Fiery Rivers

by Daefyd Williams

  Fourth grade had come and gone, and now it was August. The only happy memory he had of last year was fooling the teacher at Easter time, when she had brought baby chicks into the classroom to show the students and, after she had taken them out of the room, he had made the baby chick sound with his mouth. She could not figure out where the lost chick was until Devon told her that he was making the sound, and everyone had laughed, for once not at him, but with him.

  As he lay on his back in the grass, he remembered that his teacher, Mrs. Schnier, had talked about sunspots one day when she was teaching science. She had said that sunspots were dark spots on the surface of the sun. Now he stared at the sun, determined to see them. He thought he was beginning to see something dark in the blazing whiteness of the sun when he felt something tickling his cheek, an ant. “I can talk to this guy,” he thought. “He’ll do what I tell ‘im to do. Go over to my nose an’ crawl up to my forehead. Go over to my nose an’ crawl up to my forehead.” The ant walked over to his nose and bit him painfully on the upper lip. He swiftly knocked the ant away, and the white heat of the sun exploded inside him. He leaped up and quickly found the ant mound next to the house. It was a small mound of sand with a hole at its top with ants busily going in and out of it. He viciously stomped on it again and again until he could see no ants emerging from it. “That’ll teach you, you foul demons. That’ll teach you.”

  “Young’uns, it’s dinner time! Git on in here!” Marie yelled from the front porch. She looked down at Janice. “You and your brothers wanta have dinner with us, honey?”

  “Nah,” she replied, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “We promised Mommy we’d be back for dinner.”

  The boys sauntered into the front yard from the vacant lot. Marie looked at Rennie. “At least you’re stayin’ for dinner, ain’tchou?”

  “Why, yes, ma’am, I reckon.”

  “Alright, then. You young’uns go warsh up.”

  Doug asked, “You guys wanta play another game after dinner?”

  “Maybe,” Rennie replied.

  “Yeah, prob’ly,” Del said.

  “Come an’ git us if you do.”

  “Alright,” Del assented.

  The three Brower children walked home.

  “What’re you young’uns waitin’ for? Go warsh up now.” Marie inserted a wisp of red hair that had fallen from the bun at the back of her head and was tickling her neck back into the bun.

  Dinner was sandwiches of bologna and quarter-inch slices of Velveeta cheese on Wonder bread slathered with mayonnaise, bowls of Campbell’s tomato soup, Mikesell’s potato chips, and grape Kool-Aid. All of the children bowed their heads as Marie said grace. “Lord, we thank thee for all the bounties we are about to receive. Thank you, Jesus. Amen.”

  After dinner, Devon washed the dishes while Rennie and Del continued their Joie Chitwood routine in the front yard. Gloryann watched her mother work on a patchwork quilt in the guest bedroom. When Devon had finished the dishes, the boys asked Marie if they could ride their bikes on the road, and she agreed. They spent the remainder of the afternoon riding up and down the knolls atop Pennyroyal hill. Eventually, they ended up on the new bridge spanning Interstate 75, which was being constructed below. What had once been fertile fields for growing corn and lush pastures for grazing cattle were being turned into a four-lane concrete freeway. The boys watched the line of cement trucks dump their loads, one after another, onto the nascent freeway. The idling engines coughed thick, black smoke from their tall, chrome exhaust pipes into the hazy Ohio afternoon. Tired of the monotony, the boys rode their bikes to Rennie’s house, just blocks west of the bridge.

  Angela was swinging in the tire swing in the front yard. Del and Devon waved to her. Rennie signed: “Where’s Mommy?”

  She signed back: “Kitchen.”

  The boys parked their bikes in front of the garage. As they approached the kitchen, they heard Leona singing along to a song on the radio, “Teen Angel,” her favorite song. Listening to the radio was one of her few guilty pleasures.

  Leona offered them glasses of orange Kool-Aid with ice, and they drank it greedily. They had been riding their bikes without water for several hours. “You boys oughta not stay out so long without drinkin’ nothin’.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Rennie said.

  “You an’ Devon are stayin’ for supper, ain’tchou, Del?”

