John Crow's Devil

by Marlon James

  “I belong here. I drove you out but you wouldn’t leave. Now I can’t do anything for you.”

  12:15. Apostle York had said 2:00. He declared it last night. Mrs. Fracas was getting ready. She had not worn the black dress since Lillamae’s funeral. She cursed it for being the most expensive yet least useful dress. But the Lord had taught her that what seems useless may have not yet come into purpose. People were like that too. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the miraculous slimming powers of pin stripe. God was going to use her as his instrument today.

  Deacon Pinckney used his two good eyes to admire himself in his mirror. Tony Curtis had no black so he wore white: his grandfather’s pants and his mother’s blouse.

  Clarence’s tie was crooked. From behind and facing the mirror, the Apostle tugged until it was straight. He smoothed out the shoulders of his jacket, then handed him pants to match.

  Brother Jakes picked out a black veil for his wife, who had before decided not to go. The swelling around her battered eye signified her change of heart. A long dress made sure that her whipped thighs and bruised hands would be concealed as well. Even the children were dressed and ready.

  The Rude Boys were finished. Two o’clock came and passed, so they left the tools and went home to change. The bridge had fallen to a cataclysmic crash, the sound of life coming undone, collapsing and killing other lives underneath. Through a series of night services the Apostle had shown them how it was possible. God’s people only needed God after all. York was serious.

  The children were restless. Most were upset enough about wearing Sunday clothes on a Sunday, but this was Friday. Some of the children wondered why they stopped going to the school ten miles down past the valley. Today they were bound in stiff pants and starched shirts and dresses and shoes sent in barrels from Englan and New Yawk along with wide ties made for adults. The Pastor had told them that they were going to play a new game. And God wanted them looking their best.

  Brother Jakes’s oldest son had also decided not to come. His subsequent brutal beating sealed his own prophecy. This was not a day for children to disobey fathers; this was a day to submit to Apostle York as if to God. This was the day that the Lord had made, and this was His work. Clarence dressed the Apostle. He straightened his necktie and wiped away lines of dirt from York’s shoes with his fingers. Clarence then guided the robes over the Apostle’s head gently, so that his hands slipped through the sleeves. The layers of cloth fell around him like a shower. Clarence gave the Apostle his red book and his black book, then he gave him something else.

  The front door swung open and the Widow leapt through yelling.

  “Is what unu do with him? Is what unu do wi—” The street was empty. The silence stunned her. Usually, if given time, the street could answer any question. But Brillo Road refused her. The Widow felt alone, more alone than she did in her empty house.

  Mary.

  She turned around, but no one was there. She went back inside the house. It was different now, smelling of neither her, Mr. Greenfield, nor the Pastor. A new smell that was already an old one; a familiar one whose meaning she knew. She knew the voice as well. The Widow went to the kitchen and took out the chicken that she had already seasoned. She turned on the gas stove. Then she went into the bedroom and took out another blue dress.

  Lucinda was in her room combing her hair in two and plaiting the ends. She had heard the Apostle’s decree and though told to stay away, she put on her mother’s black dress anyway. It was only fitting, she had become her mother, another woman for whom men reflected the failure of life. She heard whispers coming from the mirror. Outside, below her, the dust awoke.

  The Apostle stood at the door of the church looking out. He licked his lips and tasted the person behind him. “Clarence, tell the people that God is ready.”

  Sikasa raboka makasetha likoso.

  Go down Emmanuel Road

  Gal an boy

  Fi go broke rock-stone

  Go down Emmanuel Road

  Gal an boy

  Fi go broke rock-stone

  Broke them one by one

  Gal an boy

  Broke them two by two

  Gal an boy

  Finger mash don’t cry

  Gal an boy

  Remember a play we deh play

  Since the truck stop come and gone, plenty rock-stone did leave. The Apostle say the truck bring evil spirit back into the village and anything of evil we have to cut it out! Cut it out! Cut it out!

