Holy Ghost Girl (14 page)

Doreen laughed. “What will you give me if I leave this girl, preacher?”

“That’s enough!” Brother Terrell walked toward Doreen with his right hand outstretched. “I’ll not bargain with you, Satan.”

“You will, Brother Terrell. You will.”

“Keep your heads bowed and your eyes closed. Stretch your hands in this direction and believe with me, pray with me. I need every ounce of faith I can get tonight.”

I was so frightened my teeth chattered, but my eyes would not stay closed. Arms and hands all over the auditorium beamed all the belief that could be summoned toward Brother Terrell and Doreen. Lips moved in incessant prayer, voices layered and formed a dense chorus.

The voice that was not the voice of the girl rose above it all: “What will you give me if I leave Doreen?”

The din quieted. We waited for Brother Terrell to answer, but all we heard was silence, a sure sign that something strange was going on. The crowd pressed against Doreen and Brother Terrell. I hopped off my chair and moved into the aisle for a better look. There he was, kneeling in front of Doreen, drawing or writing with his finger in the sawdust, just as Jesus had in the Bible with the adulteress. All around me eyes were closed, faces tensed, bodies rocking to and fro. Doreen kicked at Brother Terrell, but he continued to write. When he stopped, he placed his hands on Doreen’s feet and looked up at her. His expression was tender.

“Lord, have pity on this girl. Have pity on her family. The Bible says, for God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten son. For the sake of your son Jesus, drive these tormenting spirits from this girl’s mind and body.”

He stood up and walked in a circle around Doreen, then stopped and clapped his hands on her head and shook it from side to side. “Satan, I refuse to let you have this girl. In the name of Jesus, I command you be gone. Be gone!”

Doreen trembled, then crumpled to the floor. She looked like a baby lying there with her legs crooked at the knees, her arm slung carelessly in front. Her mother fell beside her and wept.

Brother Terrell stood over the pair and urged the congregation to praise God. “The Lord has just delivered this girl. Raise your hands and praise him. We’ve witnessed a miracle here. A child of God has been restored tonight.” He knelt beside Doreen’s mother. “Sister, when your daughter wakes up, she’ll be whole. God has made her whole.”

A cacophony of praise rose throughout the tent. People flooded the altar and in a moment, the throng swallowed Doreen and her mother.

My mother played “I’m so glad Jesus lifted me, glory, hallelujah, Jesus lifted me.”

Brother Terrell walked up the prayer ramp, ignoring the arm Brother Cotton offered him, and stepped up onto the platform. He reared back, then bent forward at the waist, his chest parallel with his knees. “Glory! I said glory!”

He laughed and with his eyes closed put one hand on his hip and moved his feet in the quick shuffle step that was his trademark. He danced from one end of the platform to the other with Brother Cotton running beside him, worried he might stumble and fall. When he started across the platform for the second time, Brother Cotton gave up, put one hand on Brother Terrell’s shoulder, and fell in step behind him. As they danced across the stage, other preachers joined them until they formed a chorus line of men in white shirts and black pants, hands resting on the shoulder of the man in front, everyone dancing like Brother Terrell. My mother bounced up and down as she played, her eyes fixed on Brother Terrell and the line of dancing men.

Laverne took Gary out of her lap, placed him in the seat beside her, stood up, and began to jig. I climbed back onto my chair to see what had happened to Doreen, but I couldn’t see her in the crush of bodies. I hopped down and pushed through the crowd to the altar. A tall, skinny woman with big curls on her head moved her feet in dainty steps, two forward, one back, her hands crossing in front of her, then behind her with each step. A young woman with red hair that fell to her waist held a child’s hand and skipped in place. Stout black women in faded blue or gray cotton dresses wobbled here and there on black sturdy shoes, arms flailing to no particular rhythm.

“Thank you, Jesus. Yes, Lord. Yes, Lord.”

An old man in overalls marched in place. Children about my age danced with their eyes closed. Some peeked from under half-closed eyelids to see if anyone noticed, but there were others whose faces wore that vacant, rapturous expression that separated the real from the faker.

In between the arms and legs and torsos and backsides I saw Doreen sit up and look around. Her mother helped her up and they stood with their arms clasped around each other, the daughter’s head resting on her mother’s shoulder, the mother’s hands smoothing her daughter’s blond hair, whispering in her ear while several thousand sang, “Glory, hallelujah, Jesus set me free.” Brother Terrell made his way back down the prayer ramp and waved at my mother to bring down the volume of the organ.

“I want everyone who needs a miracle, I mean a real miracle, to come on up here tonight. This isn’t the night for nervous conditions and alcoholism. God is going to heal the lame here tonight. Glory hallelujah. He’s going to open blind eyes and deaf ears. Lama la bahia. Everyone else, please go on back to your seats.”

