Never Never Stories

by Jason Sanford

  After three more songs and another prayer, it's time for the sermon. Hank usually gives the sermon – he's been the preacher here for years and always rambles on and on for what seems like hours – but today he simply introduces Brother Dan Satorius and sits down.

  Dan walks to the podium. Hey Stickman, I yell. Back in high school, Stickman was his nickname. Even when he and I played on the football team, Dan didn't have muscles or coordination and was stuck at third-string defensive tackle until, damn if that ain't the way with him, the two guys in front of him got hurt. Dan then started six games and actually made some plays. The coach would say, “Stickman, get the hell in there and wrap someone up.” That was all Dan could do – wrap his long arms around the runner, hold on, and hope he eventually made the guy trip.

  So Dan is still Stickman as he spreads his stick arms above the podium and says, “Amazing that God can grow 'em as big as Brother Hank. Praise the Lord, but Brother Hank's already halfway to heaven by size alone.” The congregation laughs.

  “The prophet Elijah,” Dan continues, “found everything he was within his name. The literal meaning of his name was, ‘The Lord is my God.' How many of us here today could live up to a name like that? If our name was something like ‘Everything I do represents the Lord,' would you be able to do everything for the Lord?”

  On the pew next to Jed, Elijah laughs. “So that's what I mean,” he says. “Means I'm practically saved already.”

  “Means you're gonna get beat if you don't hush,” Jed says.

  Jed watches Dan. I know my little Yella Hawk – all his life in church and he can't remember even one sermon. Not that he's stupid. He knows the words in my Bible backward and forward; knows everything he's supposed to learn in Bible school. But until Dan speaks, my son has never known the inspiration that one man's words can create.

  Dan's words fly through my son: people worshipping the idol Baal goes into God bringing Elijah goes into God bringing a drought goes into Elijah showing how powerless Baal is against the Lord Almighty.

  “How could anyone consider that idol a god if it couldn't even bring the rains?” Dan asks. “No rain meant Baal wasn't a god.”

  Jed understands. He rubs my old Bible and truly understands.

  “You think Brother Satorius really was there with my dad?” he asks Elijah.

  Hell yeah, I say. Hell fire yeah he was there. And back then it wasn't Brother Satorius, it was just plain old Dan, who found me wounded on that frozen ground and couldn't do a thing because I was bayoneted good and going on dead.

  I don't deserve Dan.

  * * *

  Map 5: Jesus' Ministry

  (Including the transfiguration and all of His miracles)

  Dan is talking and greeting the congregation as they file out the front doors. Each man or woman waits in line until they reach Dan, then they say stuff like “Lovely sermon, Brother Satorius,” or shake his hands and mutter how good he is to be spreading the word of God across this heathen land. When Hank gets to Dan, Hank leans in and whispers that he's gonna steal Dan's sermon next time he finds a church that ain't heard it. They grin as if sharing a secret preacher joke.

  As Jed approaches them, I try to get Dan's attention but he's only looking at my son. I tell Jed not to listen to Dan, but that only makes Jed to cock his eyes briefly at the door, as if hearing a ways-away echo.

  “And what's your name, young man?” Dan asks.

  “Jedediah Stanton,” he says.

  Don't tell him, I scream at Dan, who also cocks his head for a moment before shaking me off.

  “Mighty fine to meet you,” Dan says. “Heard a lot of good things about you.” Behind Dan, Hank nods to Jed.

  Jed stumbles for what to say. “I really learned a lot today, Brother Satorius.” He searches for more words. “It's the first time I've listened to a sermon.”

  Hanks eyes cloud over, but a laugh from Dan stops him from saying anything.

  “I know what you mean,” Dan says. “Sometime we preachers just drone on and on and you can't remember anything we said, just that you liked what you heard and you'll come back next Sunday. I'm honored you got something from my talk.”

  Hank frowns at the droning and droning part – hot damn Hank, but you know Dan's speaking the truth about your preaching – before he finally laughs and clasps Jed on the shoulder.

  “Maybe we should get you up there one day,” Hank says. “Keep me from droning so much.” Jed nods.