  A few came before, a few after, but most came at once, gathering in a jagged circle near the bridge where the stonebreakers used to work. The wind stirred up marl dust and grayed black jackets, dresses, and pants. Mrs. Fracas brought her umbrella. The only thing Estrella had that was black was her miniskirt. Nobody noticed. Brother Jakes stood up with more than enough pride for his ashamed wife and missing son. Mrs. Smithfield waved her hands to fan her face against the heat. A mumble rose but fell as soon as they saw the Apostle coming behind Clarence, who cradled his red and black books. He waved his fingers and the choir, scattered among the crowd, began to sing “Amazing Grace.”

  “I say this unto you. Listen to what the Lord is saying, you followers of John Eight, verse seven. You hear the scriptures incorrectly. You misinterpret the word of the Father and as such are deceived by the Devil. When the Lord asked for he who is without sin to cast the first stone, He spoke to Jews and to Gentiles. We are neither Jew nor Gentile but Christian. To those who are reborn of the Lord we are no longer with sin. And if you are in Him you are a new …”

  “Creation.”

  “I said, if you are in him you are a new …”

  “NEW CREATION!”

  “Hallelujah! Praise God!” He waved his hand and suddenly there was a scuffle and a shout. From behind the church they came. Three of The Five, dressed in black and dragging the Rum Preacher. Bligh tripped. Deacon Pinckney picked up the chain and pulled him through the dirt. The Preacher held onto the chain lest the deacon break his neck. The other three flanked but did not touch him as he rolled and scraped against the gravel and marl. The Preacher mumbled to himself. The children thought he was a mad animal.

  The deacon was enjoying this too much. He yanked with force where none was necessary, sometimes facing the crowd and smiling as he did so. Each time the Preacher tried to walk, the deacon would pull, and Bligh would fall, the ground bruising his skin. The white marl made him ghostly. He was a wraith; a trapped night spirit brought out into day. His eyes were red, the only sign that within him ran blood. Deacon Pinckney pulled until he was in the center of the circle. The children gawked, the men and women thought of punishment and stayed fixed on the Apostle.

  “Father, we obey Your decree of First Corinthians. Today we expel the man who was once our brother, but is now a vessel of iniquity. And so, Father, we send him back from whence he came. Back to Hell with his father, Satan. Gibbeah makes an atonement in bloo—”

  “You … y … can’t … even … say …”

  “Oh! Abba babba a maka desh! Oh libreh cassakokah maka desh! Oh consuming fire, lion of the tribe of Judah! Abba Father! Rebethababa Lakosa!”

  “Father, forgive him …”

  “Back! Back! I bind you in the name of the Morning Star! I bind you! I bind you, Hector Blight! You are a blight on God’s precious fabric, a—”

  “Gibbe … him can’t … say … na—”

  “A stain on the curtain of Heaven!”

  “Jesu …”

  Deacon Pinckney struck him with his foot. The Preacher bit his tongue and spat blood.

  “No! Don’t look into the eyes of evil! He prowls like a roaring lion looking for souls to devour. Done with the man of darkness. We shall obey the star of the morning!”

  “The star of the morning is Lucif—”

  “Today is the final victory. Even now God is building His wall and enclosing His Kingdom. Just like Masada! Ayeh babacosa maka desh! From this day forth, Gibbeah shall always be in His presence. Suf
fer the children first!”

  The children knew what to do. They ran quickly, returning when their hands were full. The Apostle raised both hands and Clarence raised both books.

  “The scripture—”

  “You never touch … scripture in y … life … Solomon fall … your fall …”

  “Enough with the Devil talk!” The adults picked up rocks and flung. The children flung as if for sport. Deacon Pinckney flung with the force of a cricketer. The women held nothing back. Those whose hands were empty ran for more. The Preacher had prayed for strength, but he screamed.

  “I see … Heaven open,” Bligh said, “I see Heav …”

  Rocks punched their way through his flesh. A rain of rocks crushed his face and tore off his jaw. Rocks broke his hand and punctured his back and broke his skull open for pink to run through. Bligh spat his lifeblood out and it spread across the ground like the shadow of wings.

