She turned her back and walked away. I stood there feeling like mud. What good is mud? No one likes working in mud. After she was gone, I walked to the well and I did something that I never do. I looked at myself. I looked at my reflection to see what other people saw. It made me sad. My face was not pretty. My cheeks were swollen and my chin hung lower than it had to. My lips were still greasy from the piece of duck I swiped from the kitchen when I was making the chili. I hit the water’s surface sending my reflection rippling in different directions. I was going to be an old woman living her Father. Jude wanted Hannah but it didn't stop me from following him. I prayed about it all the time. Lord, how I prayed for God to take the feelings away from me. I didn't want to burn in hell and I was too afraid to ask the good Reverend for prayer. He would’ve whipped my back off and put me in ‘the box’. That’s where they put the really-bad girls. It was mostly me. I heard my mother was put in the box a time or two back in her day. I heard she almost died in there.
I spent three hellish days in the box once. In the middle of August. What was my crime? I laughed aloud in the middle of the funeral for the good Deacon Robertson’s fifth wife. She died from a bee attack. It wasn't funny. The fact that she was stealing the honey was kind of funny. She was the fattest woman in the church and the good Reverend forced her husband to put her on a strict diet. But, that wasn't why I laughed either. Titus and Judea sat across the church cracking jokes. I laughed because Jude laughed. It was a reflex. Her casket was three feet wide. I laughed after he started laughing. The good Reverend said that I was possessed by the devil. I was given ten stiff lashes and told to kneel in glass and pray for forgiveness. Afterward, I was tossed in the big metal box in the middle of the church yard. When Jude tried to take the blame, I was accused of bewitching him with the demon inside of me and given an extra day. Poor Jude. The guilt sent him into town to buy me expensive chocolate and pizza when they let me out. In the box, you piss, shit, and sleep in the same little space. I was lucky, Titus and Jude snuck me water. My mother had to go without.
Chapter Two
When the letter came, the third wife took Hannah and Able and boarded a train full of commoners. They were headed to some dusty desert town to visit her dying mother in Texas. Father let her go because he let her do what she wants to do. She is his pride and joy. That was also the day that the first cases of the NY2 virus were reported. They called it that because it was in New York City on the second day of June. Our home is in the north country hours away in the mountains. The same state, but two totally different worlds. We are closer to Canada than the city. Saints are farmers, not city folk. They compare us to Mormons and accused of all kinds of nasty things. Abuse, murder, arranged marriages, incest, and being anti-government to name a few. It is all true.
In our defense, girls do not marry until they are eighteen and never to boys more than five years older than them. Fifteen is the youngest age ever allowed and it was once. No one is forced to marry against their will. The women in our church want to be married. Jude said that town girls don’t want to get married. They want to get fucked. Jude has a very nasty mouth. Marriage is very important to us. We need strong families to support the church. First and second cousins are banned from marriage because of the birth defects that were common back in the old days. It got so bad that if a new baby lived, and it was a strong if, most were deformed or slow. The church thought it was a sign from God. They were being punished for not loving God enough. So, they prayed more. The babies were still deformed. It was the good Reverend’s great-grand father who banned cousin weddings. Third cousins are frowned upon but a few of the families are stuck in their ways. Kids are still born deformed generations later but not as much. Father has four such children buried somewhere in our wheat field. My brother, Luke, couldn't speak or hold his head up at four years old. His sister, Miriam, had a club foot and her eyes didn't stay straight. They were Titus’ full siblings. The third wife is the mother of four babies buried shortly after birth. Hannah and Able are her only surviving children. That’s why Father was worried.
When one person died from NY2, and then the second, and the third, no one cared. It was like swine flu, SARs and Ebola. People died and life went on. It wasn't like that this time. A hundred thousand people died in the first week with new cases crowding the streets outside of hospitals and clinics every minute. That’s what they knew. If you get sick, you go to the hospital. The surviving medical staff abandoned their positions and fled in the first days. The people who could afford it left the country. They left despite warnings and government orders. Many of them had already contracted the virus themselves but weren't showing symptoms yet. It was like spraying a crop duster full of death across the country. The zombie lovers were expecting the dead to get up and start eating people but they didn't. They stayed dead. My church blamed the second coming of Christ. It was the Revelations in real life. They’d been planning for this very thing for over 300 years. That’s why when civilization collapsed, we were fine. Except for Father. He was hysterical. His favorite wife was stuck in Texas.
My family's downfall, like most of the other families, was the very thing that we cling to. The church. The good Reverend insisted we leave the safety of our homes to meet for a Saturday service. I was terrified. Father didn’t hesitate. We had to pray for salvation and for the plague to be lifted. My problem with the service was the visitors. Commoners. There were commoners in the church. A few bold Saints turned their families around at the door and went home. The commoners were afraid and desperate enough to meet at our church to pray with us and beg for help. I was uncomfortable as soon as I saw them. They looked tired and hungry. One of them was coughing. He didn’t sound good. I nursed plenty of sick people. I knew he would be on his death bed before the week was out.
“The scourge cannot touch us in God’s house.” The good Reverend yelled to the heavens.