  Jed starts to run out the door to join the other kids but Dan grabs him. “You need to talk with me after dinner today,” Dan whispers.

  After Jed nods, I whisper into Dan's ears: Leave my son alone. He don't need to know any more than he already knows.

  The problem with being dead is people don't listen to you.

  Sorta like when Hank gives a sermon.

  * * *

  Map 6: Jerusalem in Jesus' time

  (Including the site of the Last Supper and the conning of the rich man)

  Sunday dinner is at Hank's house, so everyone piles into two cars and drives over. Dan sits in the front with Eliz and talks as she steers.

  “Not been too long, is it, Eliz?” he asks. Jed sits in the back seat, waving at Elijah and Hank and everyone in the car behind them.

  “Not been too long,” Eliz says. Jed mishears and says he agrees, that Dan's sermon wasn't too long.

  “I really liked it, mom. Did you know that Elijah's name means he's the Lord my God.”

  Eliz and Dan laugh. “Means ‘The Lord is my God,'” Eliz says. “It's a good thing your cousin was born before you, or you'd have been named Elijah.” She looks at Dan quick like before turning back to the road. “Remember Papa Elijah, Dan?”

  “Couldn't forget,” Dan says. “Every few days he'd drop by Billy's house with fresh milk and eggs. He always came at first light, and if he caught any of us kids asleep he'd yank us out of bed, sling us by the legs to the water trough and dunk us awake. First time he came by when I was sleeping over, I didn't know why Billy bolted that bed so quick until Papa Elijah had me upside down by the ankle, going head first up and down in the water. And it was mid winter, mind you, frost everywhere.”

  Dan turns to Jed. “You know who Billy is?” he asks. Jed shakes his head. “That's your father. We grew up together. Lived just a hundred feet apart.”

  “They gonna fix your car, Brother Satorius?” Jed asks.

  “You bet, but it's going to take a day or two.” Dan smiles. “Guess God is trying to tell me something.”

  Eliz gently touches Dan's hand and shakes her head so Jed can't see. Dan makes an offhand comment about the car riding well, then keeps quiet for the rest of the ride.

  The car. At the mention of the word “car” I feel myself rolling back through the years, a ghost who's lost his grip on time before I'm snapped back to the present as if on a rubberband. I suddenly realize I shouldn't be jealous of Dan. He's helped me in so many ways. Like the car we're riding in. Without Dan, Eliz wouldn't be driving this old Ford. I mean, how many 20-year-old dirtbags give their wife a new car before going to war?

  I got the car a week after I told the judge I'd join the Marines. I was hanging around Manness's Gas Station, where Dan worked as a mechanic and tow truck driver, when Dan pulled up in the tow truck with a muddy car racked behind him.

  “Belongs to one of Montclair's sons,” Dan said. “The idiot parked it on the boat ramp but forget to set the brake.”

  Dan and I inspected the car. It was a '52 Ford Victoria. I ran my finger across the hood and traced a purple stripe in the mud. There was a big wheel cover over the back bumper, fins coming out to a point over the lights, and what looked like chrome all over the place.

  “There's a beautiful car under that mud,” I said.

  Dan agreed. But he was more excited about something in his pockets. He slapped around in his overalls until he found what he was looking for: the keys to the car.

  “Montclair gave them to me after I pulled the car out of the
river,” he said.

  I must have looked dumb, because he slugged me in the arm. “The car was turned off when it went in the water,” he said. “Ain't nothing wrong with it but a lot of mud and water.”

  That got me excited. If the car hadn't been running then water probably hadn't gotten sucked into the engine. Probably only needed a little work to get it going again.

  “Is Manness here?” Dan asked.

  “No.”

  Dan dragged me to the garage and told me to put on an old work shirt. Soon Mr. Montclair and one of his sons drove up in a large Cadillac. Montclair and his family had only recently moved to the area from Birmingham. He was building a factory north of Wetumpka near Martin Dam.

  “How much is it going to cost?” Mr. Montclair asked, carefully walking around the muddy puddle that had dripped off the car.

  “Can't say,” Dan said. “The engine will have to be replaced, along with the seats and dash and just about everything but the metal.”