  In mere minutes his body was broken and he was dead. The crowd continued until he was almost entombed in rock. The Apostle raised two fingers and they stopped.

  “Behold, He cometh with clouds! And every eye shall see Him and they also who pierced Him, and all the kindreds of the Earth shall wail because of Him. Even so, Amen!

  “I am the Alpha and the Ome—”

  The Apostle was interrupted by the slightest of touches. A splash of white hit his shoulder and flowed down his sleeve. He looked over at the nearly covered body of the Pastor Bligh. A bird had landed on top of the stones. A dirty white bird, a dove. It hopped from stone to stone carelessly.

  “I am the Alpha and the Omega! The beg—”

  “RAASCLAAT!”

  Mrs. Fracas pointed above and there they were. A cloud of doves in a shifty circle of white that eclipsed the sun. The children ran first but too late. In one swoop they dove into the crowd, screeching and ripping hair and flesh with claws and beaks. Brother Jakes, as he pulled two from his chest, left his face unprotected. The last thing he would see were clawed feet coming toward his eyes and the red spurt of his own blood. The birds fluttered and flapped and screamed along with the people’s screams. Mrs. Fracas, her hair knotted in birds, swung her umbrella and struck her own child. The stampede of adults trampled the children not swift enough to run out of the way. And yet more doves came, digging holes in Clarence’s face and tearing wordless pages from the Apostle’s books. They picked and clawed at Mrs. Smithfield’s daughter’s feet and she screamed. As she bent to grab those at her feet a dove landed square in her face, slashing her nose and cheek. Birds killed themselves by crashing into walls and fences, and pushed one of The Five over the edge where the bridge used to be. Deacon Pinckney stumbled and landed head first, snapping his neck. In the grocery there was an explosion followed by the whoomph! of a fire. The doves flew all the way down Brillo Road, chasing the village and ripping the skin of those who fell. They flew through doors that failed to close in time and chased children into small closets. Lucinda, watching the dust below, did not see the horde of birds before they burst through her window, shattering the glass. She screamed and swung, but they dug into her flesh with tiny, sharp beaks that tore her clothes. A dove hopped on her back and scratched through her cuts. She ran around the room as the dove’s wings flapped from her back. Outside, they knocked over stands and carts and flew into glass windows breaking their necks.

  Then the doves flew away.

  In the center where the stoning took place, rocks were scattered in every direction, but the Pastor’s body was gone. People shuddered in their homes. They had not seen the bridge fall, but reeled under the weight of loneliness.

  The Apostle had no bruise or scrape. Nobody had seen him flee. He was in front of the Widow Greenfield’s house as the sun began to fall. He stood for several minutes before making the first step. Though his legs rose and fell with movement, his feet never touched the ground until his shoe tapped the Widow’s doorstep.

  The door was open. The smell of burnt meat flew at him. Her table was set for two and from the bathroom came the steady patter of the shower. In the bedroom was her dress, pressed and laid out on the bed. The Widow was gone. The Apostle smiled to himself and left, but as he passed the table, what he saw crippled his spirit. A photograph, faded to sepia but still appalling in its detail. A boy of eleven, unwise to the world, yet deep in the knowledge of his sex. A boy who posed like a girl and received Aloysius Garvey and his fat preacher friend like a whore. A brown boy with wet, unruly black hair that glimmered like a thousand tiny eyes. The Apostle was racked with shudders. He could neither cry nor scream. Lucas, said a voice. The Apostle’s lips formed the shape of the word “Uncle,” but this he could not say. Hopelessness overcame him, but rage as well. He slammed his fist on the table, breaking it in two. Outside, the sky gathered clouds through which the dying sun shot the redness of October. Rain would fall soon.

  RECKONING

  Sunlight twisted and danced through leaves to hit the ground in bold yellow strokes. The trees were greener than anyone had ever seen them. There was no movement, only light. Three rainy months had passed since Gibbeah burnt their fallen brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters, and life was a blessing. This was the prophecy. God had not left nor forsaken them, for they had food and they had fellowship.

