by J. Bryan
This inspired people in the crowd to scream and squirm in response. The punchy piano music accelerated, and the writhing and screaming spread through the tent.
Juliana frowned. She doubted this man was anything but a big talker who knew how to sway a crowd. She was beginning to feel stupid for coming to the revival, like just another mark who couldn’t see the game.
“I know why many of you are here tonight,” the preacher said. “Word gets around, don’t it, about the wonders of the Lord that unfold right here, in this very tent? I’ve heard people say I can cure the blind, heal the sick, chase out the demons of illness.” Many of the crowd shouted excitedly. “They say I can take a crippled man and make him walk, that I can cast out all manner of pox and measles.” The crowd grew more excited, and many began trying to push their way to the front.
Juliana tensed. This was it, the alleged healing part of the show.
“Those folks are plain wrong!” the preacher shouted. “I’m just a simple country preacher. It’s the Lord that heals! It’s the Spirit that heals the sick and the suffering little children, and the lepers and all of ‘em! I am just a humble vessel of the Lord, that’s all!”
The crowd roared their enthusiastic response.
The preacher’s assistant brought up a man with his arm in a sling. The preacher prayed, danced around, and laid his hands on the broken arm. The man took off the sling and waved the bandaged arm at the crowd, grinning, and the crowd shouted things like “Hallelujah!” and “Praise the Lord!” There was no way to tell whether he was a shill or not.
The family with the polio-stricken boy was trying to push their way to the stage, but the thick crowd wasn’t budging. Juliana decided to let the little boy’s leg be her test of whether the healing was real. She jumped in front of the family.
“Crippled boy, coming through!” she shouted. “Let us through, he’s crippled! Please!” She did her best to look sad, pulling out every carnival trick she knew. A few people eased aside, but they didn’t get far, so she raised the stakes. “Dying boy! Look out, this boy’s going to die right now! Help this dying boy reach the stage!”
More people took an interest now, and some even helped out, passing the word along and urging others to step aside. She kept repeating her plea as she advanced, opening a narrow path for the family, who followed right behind her.
She kept up her patter until they reached the very edge of the stage, where the father was able to pass the little boy to the preacher’s assistant, who carried him over to the preacher. His parents watched, the father hard-eyed and skeptical, the mother full of hope.
Juliana crossed her arms and waited to see whether a miracle would happen.
“Oh, yes, this boy’s been stricken, all right,” the preacher said. “Sick leg, does everyone see that? The boy cannot walk!” The preacher’s assistant held the boy out for the crowd to see, then turned him toward the preacher, who said, “But the Lord is merciful, and offers us hope. Tell me, boy, do you love the Lord?”
“Yes,” the boy answered, in a small voice.
“And the Lord loves you, too. And we can ask Him for the great gift of healing, we can ask for His blessing...” The preacher danced around the stage a little, then shouted, “Demon of affliction, I cast thee out! Go back to the fires of damnation from which you rose!” He slapped the boy’s leg, hard enough that Juliana jumped in surprise and the boy’s mother cried out.
The assistant turned the boy to face the audience again and held him up high. Beneath his overalls, which were cut off at the knees, everyone could see that both his legs appeared perfectly healthy. The crowd gasped.
The assistant lowered the boy to his feet. He looked off-balance for a moment, then finally took a chance and put his weight on his newly healed leg. A smile burst across his face, and his mother cried out again.
“Healed, praise the Lord!” the preacher said. “God is in this tent with us today, ain’t He?”
The crowd roared that yes, He was, while the assistant carried the boy back to the side of the stage and handed him back to his shocked father and weeping mother. Juliana immediately stepped forward and grabbed the assistant’s sleeve.
“Me next,” Juliana told him.
The assistant looked at her. She hadn’t paid much attention to him before, focusing on the preacher like everyone else. The assistant wasn’t much older than her, and he was handsome despite his scratchy, fuzzy attempt at growing a beard. His intense blue eyes took her in, and something fluttered in her stomach.
