Mary Mae and the Gospel Truth

by Sandra Dutton

  "This all used to be ocean," says Lucinda, standing up.

  Mama don't argue. She's just running her fingers over them fossils.

  I'm picturing how it was, millions of years ago, with the warm salt water, and palm fronds and jellyfish and trilobites and squids.

  But it's beginning to rain.

  We pick our way across the rocks to the steps where Granny sets.

  "River ain't usually this low," says Lucinda. "We need this."

  We all pile into the car and drop Lucinda off on Whippet Street. Her daddy's setting on the porch waiting for her.

  ***

  Granny dozes off on the way home, and Mama don't say a word. I'm thinking I better say something now before Mama forgets what she seen. "Them fossils was really interesting, wasn't they?" I say.

  But Mama don't answer.

  "It was like a science lesson, wasn't it, Mama?"

  She still don't answer.

  "Be nice if we could go there again, wouldn't it? And take our time and look at everything."

  Mama's still quiet. Then she says, "Mary Mae, it's something we shouldn't be looking at."

  "The riverbed?"

  "Them fossils," she says. "They's not meant for us to see, Mary Mae."

  "But they's out there," I say.

  ***

  We get lunch at the Dog-Gone-It Café in Sparta. Old people dressed in church clothes is a-coming in.

  "I missed going to church this morning," says Mama.

  "Me, too," says Granny.

  "I missed singing," I say. "But I liked seeing that riverbed."

  "Mary Mae, I don't want to hear nothing more about that riverbed."

  "It's God's creation, Mama. No sense in not talking about it."

  "I told you I've heard enough."

  ***

  Mama orders us all the Sunday special—fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy—but I'm back to not eating again.

  ***

  We get home at three, and Mama opens up her Bible and starts working on her curriculum. I go upstairs and dig my cigar box out of my dressing table. I pull all them fossils out and line them up. Then I wait for them to talk to me.

  "Wish you could put us out on a shelf, Mary Mae," they say. "Sure would be nice."

  "I'll do my best," I say. I pack them all up again, hide them away, and go downstairs.

  ***

  Ain't allowed to go out in the neighborhood, but I can still go out in my own backyard. It's quit raining, and I'm a-walking around in the wet. Sneakers getting all shushy. I go climb on the fishpond. Daddy keeps saying he's going to tear it down, but he don't. When we moved in, I was never allowed to climb on it or nothing because a kid could get hurt there, Daddy said. But I'm ten years old now. It's a whole lot of rocks all piled up, and there's a cement basin for water, only we ain't never filled it. Anyways, I climb up on it. I squat down and I'm a-looking around, and then I just about slide off into the basin. Can't believe what I'm seeing. Every slab of rock is teeming with fossils. Just like them slabs down at school.

  Must have been dug up from the ground here.

  Slabs so thick with fossils it looks like crab gumbo. Fossils even thicker than they was at Falls of the Ohio. Or at school. I'm climbing all over them rocks like a chipmunk. In one slab there's six little trilobites enrolled together.

  I go into the garage and get three lawn chairs. Line them up in front of the fishpond.

  When Daddy comes home, I invite everyone out to see.

  "I'm busy," says Mama.

  "I'm tired," says Daddy.

  "No, you got to see this."

  "I'll go," says Granny. So Mama and Daddy follow her out.

  "Take your seats," I say. "I got something to talk about."

  Mama says, "Do this fast. It's cold out here."

  "Now you see this here fishpond," I say. "Daddy, where do you think these rocks come from?"

  "I s'pect right here in this yard," he says. "You go deep enough, you'll hit bedrock."

  "Do you agree, Mama?" I say.

  "I guess. But I think they'd have been smarter to use them rocks for steppingstones."

  "Granny, what kind of rocks are these? It's something I told you."

  "I do believe they's limestone," says Granny.

  "Limestone," I say. "That's right. And shale. And what do you know, they's just a-teeming with fossils."

  "Fossils?" says Daddy.

  "Trilobites and brachiopods and crinoids and snails and sponges and starfish."

  "Where?" says Mama.

  "Come over here," I say, and I point them all out.

  "Where did you learn about this?" says Daddy. He's climbing up top of the fishpond.

  "School."

  Daddy looks at Mama. "What are we keeping her home for?"