  Montclair shook his head. “Son,” he said, looking at Dan. “I wasn't born yesterday. Doing all that costs more than just buying a new car.”

  “Yes sir. But water in the engine, nothing I can do to fix that but put a new one in.”

  Dan and I stood quietly while Montclair walked around the car some more. “How much to just tow it off somewhere?”

  “Twenty dollars,” Dan said. Montclair gave him the money and got back in his Cadillac. Dan and I towed the car to his house, where we washed it down good, took the seats out and dried them in the sun, then spent five hours getting the water out and changing the oil, air filter, and spark plugs before we drained the gas tank and filled it back up.

  When we put the key in, the car started with a roar.

  “You ought to give it to Eliz,” Dan said. “Thrill her with something other than you going away.”

  I did. Eliz never loved me as much as those two weeks between the gifting of the car and me leaving for basic training. She'd sit in the passenger seat and hold Jed in her lap while we raced the hills and backroads with dust swirling all around.

  Hell, Jed probably thought he was flying just like a Yella Hawk.

  Good memories. I got Dan to thank for them.

  * * *

  Map 7: The Apostles' Early Travels

  (Including the traditional location where Philip meets the eunuch)

  Jed sits between Dan and Eliz on the back porch of Hank's house. Normally, Eliz would be inside with Maulky, Hank's wife, making Sunday dinner. Instead, she's out here and Hank's in there actually trying to cook.

  Every few minutes, Elijah comes walking around the porch to see if Jed wants to go play. Go play, I say. But Jed stays and talks with Dan.

  “How do you get to be a preacher?” Jed asks. “I mean, how'd you write that sermon?”

  Dan laughs. “Good sermons are like caster oil,” he says. “They move through you when you need it.” Jed laughs and Eliz makes a face. “Just kidding, Eliz,” Dan adds.

  Jed waits for Dan to tell him more about where sermons come from, but Dan doesn't. Truth is, Dan's never been good at explaining stuff. Either something just comes to him or it doesn't. When the Marines loaded us on our troop ship, someone told Dan that it was summer in Korea. For the next two weeks Dan told everyone who'd listen that the seasons in Asia were the reverse of America. “It's winter in America, means it's summer in Korea,” he'd say, adding in that him and his buddy Billy were used to the heat.

  When the troopship docked in Korea and the coldest wind we'd ever felt ripped our clothes apart, everyone kept asking Dan if he was built for this heat. Dan didn't say a word. He just eased up against me as we formed a human windbreak.

  The wind is gusting dust around the back porch where Dan and Eliz and Jed sit, so I grab me a handful and throw it toward them. It misses and whips into a little dust devil that dances away from the house.

  “That means the devil's angry because you ain't sinning enough,” Eliz says. Dan laughs. He says he'll do something bad to fix that.

  I doubt its possible for Dan to do something bad.

  * * *

  Map 8: Paul's Missionary Journeys

  (Including the shipwreck on Malta and the final journey to Rome)

  After dinner, Dan takes Jed for a walk out back of Hank's house.

  They walk a few hundred yards and stop on the edge of that ravine we used to play in. While Dan and Jed look over the ravine, I float out and see the mine we dug so long ago. It's a little worn and partly caved in, but still there. I go into the hole and feel good and happy, as if I'm home.

  When I come out, I wait for Dan to say something about him and me playing in this ravine as kids. Instead, he tells Jed that this place is cursed.

  “God's got no need for places that can't grow anything,” he says. “Take away all the topsoil – that's how you send the land to hell. People too. Also applies to people.”

  Jed nods, but he and I don't get it. What the hell does that mean? Dan talks on about how all the water rushing off this hill is taking the good soil down river toward the Gulf of Mexico.

  “I been down in the Gulf, where the Mississippi empties out, and you can see miles and miles of dirt streaming by. It clogs up the shipping lanes. Builds up into salt bogs and marshes.”

  Jed asks if there's any way for the dirt to be brought back.

  “Naw, but they bring other things up from the Gulf. Fire ants, for one.”