  One month after the village killed Hector Bligh, Lucinda was buried in the church cemetery. She had leapt from her room window, prompted by three voices that spoke to her in the shattered mirror. Lucinda had flung herself to the ground on a Saturday afternoon and on her back was a dead dove, its wings spread wide.

  Nobody approached the Widow’s house. The Apostle decreed that it should be left alone; a reminder of the consequence of disobedience, the greatest sin. Gibbeah would be the most holy place. An Old Testament place. Soon the Lord would return and He would make His dwelling here, for they had the fragrance of worthiness. And why should the Lord not make His home in Gibbeah? He once made His home in Bethlehem, a ghetto then as now. Galilee, where even the people stunk of fish. And Capernaum, which was worse than Galilee. No, the Lord was coming. The sky would fall and down would come chariots of light carrying the Heavenly host.

  Children were most useful to the Kingdom. The Apostle taught school himself. The School of Boy Prophets learned together, ate together, and slept together. There was no mother and father, only God the eternal Father and his son the divine Apostle. They were the cornerstone of his new church. A new Eden, and like Adam they had no need for shame. Girls did not go to school. They worked with their mothers, making meals and cleaning shit, until one or two or all of The Five were ready to usher them into glorious womanhood.

  Three new men joined The Five to bring it back to five. All were sixteen, and all were hungrier below their pants than above. Brother Jakes had refused to give up his spot, despite being blind in both eyes. There was nothing he could do; leaving his house was dangerous, with an obstacle at every turn. He was at the mercy of others now, and his wife, faithful to the last, served him fritters the way he liked, along with chicken foot pumpkin soup. She served him as a dutiful wife should. And when she had her children spit or piss in the soup or had the oldest scoop up dried dog shit to mix with the fritter batter, all Brother Jakes’s mind saw was devotion.

  The fence was finished. It was not as high as Jericho, but high enough to convince outsiders not to trespass. The bridge was gone and the river grew violent and impassable. Soon, vines, leaves, and flowers attacked the wood and barbed wire with malignance and consumed the fence. Old villages disappeared from new maps often, whether they chose to or not. Within the fence no soul was hungry. They met as one in the church, sat in the pews, and drank porridge that the women made from ground corn. All water now came from the river, which ran though holes dug near the fence.

  The Five had the hand of judgment. Mrs. Smithfield complained of being sick and tired of corn porridge. She scowled as she swallowed the last glob of slop and scowled all the way back home and through women’s service. News of her displeasure had no
t even reached the Apostle before The Five paid her a visit. She never grumbled again. She never walked without a cane either.

  Sunlight teased his nose and he awoke. Clarence climbed out of bed and went to the window. They lived at the Garvey house now, after The Five purged it of all iniquity. The French windows now had no curtains. Sunrays rushed into the room and he bathed in light. The day before, he saw four of The Five march through the gates carrying a boy and a girl, both no more than fourteen. He ran downstairs. The study was already closed and bolted from the inside. Clarence pressed his ear against the door but heard nothing. He knew what would happen. Two more children. This was the second time in two months. The first two were a boy and girl as well, caught as they tried to climb over the fence. They were disciplined. The Apostle would not tolerate defiance, especially from the young, especially after God said suffer the children to come to Me. “Married? Married?” Clarence heard the mocking tone of the Apostle. Clarence could not make out any more words but he knew the sounds. They came as no surprise, the Apostle had a method for everything. The boy’s cry was expected. There was only one place on a boy’s body that when hit, he would cry like a girl. The girl’s cry was expected, long and loud at first, then long and quiet after two, three, or four punches. Tony Curtis would rape her first, his ape yelps drowning her scream. Brother Patrick, after discovering how tight an anus was, would leave her vagina to the sixteen-year-olds. The rebellious boy would watch, learn, and be saved. The Apostle would tell them they only need one love—for God and His servant the Apostle.

  Saved. The word brought Clarence back to the present, the light, the room, and the Apostle, snoring under purple sheets.