“Do I need to carry you, too?” he asked, with an amused smile.
“I can manage on my own, thanks.”
“I don’t think you’ll make it to the stairs.” He tilted his head to the far end of the stage. Dozens of people, crammed tightly together, blocked her path. “It’s my way or no way.”
“Then be a gentleman about it.” She held up her arms and let him grab her around the waist and lift her to the stage. For a moment, her body was pressed against his, and the sensation of his strong, firm chest through her clothes made her flush red. He set her on her feet.
They waited while the preacher finished healing a man who’d lost a finger harvesting grain—it grew back, to the great delight of the crowd, who shouted lots of “Hallelujah!” So did the chorus of three women. The piano player kept the tempo moving fast.
“Who else comes for the Lord’s healing?” the preacher asked, scratching his head through his odd-colored curly hair.
“You’re on,” the assistant whispered in Juliana’s ear. He steered her toward the smiling preacher. As he did it, he pushed back her sleeve and laid his fingers on her bare arm, before she realized what he was doing.
She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held tight. Incredibly, his fingers did not boil and blister where they touched her, and he did not cry out and leap back in pain. The boy’s touch was warm and gentle, and caused no unpleasantness for either of them.
Her eyes widened in awe. This was truly a place of miracles, because no one had ever been able to touch her without suffering infection. She understood now that God truly was in this tent, and now He could cast the demon plague out of her forever. She would no longer be a freak, and she would be free to touch anyone she liked. She was more than happy to start with the preacher’s young assistant, whose hand lingered on her arm even as she faced the preacher.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Lord has brought us another sweet lamb,” the preacher said, eying her up and down. He smelled like sweaty armpits and chemical hair dye. “And what is your name, little angel?”
“Petra,” she said, giving her old, long-abandoned birth name.
“Petra, Petra. Will you let me lay my hands upon you, Petra? Will you open yourself to receiving the Lord’s blessing?”
“Yes...” she replied uncertainly.
“And what is your affliction, dear lamb?”
“I have...all kinds of diseases and plagues,” she told him.
“Afflicted!” the preacher shouted to the audience. “Afflicted by many diseases, many plagues, ladies and gentlemen? And do you know who afflicts with many diseases at once...a legion of plagues?”
Some in the audience shouted back their opinion that “Satan” or “the Devil” might be responsible.
“I said, do you know who causes such affliction?” he shouted, his face turning red.
“Satan!” more of the audience shouted back.
“Satan, Satan, Satan!” the preacher howled. “That’s right! And do you know who drives out Satan? Can you say His name? Can you, say, Oh, Lord, cast out these demons?”
The crowd shouted it back. The preacher and crowd shouted back and forth several times, the preacher giving them an “Oh, Lord, cast out these demons!” The crowd repeated it back to him each time: “Oh, Lord, cast out these demons!”
Emboldened by the power and energy of the crowd, and the little boy’s healed leg, Juliana slipped off both her gloves and held her bare hands high.
When the
crowd was at a fever pitch, the preacher turned, seized both of her hands, then closed his eyes and shouted one final “Oh, Lord, cast out these demons!”
Juliana clutched his hands, closed her eyes, and threw back her head, waiting for God to finally break her evil curse.
A wave of quiet rolled over the room, displacing the shouting, singing, and loud praying that had accompanied all the other healings. She didn’t feel any different. She opened her eyes.
The preacher stood in front of her, squeezing her hands, his jaw hanging open. Diseased sores had opened all over his face, and dark blood drooled from his lips. His face and jaw swelled and change shape, as if tumors were sprouting all over his skull. His hands, still gripping tight to hers, had turned rotten and leprous.
Juliana gasped and released him, realizing too late that the preacher didn’t have any power over the demon plague, after all. It was eating him up. The preacher staggered toward the front of the stage, groaning and raising his decayed hands. He fell to his knees, and the audience screamed and drew back. The chorus girls grabbed each other and screamed.
