You must be brave in your heart and do what she asks. She is your sister.”
There were only three people in the world whose opinions mattered to Delbert. Two of them said he must go, and it was for the sake of the third that they said so. He resolved he would go, but lay awake nights worrying about it.
*
After worship, the members of the congregation got in their cars and trucks and drove the fifteen miles to the Trinity. The Trinity was chosen for the baptism because it had been a hot dry summer; most of the creeks in Liberty County had dried up and there was more water flowing in the Trinity than in the San Jacinto.
They parked their vehicles back a ways, in order to leave enough distance for a proper procession to the river bank. Three deacons led the way, each holding a long wooden staff. The families of the candidates for baptism followed the deacons. Some of the women carried open umbrellas to shade themselves and their children from the Texas sun.
As they approached the river, a collective moan came up from the members of the congregation, and they began to clap in rhythmic unison. A woman began singing.
Take me to the water
Take me to the water
Take me to the water
To be baptized
Then she was joined by the others.
None but the righteous
None but the righteous
None but the righteous
Shall be saved