  “Nah,” Del said, “we gotta git back home. It’s church night.”

  Leona brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “Well, you boys better get goin’ then. Your Mommy’s prob’ly got supper waitin’.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. C’mon Dev, let’s go. Thanks for the Kool-Aid, Miss Slusher.”

  “You’re more than welcome, honey. You boys come back tomorrow.”

  “OK. Bye, Rennie.”

  “Bye.”

  The Franklin Pentecostal Church had wide concrete steps leading to the front doors and a white steeple. Inside the church, the sparse congregation was finishing the last stanza of “The Old Rugged Cross,” led by Sister Slattery, a rotund woman in a white skirt and light blue blouse. Her round, pleasant face was attractive, but her appearance was blighted by a large, bulbous goiter on the left side of her neck, to which Devon’s attention was always drawn. It was mottled with red splotches and seemed to be a fleshbag full of worms, so uneven was its surface. He wondered how it would feel to brush his fingers across it. When they had finished singing the song, Brother Miller, standing beside Sister Slattery, stopped strumming his guitar, and they took their seats among the congregation on the left side of the church. Hanging from the arms and foot of the wooden cross on the wall behind the pulpit were red woolen tassels, symbolizing the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ.

  Reverend William Doyle, a slender man with shiny, black hair combed straight back from his forehead, adjusted his bolo tie by pulling down on the cords with his slender fingers and pushing up the amber slide containing a small scorpion. He stepped up to the pulpit. “Thank you, Sister Slattery an’ Brother Miller, for leadin’ us in that blessin’. Brothers an’ sisters, tonight we’re gonna talk about that still, small voice you sometimes hear inside your head. You all know who that still, small voice is, an’ you ignore it at your peril. You might think sometimes that that voice is just your imagination, but pay attention. Pay attention. Elijah, in first Kings, chapter nineteen, went out lookin’ for a sign from God. He saw the strong winds rendin’ the mountains, but did not hear the voice o’ God. He felt the rumblin’s of a mighty earthquake, an’ he felt the white-hot heat from a ragin’ fire, but he heard no voice o’ God in any o’ these. Then, in verse twelve, the Bible tells us that he heard ‘a still small voice,’ tellin’ him to go to Damascus an’ crown the new king. An’ on the way there, he comes upon Elisha, who becomes his follower. What’s our lesson in this? Pay attention to that still small voice, for it will lead you to the path of righteousness an’ keep you on the straight an’ narrow. That still, small voice is God himself talkin’ to you, guidin’ you on your way to see the throne an’ the kingdom of heaven.”

  Adam, Marie’s husband, shifted forward on the pew with interest. He was a handsome man with a regal bearing and a fine aquiline nose, his black hair slightly receding at the temples. Gloryann was playing church steeple with her fingers. Devon and Del were bored. They had heard these sermons their entire lives. Del was feeling the hardened ridges of the chewing gum on the underside of the pew, and Devon was trying to read the Sunday attendance board to the right of the cross. Ever since he had tried to see the spots on the sun, he could not bring objects into focus very well. It worried him.

  At the conclusion of his sermon on listening to the still, small voice of God, Reverend Doyle asked if anyone had heard that voice and wanted Jesus to come into his or her life and join the fold of the redeemed who would be with Jesus forever in heaven after the rapture, but no one came forward; the few sinners in the audience were not brave enough or guilty enough to ask the Lord to save them from the ever
lasting fires of hell. He ended the service with a prayer, raising his arms and closing his eyes. “Glorious Father, merciful Son, we thank thee for givin’ us another day of life on thy wondrous earth. May you guide and keep all our brethren safe on their journey home. Sha nah nahnah nie. Amen.” And the congregation said, “Amen.”

  Just before Adam turned the Chevrolet station wagon right onto Pennyroyal Road coming from the church, Marie remembered that they were out of milk. She looked at Adam and said, “Honey, we need some milk for tomorr’. We better stop at the carryout an’ git a gallon.”

  “Didden the milkman come this week?” he asked.

  “Yeah, he did, but these young’uns go through it like it’s water.”