The piano player took one look at what was happening and wisely grabbed his hat and darted out through the canvas flaps at the back of the stage.
The crowd continued shrieking, panicked but not sure whether to run or pray or just shout. Many pointed at Juliana. She felt glued to the spot where she stood, though she knew she ought to leave the stage. There was nothing she could do. The preacher would die, and it would be her fault.
The preacher’s assistant hurried over to the horribly infected preacher and knelt beside him. He took the man’s contorted, blistered face in both hands, showing no fear at all. He spoke quietly to the preacher, and though Juliana couldn’t hear his words over the frightened crowd, she could hear his tone—calm, measured, focused.
Then, incredibly, the demon plague was reversed. The preacher’s face and neck healed, and his hands returned to normal. In less than a minute, it looked like he’d never been infected at all, except for the splotches of blood and pus on his suit and tie.
The assistant helped the preacher stand. The preacher looked down at his hands, turning them back and forth, then held them up for the audience to see. “Healed! Healed, by the grace of God!” he shouted. The crowd shouted back with hallelujahs and amens.
Then the preacher turned to Juliana and scowled as he pointed one trembling finger at her.
“The devil is here today!” the preacher announced. “This is no girl. She’s a demoness, sent from Hell!”
The crowd roared and surged toward the stage, shouting all kinds of filthy names and curses at Juliana.
“I’m not!” Juliana said, though she doubted anyone could hear her over the din. “I can’t help it! I don’t want to hurt anyone, I came to be healed...” She realized she was crying. Why not? She’d been foolish, letting herself hope for too much. She turned toward the preacher’s assistant, giving him a desperate look. He was the one with the miraculous power, she now understood, and not the preacher. Maybe he could still help her.
“Devil!” someone shouted from below.
“Witch!” screamed someone else.
Men and women from the crowd clambered up onto the stage with fear glowing in their eyes.
“Destroy her!” the preacher shouted. “Drown the demon in the river! We’ll baptize it back to Hell!”
The crowd swarmed the stage, all of them closing in on Juliana, and she realized they would kill her, unless she killed them first.
“Stop! Get back!” she shouted. She raised her bare hands and let the demon plague appear all over her skin, even her face, mutating her appearance into something infernal.
The crowd slowed. Suddenly, nobody wanted to be the first to grab her.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Juliana said. “I’m here for healing...but I can kill you if I want. Please don’t make me.”
One person advanced toward her, the preacher’s assistant. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the back of the stage. She noticed that her boils and blisters vanished where he touched her, and she felt a warm glow there instead.
“I have the touch of God, as you have just seen,” the young man told the confused, edgy mob. “I will take care of the girl.” He tugged Juliana toward the canvas flaps that served as the backdrop of the stage.
“Don’t you take that witch out of this tent!” the preacher shouted. “She’ll use her devilry on you!”
The assistant gave Juliana a long look. The crowd, emboldened by the preacher’s words, advanced on her again.
“We ought to run,” the assistant whispered to her.
They dashed away through the canvas curtain into the dim area behind the stage, where a number of preachers and their supporting performers had crowded to escape the rain. The snake handlers were still there, kneeling on the dirt floor and praying, their snakes rattling and hissing inside the basket. They looked up as Juliana and the preacher’s assistant leaped over the stage’s back steps, landed in the muddy dirt, and ran out of the tent into the rainy night.
A few trucks and automobiles were parked behind the tent, as well as a number of wagons, their horses hitched under tent tops to keep them out of the rain.
He led her into the horse tent and drew a knife from his boot. He cut free one horse after another as they moved down the temporary hitching rail. The crowd burst out through the back flaps of the tent, shouting and looking for them.
“What are you doing?” Juliana asked, as he cut free yet another horse. “We have to run!”
“Then let’s run.” He climbed up onto a tall brown horse, then held out his hands. “Hurry!”