He laid hands on everyone including the commoners. When it was my turn I hesitated. See, Judea and me watch the iPad in secret and I saw the movie ‘Carriers’ last year. I didn't want to go to church in the first place. That man wasn’t touching me. Anointed or not. I would explain it to God when I saw him face to face. Father and the second wife dragged me down the aisle and I received twenty lashes with the cane for my ungodly behavior. Then, I was forced to kneel in glass for the remainder of the service. My soft knees swallowed up the glass under my weight. I didn't cry. It wasn't the first time. I walked home alone after the service was over. I walked down the dark road limping from the glass imbedded in my knees. Every now and again a car slowed down, see that it was me, and keep going. An engine revved behind me a third of the way into my walk. I stood a little straighter. I walked a little taller and pretended I didn’t notice Jude when he slowed his very ungodly truck beside me. It was brand new and sat high off the ground. His father hated that truck but he would never deny him anything. Jude is his only son out of fifteen children. He wasn’t wearing his hat that night.
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
I loved looking at him but I mostly stole glances when I could. His hair hung silky straight in the moonlight. He never let it grow past his collar in back because it isn’t allowed in the church.
“Judea, I can't. We will both end up in trouble.” I said, looking down at the scuffed toe of my old work boot. I was so damn thirsty.
“What are they going to do to me, Dumani? Let me look at your knees at least.”
I blushed under my brown skin. Never. He’s the only person who uses my full name.
“I’ve seen your knees before.” He reminded me.
“I was ten.”
“They are the same knees.”
His smile can make a woman forget her own name. I blushed again. The same knees? Not hardly. Judea frowned in understanding.
“Come on Duma, I know what you look like with your clothes off.”
“What?” I started sweating even more.
“I might’ve watched you bathing once or t
wice when I was visiting Titus. It's no big deal.”
“Why did you do that?” I was scandalized.
“I wanted to see you naked.” He shrugged it off with his narrow shoulders.
He wanted to see me naked? Why? I was stuck between being embarrassed and disgusted. Who would want to see me naked? To see if I was fat all over? To make fun of me? I kept walking. I heard the truck park behind me before the door opened and closed. He grabbed my arm, stopping me. I flinched. Not because it hurt. Because he touched me. People don’t touch me unless they are hitting me or stealing squeezes of my private places.
“Your father won’t like it.” I protest.
“Father believes he’s going to heaven. He is a fool.”
“He let sick people in the church today. Did you hear them coughing? What if we all get sick, Judea? What if we die?” I asked as he led me to his truck. It was shiny in the dark with tan leather seats. Being the good Reverend’s son is a lucrative business. The Hamilton’s didn't live without modern influences like us. Titus said they had cool air and new cars. Everyone has solar power and deep wells. In our church, we can hunt and farm and take care of ourselves. We live the way our people have for hundreds of years. Except, the good Reverend. He lived how he wanted. I looked over at Jude in the cab of the truck even though it was forbidden. His hair was blowing around his face in the breeze. It was my first time in his truck. I'd never been inside of a man’s car before. I had never been inside of anyone’s car before. Jude lit a cigarette and clicked on the radio. My heart was thudding with excitement from being so close to him. Some preacher’s son he was. Michael Jackson was singing Butterflies. I love Michael Jackson. Jude turned it up. He likes Michael Jackson too.
“We aren't going to die. Stay away from people. Stay away from town. And, stay the hell away from that goddamn Church.”
He blasphemed the church in the worst kind of way. I said a prayer for forgiveness in my head and crossed myself for him because he wasn’t going to do it. Judea didn’t care about repenting. He didn’t care about sinning.
“I wanted to kill that bastard today when he was hitting you.” Jude said flicking his cigarette out into the night. My bottom and my back were on fire. The good Reverend can sure swing a stick.
“It doesn’t hurt much.” I lied.
He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. I’d seen the good Reverend beat his wives much worse and I considered myself lucky.
“Don’t lie to me, Dumani.” He said sympathetically.
I didn’t want him to look at me that way. I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. I wanted him to watch me the way he watched Hannah, and the trashy girls from town. I wanted him to look at me the way girls looked at him. Jude was like his father when it came to women and he didn’t stick to one particular color or size. He liked a good variety. His father had all color wives. They were quiet, obedient, and walked head down the way they were supposed to. A man’s wife can never look another man in the eyes. It is punishable with fifty lashes. Her husband can send her home to her parents if he wants to. If that happens, the other women in the church are forbidden from speaking to her and the men won't even look at her. She will be invisible. She will be dead to the church. If a married woman lets another man touch her she will be hanged.
It makes me think of the night Jude and Titus snuck me to a field party in town. There was a band playing and they knew I would enjoy the music. I enjoyed the music and they enjoyed the town girls. I sat on the soft grass with my long dress spread out around me waiting for them. I knew not to leave that spot until they returned. I sat there stealing glances at the young couples hugging and kissing more than I watched the band. It was sinful. I wanted to sit that way with Jude Hamilton. The boy who sat down beside me wasn’t Jude. He was a town boy. He sat on my dress and I was too stunned to tell him to get off. I was too stunned to move.