  “Alright.” He pulled the car into the parking lot of the store, which sat on the northeast corner of Pennyroyal Road and North Dixie Highway and turned off the engine. As Marie opened the door to get out, Devon whined, “Can I go too?”

  “I thought you was asleep.”

  Del was sleeping with his head leaned against the left rear door and Gloryann was sleeping in the back of the station wagon. All three children usually went to sleep as soon as they got into the car after an evening church service.

  “I was, but I ain’t now,” he replied.

  “Awright, let’s go.”

  Devon got out of the car and followed his mother into the store. Inside the store, he asked, “Mommy, can I look at the commie books?”

  “Awright, but don’t go gittin’ no ideas that I’m gonna buy one for ya. We can’t afford such nonsense.” She went off to find the milk, and Devon stood looking at the rack of comic books with its usual offerings of Superman and Batman.

  As he turned the rack, a glossy picture of a lion cub on the cover of a book near the bottom of the rack caught his eye. It was called Animals of the World and was a picture book describing exotic animals from every continent with stickers at the back of the book that could be detached and affixed to match the animal described on that page. Devon instantly fell in love with it. He just had to have it. He had been in love with animals ever since the family had gotten Dukie, their mongrel dog, from Billy, Marie’s uncle, in Middletown two years ago. He took the book to Marie, who was paying for a gallon of milk and a loaf of Wonder bread at the counter.

  “Mommy, will you buy this for me?” he asked hopefully.

  “Wha’d I tell ya when we came into the store?” Marie responded sharply. “We ain’t got no money to spend on no foolishness like commie books.”

  “That’ll be a dollar twenty-five, Miss Hensley,” Clark, the fat store owner, informed her. He placed the items into a paper bag.

  “It’s not a commie book, Mommy. It’s a pitcher book about animals. See?” He opened the book and showed her a picture of a baboon.

  “I said NO, Devon, an’ that’s the end of it! Put that thang back on the rack.”

  “But Mommy, it’s only fifteen cents,” Devon whined.

  “Do what I told ya to do. PUT IT BACK ON THE RACK! Here y’are, Clark.” She handed him the money. “An’ hurry up about it! We’re leavin’ right now.”

  Devon felt a surge of hot anger flood into his stomach. He trudged slowly to the rack and put the book back. Tears filled his eyes. His lower lip quivered.

  “Thank you, Miss Hensley,” Clark smiled.

  Devon swung the door of the store open quickly and let it close before his mother could get to it.

  Marie followed him out. “You better STRAIGHTEN UP an’ fly right, young man, or your daddy’s gonna give you a taste o’ tea when we git home.”

  “Don’t care,” Devon mumbled as he opened the back door of the car, tears streaming down his face.

  Marie glared at him. “Wha’d you say?”

  “Nothin’,” he said. He flopped onto the seat directly behind hers and slammed the door.

  Adam turned quickly around and looked at him sharply. “You do that again an’ I’m gonna whup you when we git home!” He looked at Marie as she placed the bag on the floor of the car and got in. “What happen’?”

  “Oh, he wanted some silly commie book an’ I told him before we went in we didden have no money for no nonsense like that. We’re strugglin’ to make ends meet as it is. He’s just bein’ his usual stubb self. You know how ‘e is.”

  “You better start flyin’ right, right now, boy,” Adam told him.

  “That’s what I told ‘im,” Marie confirmed.

  Devon watched the darkness of the trees go by as the car wound its way up Pennyroyal hill. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. “They never do nothin’ for me,” he thought. “I jus’ wanted an animal book. She won’t let me do nothin’.” He kicked the back of her seat hard with both feet.

  “DEVON!! That’s it, young man. You’re gittin’ it when we git home!” she announced.

  “Wha’d he do?” Adam asked.

  “He just kicked the back o’ my seat with his feet. That’s all.”

  “Oh, you ARE gittin’ it now when we git home, young man. You’re jus’ tryin’ to show yourself. I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about,” Adam declared.

  Devon’s anger instantly metamorphosed into dread. Now he had done it. He wished he could run away. Del and Gloryann pretended to sleep in the back of the station wagon. They didn’t want any part of what was in store for him.