She hesitated. She couldn’t risk her legs touching the horse, or she would poison the poor creature.
The mob shouted and ran towards them.
“Now!” the young man said. “Or they’ll kill us both.”
“Give me that knife!” Juliana didn’t wait, but snatched it from the sheath in his boot. While the mob approached, she sliced the bottom hem of her dress at the front and back, and then she ripped the dress all the way up to her waist.
“Now, what are you doing?” he asked.
“Protecting the horse.” She sheathed the knife, took pins from her hair, and fixed the torn sides of her dress around her legs like breeches. Then, finally, she let him grab her hands and haul her up, and she slid into the saddle behind him.
“Take those reins,” he said, pointing at a horse to her left. She grabbed the horse’s reins, knowing there was no time to ask why.
They rode off, flanked by an extra horse on either side. The preacher’s assistant held the reins of the horse on their right. He yelled at the other horses, trying to get them to follow, and a couple of confused-looking horses actually did trot after them.
She looked back over her shoulder as they rode out of the horse tent. The loose, wandering horses were slowing the crowd’s pursuit.
They turned onto the muddy road, riding north along the Mississippi River, toward St. Louis. The two extra horses they’d captured galloped alongside them, making annoyed sounds at being woken and forced to run in the rain. Two additional horses followed at a distance, not eager to run but apparently not wanting to miss the party, either.
She heard the sounds of engines cranking.
“Maybe we should have taken one of those cars instead!” Juliana shouted to be heard over the pounding rain and the commotion behind them.
“Those can’t go anywhere but roads. We wouldn’t be able to escape. Drop those reins!”
Juliana released her captured horse, and so did he. He shouted “Yah!” at them a few times, and then turned and rode off along what looked like a muddy deer path into the woods. No truck or car could follow them here.
He slowed a little when they were out of sight of the road. “Any luck, they’ll follow those other horses down the road before they figure out they’ve lost us.”
“Where does this trail go?” she asked.
&nbs
p; “I wouldn’t know, we’re just passing through town.”
“Where are you from? Do you have a name?”
“I do.” He leaned forward and shouted, “Yah!” The horse picked up speed, galloping away from the trouble behind them.
Juliana held tight to the boy’s waist. Her fingers wanted to trace the shape of the muscle under his shirt, and she let them explore as much as she dared.
As they rode through the rain, under the bright harvest moon, she couldn’t help noticing how she felt bounding against him again and again with each stride of the horse’s leg, with only her rain-soaked underpants separating her from his scratchy woolen trousers.
She snuggled her arms tighter around him and rested her cheek on his strong back. Despite the rain, she hoped the ride would never end.
Chapter Six
Jenny stood in her studio, staring at the mannequin. It was an androgynous, hairless, waist-up model clamped in place by a sawhorse. She’d carved and painted all kinds of symptoms into it, dark sores and dripping wounds. She’d glued ugly plastic black flies here and there all over the body, and cut out magazine pictures of people with horrified expressions and pasted a dense collage of them over the mannequin’s heart.
She could never show it to anyone, for a number of reasons, but she had no desire to share it. It was a confession of her evil, a splattering of all the haunting memories of death and suffering that crawled inside of her. The point was in the making of it, in doing something with the guilt fed by the horror movies that never stopped playing inside her mind. If she didn’t find a way to let them out, they would eat her up. She’d seen her dark side, with Alexander, and she wasn’t going to be that person again.
Jenny touched a hand to her stomach. No heavy bleeding yet. The little starter baby was still swimming around in there like a tiny fish. She felt bad for the doomed creature, but she avoided thinking of it as a person. It wouldn’t live long enough for that.
Seth knocked on her door, and Jenny turned down her stereo. She had to listen to Patsy Cline on a digital music app now. She missed her mother’s record collection, still back home with her dad. She missed her dad every day, too. She’d lived with him for eighteen years, then vanished, and it was almost certain that she would never see him again. She couldn’t risk returning to the United States.