  I wait for Dan to explain that to Jed, but he doesn't, as if the fool can't even tell my son one thing about what we did as kids. I spin the dead pine straw and leaves off the ground with another dust devil. Dan and Jed watch my little tantrum rip through the air as they sit on the edge of the ravine and dangle their legs into space.

  “What was it like?” Jed asks. “The war and all.”

  “Well, it was cold,” Dan says, laughing. “But nothing your dad and I couldn't handle.”

  I feel Jed's heart jump at the mention of me – and I get nervous as I wait for Dan to say more. You promised, I yell in a whisper to Dan. You promised you wouldn't let my son know. Tell him something else. Tell him how it was so cold that when the snow came there was lightning – lightning in a snow storm. Tell him about the fountain pen in my breast pocket and how the ink froze and split the pen. Tell how we had to open and shut the breeches of our M-1 rifles all the time so they wouldn't freeze shut. Tell how you once chipped the ice out of my nose so I could breathe.

  But Dan doesn't hear any of this and I wait for him to tell my son how his father really died. How those endless waves of Chinese came at us. How I got so afraid I jumped up and left Dan alone in our foxhole, left my best friend to die just because I was afraid. I wait for Dan to tell my son that when he found me later on, a bayonet through the gut and almost dead, that all I could do was cry on and on and make Dan swear not to tell my family how much of a coward I'd been. I mean, damn, there I was dying without a thought about my wife and child. Not a care except how people remembered me.

  I wait for Dan to tell Jed about all of this. But Dan doesn't say anything else about the war. Instead, he looks at Jed and says, “You remember the nickname your Dad used to call you?”

  Jed shakes his head.

  “Yella Hawk,” Dan says. “Don't know where he got that name, but he called you Yella Hawk.”

  The little dust devil I've been spinning falls apart in a straightening of the winds. When Dan and Jed walk back to Hank's house, I follow even more silently than normal.

  I can't believe it. Even after all I've done wrong, Dan's still doing right by me.

  * * *

  Map 9: The World Today

  (Including the free world, the communist states, and Wetumpka in 1962)

  Dan and Jed have barely walked in the front door of the house before Dan turns right back around and goes for a walk with Eliz. Jed tries to follow but Hank stops him, telling Jed to go help Elijah feed the chickens.

  Lord, there's too much walking going on here , I say. You hear t
hat? Way too much walking. Still, I follow Dan and Eliz.

  “Did you tell him?” Eliz asks when they're down the road a bit. The air around me turns cold – Did Dan already tell Eliz the shameful way I died? But instead of saying what I expect, Dan simply takes hold of Eliz's hand and says, “I figure there's no need. Just be around a while and he'll get used to me.”

  If I'd still been alive I'd scream and kick at the sight of them holding hands. Instead, I think about how Dan's always done right by me, and I think about how my son needs a father. Thinking these thoughts gets me happy and sets little winds to blowing. I send them to rustle Dan and Eliz's hair and make them feel nice and calm on their walk.

  Later, on their way back to Hank's house, Eliz tells Dan she received another letter from the Marines, who still can't find my body.

  “He's dead, Eliz,” Dan says. “I was with him. We talked about you and Jed and how much he loved both of you and then he was dead.”

  I float over to Eliz, who is smiling. I wish I had said that before I died, I tell her, but I didn't. I was too busy begging Dan to forgive me.

  That's when I know that it doesn't matter if Dan tells people the truth about me. Everything I've done and been is passed. It don't matter anymore who I am. Maybe now, in death, that's all I am – a passing comment to my son, a word or two about something I did here or there, a story about how Hank once punched me through a restaurant door.

  But when I think about what I really was like, maybe being only a few passing comments ain't so bad after all.

  I'm sorry for everything, I say to Dan and Eliz. I'm sorry.

  Eliz glances around as the wind blows her hair. She and Dan are still smiling.

  Once back at Hank's house, Dan talks to Eliz about fixing up his parent's old place. He says the place needs a new roof, and the back porch has fallen down, but he thinks with a little work he can make it good. He also mentions that Hank said the church would offer him a full-time preacher job.

  “'Course, I'd still need to find a real job to earn some money . . .”