  When they pulled into their driveway on Marcella Drive, Dukie came bounding off the front porch, wagging his tail fiercely. Del stooped to pet him on the head. He was white with large brown spots, probably a terrier-hound mix. Adam carried Gloryann into the house and to her bedroom. She had fallen back to sleep. Devon morosely followed his mother up the back steps and into the kitchen.

  “Go put your jammies on,” she commanded.

  “’Kay,” he mumbled. He went into the bedroom and changed into his pajamas. Del put his pajamas on and then climbed into the top bunk. Devon sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, picking at the blanket, waiting.

  Adam came into the bedroom. “Stand up, Dev,” he ordered. He unbuckled his belt and folded it so that it was doubled in his right hand. “I said STAND UP!”

  Devon did not look up at his father. “But I just wanted a animal book. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whined. He began to cry, but did not move from the bed.

  Adam grabbed him by his left wrist and jerked him upright. He began to whip him hard across his buttocks with the leather belt. “When me or Mommy tell ya to do somethin’, YOU DO IT! YOU HEAR ME, BOY?”

  “Ow! OW!!” Devon screamed as he tried to twist away from the belt that felt like a red-hot wire against his nearly bare buttocks, protected only by the thin material of his Superman pajamas.

  “You STAND STILL, BOY!! Or I’m gonna give ya some more!” Adam hissed.

  Del pleaded from the top bunk, “Daddy, please don’t whip Dev. Please don’t whip ‘im. Whip me instead.”

  Adam looked at Del and stopped his whipping. “You git down here, too! You prob’ly done sump’n’ to sass your mother, too.”

  Del dutifully climbed down the ladder from the top bunk. He turned his back so his father could easily whip him, which he did. Del did not make a sound. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks, but he stood there mutely as the belt flailed against his buttocks.

  Adam stopped. “Now the next time Mommy tells ya to do sump’n’, you gonna do it?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Del assented.

  “Dev?”

  Yuh . . . yeah,” Devon managed to croak out through his sobbing.

  “You two git in bed now, an’ Mommy’ll be in an’ tuck ya in.” He left the room.

  In a few minutes, Marie came into the room wearing pink pajamas. “You boys say your prayers?” she asked.

  “No, Mommy,” Del said. Devon shook his head no.

  “Well, git down here then, an’ do it.”

  Del climbed down the ladder again, and Devon got on his knees beside his bed. Del kneeled beside him. They closed their eyes and pressed their hands together in an attitude of prayer.
They prayed together, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Bless this family an’ all the families that love you. Amen.”

  “Now that’s my good boys,” Marie smiled approvingly. “Git in bed now.” She tucked the blankets in around them, turned off the light, and left the room. Devon felt a sorrow like a heavy anchor upon his chest.

  “That Devon’s gittin’ stubborner by the day,” she said as she lay down beside Adam.

  “I know,” Adam agreed. “I’m just gonna have to start layin’ down the law more. I’m gonna pray.” He got on his knees beside the bed just as his sons had done. “Dear Jesus, an’ our Father in heaven, help me to be a better father an’ know when I should whup my kids so that they will honor their mother an’ father an’ grow up to honor thee an’ praise thee. Save grampa an’ all my brothers an’ sisters an’ all o’ Marie’s brothers an’ bless this family. In thy holy name, amen.” He got back into bed, pecked Marie on the mouth, said, “G’night,” turned on his side and instantly fell asleep.

  “G’night, honey.”

  Marie thought back to when they had first accepted Jesus as their Lord and personal savior. It was March, 1953. Unable to find work to support his family, Adam had bought an old school bus for $150, gutted the inside, and outfitted it with two beds, a small kitchen area, and a living area with a sofa and two chairs. After tearfully saying good-bye to her father and brothers, Marie and Adam had set out with their three-year-old son, Devon, and his five-year-old brother, Del, pointing the nose of the bus towards Phoenix, Arizona, where Marie’s Uncle Kenoy, her Aunt Celia, and her grandmother, Louise, had moved in a futile attempt to stave off the ravages of rheumatoid arthritis in Kenoy’s hands and ankles.