“You look so peaceful and calm sitting here all alone. You are one of those church girls, aren’t you? I can tell. I like your dress.”
I wore it in hopes of pleasing Jude but he didn’t notice. He never noticed. That boy noticed and he said it was pretty. I was not supposed to speak to boys or look them the in the eye and so I didn’t. I kept my hands and my eyes on my lap.
“You can say something. I won’t tell on you. What’s your name?”
His fingers reached up, pinched the edge of my scarf, and uncovered my curly hair. I was sweating by that point and scared to death. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t supposed to leave or raise my hand to a man. The boy took advantage of my situation and took my hair all the way down. It exploded all over my head and down my back.
“You have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen.” He picked up a hank of it. “Are you a virgin? I hear all of you girls are virgins until you get marri—”
The boy was jerked away from me so fast it could’ve been a tornado that lifted him up. I watched in awe as he was pummeled into the ground by something worse than a tornado. Judea Hamilton.
“Do you have permission to speak to this girl, motherfucker?” Punch. “Are you her husband?” Punch, punch. “Is that why you were touching her?” Kick. “She is one of ours and you don’t fuck with ours.” Punch. “Town whores are for that.” Kick. “Why do you think we are here? I should kill you.” Kick.
It was a sight to see. Jude was defending me. He pulled me to my feet and covered my hair with the shirt from his back as he led me away.
“Are you okay?” He asked me when we were alone. He braided my thick hair into two quick plaits before tucking it away under my scarf again. I nodded yes.
“I should go back there and kill him. Never let another man touch you again, Dumani. Do you hear me? I don’t care what the church says. You kick his ass and you call for me.”
“I will.”
“I’m taking you home. You have tits and ass now. Horny boys love tits and ass. You are too old to hang around with me anymore.”
It was the worst day ever. That was a long time ago. Long before he got the new truck. Despite my burning back and my aching knees I found joy in looking at him. Jude smelled like soap, clove cigarettes, and country air in the cab that night. I closed my eyes and I imagined we were together. He took me to his cousin Timothy's house. He rang a cow bell to be let in. Timothy's first wife was always nice to me. Maybe because we were both the big girls growing up. She put on another thirty pounds after the birth of her first child and fifteen with each child after little Timmy. It didn't seem to bother her husband at all. In fact, Myra was his favorite wife. Everyone knew it. She wasn’t like his other wives. She smiled with her eyes and laughed when her husband whispered in her ear. Myra wasn’t surprised to see me at her house.
“Good evening, brother Jude. Welcome to my home, Duma Dare.” She didn't look at Jude when she spoke. For me, she had the sympathetic smile. I saw her in the pews witnessing my caning that day. She glanced down at my blood-stained dress. My knees hurt worse than my back. My pride hurt most of all.
“Good evening, sister. Is my cousin around?”
“Yes. He’s out in his workshop. Let me get you both a cool drink.”
“Nothing for me, but she’s probably thirsty.”
The tall glass of cold water refreshes me and I thank her again after I finished my second. She offers me something to eat and I quickly decline with a blush.
“Can you bring me a few clean towels, tweezers, and alcohol?”
“Of course, brother. I can help Duma if you want me to.”
Nursing is women’s work. Jude shouldn’t be doing women’s work.
“Thank you for the offer, but I think she’ll be more comfortable if I do it.” Jude said kindly. After she got him what he needed, he took me by the arm and escorted me out of the cozy little house and across the yard to the machine shed. I heard Elvis Presley blaring from inside. What was it with the Hamilton’s? Elvis Presley is not godly. Timothy sat behind the pulpit beside his cousin that day holding his leather bible. He waved his ha
nds in worship, and lifted his voice in prayer. An hour later he was swinging his behind to Jailhouse Rock. Jude pushed open the big door and Timothy Hamilton was bent over the engine of an old army jeep with an open beer within reaching distance. There were empty bottles scattered on the dirt floor. Beer bottles? I crossed myself. The whole family was corrupt.
“Hey bro.” Jude said and Tim knocked the back of his head on the hood when he stood up without thinking. I winced.
“Goddamn it Jude, you scared the fucking hell out of—”
He saw me and stopped talking. I don't know who was more embarrassed. Me or him. He was redder than a ripe cherry. I was redder than that.
“Duma Dare, I apologize. I had no idea you were here. I’m also sorry about what happened in church today. To be honest, we are all shaken. It isn't like Uncle Mordecai to let commoners into the church. Especially sick ones. Nobody but my cousin is allowed in here after today.” Timothy said stepping in front of the table to hide the frosty beer. Jude reached behind him, picked it up, and took a long swig.
“You aren't even old enough to drink, Jude.” He said frowning.
“I am a man.”
“You are still the baby.”
Timothy walked over to an old Coca Cola cooler and took another beer from the icy water. Jude lit a cigarette taking a deep drag.
“Does Mordecai know how much you smoke?”
“Does he know you drink and listen the devil’s music?” Jude countered raising one perfect eyebrow. He is so handsome that my heart hurts from just looking at him.
“Sit.” He pointed me into a chair.
The Doomsday Papers Page 2