  "She oughtn't to be learning such things," says Mama.

  "But this is our backyard," says Daddy. "Can't go walking around like an ostrich."

  "Them fossils was put in the ground to trick us, Farley," says Mama.

  "Trick us?" says Daddy. "Who's trying to trick us?"

  "The Lord," says Mama.

  "If that's what the Lord's up to, you can go to church yourself. I ain't a-going."

  Daddy takes off for the house. Mama runs after him.

  I follow them in, try to listen, but they's in their room with the door shut.

  ***

  At dinner, when the hamburger casserole comes around, I just out and say it: "I want to go to school tomorrow."

  "You ain't a-going nowhere," says Mama. "I won't have no more talk about school or fossils."

  "Lavernia, you're being stubborn," says Daddy.

  "Maybe I am, but I got to do what's right," says Mama.

  "It ain't right keeping me from learning things," I say.

  "Enough!" says Mama.

  "You're so worried about what's not in the Bible," says Daddy. "Lot of things ain't in the Bible. Cars and trucks ain't in the Bible. But I believe in 'em. Ain't no reason not to."

  But Mama's the one that brung Daddy to the Lord, so she's the expert. Mama pushes off from the table. "I'm a-calling Sister Coates," she says.

  I clear the table, then stick around, hoping to listen, but as soon as Mama picks up the phone, she says, "Mary Mae, get upstairs."

  So I go set by the register.

  I hear Mama explaining to Sister Coates all about fossils and curriculum, and then I don't hear nothing. Mama's listening. And then I hear, "But I've had some college. And I used to teach Sunday school."

  16. Noah's Ark

  Monday morning Mama's at the table finishing her grapefruit and Mrs. Noah's setting on the kitchen table. Her hair's all flat on one side from being hid away. I pick her up, fluff her out. Granny's at the kitchen sink.

  "Today you better get back to Genesis," says Mama. "Review for the puppet show."

  "I ain't doing no puppet show," I say. I drop Mrs. Noah back down on the table.

  "You'll do it," says Mama. "Whole church is depending on you. Now you get your Bible out and review. Granny, you're in charge."

  ***

  "I got a good mind to put Mrs. Noah back in the trash," I say to Granny after Mama leaves for work.

  "I wouldn't do that," says Granny.

  "Why not?"

  "She might have something to say."

  "Like what?"

  "You're the one should be telling me."

  I grab Mrs. Noah by the hair, take her upstairs, and put her on that pop bottle. Then I put all my fossils in a circle around her.

  "I seen Noah's ark when it come floating over," says the trilobite.

  "Me, too," says the crinoid.

  "And I heard Mrs. Noah just a-yelling her head off," says the spiny coral.

  "Is that true?" I say to Mrs. Noah.

  "Lord, yes," says Mrs. Noah. "I like to died on that ship."

  ***

  I pull Mrs. Noah off the pop bottle and go back downstairs. "You know what, Granny, I don't think Mrs. Noah liked tending them an
imals."

  Granny takes a sip of coffee. "Why not?"

  I put Mrs. Noah on my hand, work her arms a little. Then I take her off and look up Noah's ark in the encyclopedia. I'm expecting a little bitty paragraph, but it's a whole big article. Three pages. Talks about the problems a boat like that would have had.

  So I'm reading and writing and thinking. I still don't have answers to a lot of my questions, but it's give me ideas for things I can have Mrs. Noah say.

  ***

  Me and Granny have lunch, then Granny wants to go out back to the fishpond. She's wrapped in a shawl, setting in her lawn chair, and I'm a-climbing over the rocks.

  "Now tell me more about them fossils," says Granny.

  "They's older than the dinosaurs," I tell her. "And they lived in the sea." I point out all kinds of brachiopods and some horned corals. "Miss Sizemore says the world is fifteen billion years old, and these here critters come along in the Ordovician period. That's five hundred million years ago."

  Granny's clicking her teeth. "Hmm ... Well ... My..."

  "God takes his time," I say.

  "Yes, he does," says Granny.

  ***

  Mama comes home and says tomorrow I should read Exodus, but I tell her I'd rather keep on learning about Noah's ark, right up to the puppet show. "Fine," she says. She's happy I ain't complaining.

  ***

  Wednesday night we all drive over to Remnant. Granny brings a rhubarb pie. We walk down to the church basement, and I put Mrs. Noah on the bench behind the puppet stage.

  Then who should walk in with Sister Coates but Pastor and Mrs. Tilbury.

  "They was on their way back to Oklahoma, so I said come for the potluck," says Sister Coates.

  I get in the food line. There's fried chicken, meat loaf, tuna-noodle casserole, sloppy joes, three kinds of salad, and six kinds of pie.

  The Noah's ark backdrop that me and Chester was supposed to use is up on the bulletin board.

  "Where was you last Sunday?" says Chester, getting in line behind me.

  "Busy," I say. "Where was you the week before?"

  Chester puts his hand on his chest and coughs. He sets with his mama.

  I set with Jed Bean and Chloe.

  Once everybody has their food, Sister Coates goes up to the podium and raises her hand. "Lord bless this food to our bodies and guide us as we partake in family fellowship. In Jesus' name."

  "Amen!"

  ***

  Brother Lucas announces that all kids working on the puppet show should come backstage as soon as possible.

  Me, Jed, and Chloe finish dinner, drop our plates in the waste can, and head back.

  Chester and Orlin's already there. I make sure all the backdrops is in order and pull down black for Day One.

  Brother Lucas's forehead's all beaded up with sweat. Looks like Karo syrup.

  Jonathan Safer comes on back.

  "All right," says Brother Lucas. "I'm a-going out when Sister Coates introduces me. You just set tight."

  We hear everyone rearranging the tables and chairs, getting the folding chairs lined up in rows.

  Sister Coates leads everyone in singing "Blest Be the Tie That Binds." Then she says, "I'd like to bring out Brother Lucas. He's been a-working with the juniors on their puppet play of the Creation."

  Brother Lucas slips out between the church curtain and the puppet theatre. He clears his throat. "We learned a lot about the Bible doing this. Plus the juniors made this here stage, made their own puppets, too. We had a real good time. Hope you like it." He comes back.

  I open the curtains.

  Orlin Coates does his "Being the Supreme Being" speech. He divides the light from the dark and pulls the firmament out of the waters. Everything's fine until I pull down a backdrop.

  Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.

  We can hear people laughing.

  Orlin looks at me.

  "I didn't do nothing," I whisper.

  Orlin goes on, creating and proclaiming, but each time I roll down a backdrop, we hear the audience laugh. It's like God went clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk every time he made a new day.

  Me and the other kids is laughing, too.

  "God ain't funny," Orlin whispers.

  "Quiet!" says Brother Lucas. He waves his hand at us.

  Orlin makes his Day Six speech, then Chloe's Eve comes out. The audience hoots and hollers. Chloe don't mind. She struts that Eve around like a princess. Besides them titties, she's give Eve a big red hair ribbon.

  Her, Jed, and Jonathan do Temptation; then I shut the curtains. We take away all the backdrops but the cheesecloth.

  Chester's standing on one side, and I'm on the other. Chloe opens the curtains. I can see the whole audience, right through the cheesecloth. Mama's setting there with Daddy and Granny. Sister Coates is a-setting in the front row with Pastor and Mrs. Tilbury.

  We first make like the ark's bobbing in heavy seas, up and down, up and down. Then we just start talking.

  "Mr. Noah," I say, "we got some problems."

  "What kind of problems?" says Noah.

  "All them animals is seasick, Mr. Noah, and the place stinks to high Heaven."

  "Open up the windows," says Noah.

  "Mr. Noah, you only made one."

  "That's what the Lord told me to do."

  "Well, the Lord don't have to live on this boat. He should have told you to make more windows. Truth is, Mr. Noah, them animals need their cages cleaned out."

  Mr. Noah sighs. "Mrs. Noah, I'm getting sick and tired of your complaining. How about you and the wives tending to them cages."

  "Mr. Noah, this ark is a-carrying twenty thousand animals. We got ten thousand cages on three levels. Each of them cages stink, and a Komodo dragon's running loose. Now me and the girls ain't a-going down there."

  "Why not just hose it down?"

  "Mr. Noah, we ain't got no hoses. We need shovels and we need buckets. I hope you remembered to bring them things because the smell is bad. You know what a kitty box can smell like, Mr. Noah, when it ain't been cleaned. Now we got some mighty big animals, and they's using their cage for a litter box. Mr. Noah, you ever seen how much a T. rex poops? Plus we got two hippos, two elephants, two rhinos, and a bunch of other beasts, all of them making their own mess."

  "Mrs. Noah," says Mr. Noah, "you're nothing but a fussbudget."

  "And you're nothing but a lazy old man."

  Right then Brother Lucas has Chloe drop down a bird with a leaf in its mouth. Means the waters is going down. I know Brother Lucas wants to end this show real quick.

  Orlin comes on. "I DO SET A RAINBOW IN THE CLOUD AND DO PROMISE THAT I WILL NEVER AGAIN FLOOD THIS HERE EARTH. AMEN."

  So we's all cheering, Chloe shuts them curtains, and that's the end of the puppet show.

  We all come out onstage, Orlin still complaining to Brother Lucas that people was laughing at God.

  I don't even look at Mama. She's probably thinking I've been taken over by the Devil.

  But everyone applauds and applauds, especially Pastor Tilbury. He's slapping his feet together like a seal.

  Him and Mrs. Tilbury come up. "Well I loved your Mrs. Noah," says Mrs. Tilbury. "Made me think, it did. How in Heaven's name did they manage on that ark? Must have been some trick to it, eight people tending ten thousand cages."

  "I think them animals was hypnotized," says Pastor Tilbury.

  "Or maybe they was all in hibernation," says Mrs. Tilbury.

  "But not all animals hibernate," I say.

  "Mary Mae, you got a good questioning mind," says Pastor Tilbury.

  "Mary Mae's studying at home now," says Sister Coates.

  Mama steps in, proud to tell the story. "I did not like what they was teaching, so I pulled her out of school. Told them, 'You can keep your books, I want my daughter brought up Bible.'"

  "They was teaching about fossils," says Daddy, "but we got fossils in our own backyard. It don't seem right to keep Mary Mae from looking at 'em. What do
you think, Pastor Tilbury?"

  "I can understand your concern," he says to Mama, "but fossils is God's creatures, too. Nothing wrong with fossils. I collect them myself. Got me some crinoids and brachiopods. The way I see it, they was all fossilized during Noah's flood in 3500 B.C."

  "Now me, I believe they was fossilized in 90,000 B.C.," says Mrs. Tilbury. "I believe the world is a hundred thousand years old."

  "I think you're way off," Pastor Tilbury says to his wife, "but everyone's got a right to their opinion."

  Imagine that. A man of the Lord saying you got a right to your opinion.

  I start to give mine, but Granny raps my leg with her cane.

  "I say dig all the fossils you want," says Pastor Tilbury. "They's proof of God's early Creation."

  "Do you mean the Lord ain't trying to trick us?" says Mama.

  "Fossils is mentioned right in the Bible," says Pastor Tilbury. "'For the invisible things of him from the Creation.' I think it's Romans."

  Seeing as how fossils is okay, I tell all. "We seen a whole riverbed full of fossils last weekend," I say.

  Even Mama chimes in. "Yes, we did," she says. "Down in Clarksville at the Falls of the Ohio. Beautiful fossils. Now I won't feel so wicked that I looked at them."

  I'm feeling grace now, like the Lord's got his arm wrapped around us all, standing here in this circle. Mama's feeling it, too. "Mary Mae," she says, "I believe the Lord wants you back in school. And I'm sorry. I oughtn't to have acted so quickly." Tears is running down Mama's cheeks, and she hugs me, and I'm crying and hugging her back.

  "You got a real smart little girl there," says Pastor Tilbury.

  "I know it," says Mama.

  But I got to ask Mama one important thing. "Can I have my fossil collection?"

  "Long as you keep it dusted," she says.

  "I'll make you a shelf," says Daddy.

  17. Blessed

  Mama takes me back to school Thursday morning.

  We walk into Mr. Trimble's office. "Mrs. Krebs," he says, and puts out his hand.

  "I'm sorry I took Mary Mae out of school," says Mama. "I acted too hastily. Last night we had a guest pastor at the church that says it's all right to dig up fossils."

  "You can learn a lot from them," says Mr. Trimble. "We're pleased to have Mary Mae back." He says he'll gather my books for me and I can go on up to class.