As the crowd drifted back, an old black man with a cane felt his way along the aisle, one arm in front. He wore a brown suit and a dark fedora. He overshot the altar and Brother Cotton brought him back. Brother Terrell walked down the prayer ramp and met them at the altar. He took the man’s arm from Brother Cotton and they stood on level with the congregation in front of the prayer ramp.

“Sir, how long you been blind?”

“Ever since I can remember.”

“You were born blind?”

“No. There was an accident when I was little. At my grandmama’s.”

“Do you believe Jesus can heal you?”

“I promised him I’d stay away from the juke joints if he would.”

Brother Terrell laughed. “You won’t be going back after tonight. Let me see your cane.” The man drew back and held the cane close to his chest.

“You ain’t gonna need that piece of wood no more.” He took the cane and handed it to Brother Cotton. The man grabbed in the air after it. Brother Terrell took his hands. “Sir, I want you to bow your head and pray with me. Believe with me.”

“In the name of Jesus. In the name of Jesus. Y’all believe with me here tonight.”

He placed his hands over the man’s eyes. “Lord, look down in your infinite mercy. Take pity on this man, blind since he was a boy. Restore his sight.”

He removed his hands from the man’s eyes. “Close your eyes, sir. I feel led to do one more thing.” Brother Terrell bent over and scooped dirt, then he spit into the palm of his hand and swirled the dust and spit into a paste. He dabbed the paste onto the man’s eyes, just as Jesus had done in scripture.

He took his handkerchief and wiped the mud off the man. “Open your eyes now.” The man blinked several times. “Sir, can you tell us what you see?”

“I see long, big things . . . with spots on top.” He tottered over to one of the center poles, keeping his hands in front. He placed his hands on the pole and moved them up and down.

“This here, it’s a pole, ain’t it?” He looked at Brother Terrell and beamed. The congregation erupted in applause and thank you Jesus glory be to his name praise God hallelujah.

Brother Terrell took the man’s arm and raised it in the air. “You’re healed, brother. Now give God the glory.” The man raised both hands and the crowd turned up the volume. When the noise died back a bit, Brother Terrell took the man’s cane from Brother Cotton and broke it over his knee.

“You won’t need that anymore.”

The man nodded and stumbled back into the crowd as the music and shouting started up again. Brother Terrell handed the microphone to Brother Cotton and walked up the ramp to the platform. He looked strong as he headed toward the half wall that ran along the back of the platform and pushed through the gate. Laverne shepherded Gary and me to the area behind the platform. She didn’t say anything, but I thought I knew what she was thinking, what we were all thinking: that maybe this was the turning point. That maybe now, after casting out a demon and healing a blind man, Brother Terrell would be able to eat. She pulled back the canvas curtain that separated the backstage area from the view of the audience on one side just as Pam pulled back the curtain on the other side to let her mother and the baby pass through. Brother Terrell climbed down the four or five steps that led to the platform. His face was white and strained and he was shaking.

The backstage area was reserved for the very sick and those who knew someone who could get them a one-on-one audience with Brother Terrell. Ten or fifteen people waited there for him, waited to tell him their troubles and hear him say, “I believe it’ll be all right. Let’s pray.” Lanky young men in ill-fitting suits sidled up next to the steps, longing to hear him prophesy, “Thus saith the Lord, God has surely chosen you for a great work.” Women, old and young, yearned toward him; surely it was the Holy Ghost that pulled them toward him. He often said he couldn’t sleep at night, that he felt the needs of the people pulling at him like quicksand.

At the bottom step he reached out to shake someone’s hand and collapsed. Someone screamed. Exorcisms took a lot out of Brother Terrell, but this was the first time he had fainted. My mom looked over the half wall at the back of the platform and continued to play the organ. Men in suits poured through the gate, down the ladder.

“Step back, please. Give us some room here.”

They closed over him. “We need to get him outta here. Move back, now, y’all hear? Please.”

The knot of people loosened and as it did, two men rose with Brother Terrell hoisted between them, their arms wrapped around his waist, his arms propped up on their shoulders, hands dangling from his wrist. They carried him out from under the tent. Betty Ann, Pam, Laverne, Gary, and I followed the men and Brother Terrell into the night to the tiny trailer parked behind the auditorium. Randall was already at the door, his hand on the long silver handle. One of the preachers spoke to him and he moved aside. In they went, pulling the door closed behind them. The latch clicked into place. We stood there staring at the handle.

Randall looked at his mother. “We got a right to know.” He pushed the handle down and tugged on the door. Nothing. He knocked and a preacher, a stranger, appeared in the darkened crack.

“He needs to rest, son. Y’all go on home. Someone will be there in a little bit to let you know how he’s doing.”

“I need to see my daddy. Mama needs to see him.”

“He needs rest.”

“We ain’t leaving till we see him.”

“Who is it?” It was Brother Terrell’s voice. Betty Ann breathed a sigh of relief.

The preacher mumbled something about Randall over his shoulder.

“Let ’em in.”

Two preachers walked out and Betty Ann, Pam, and Randall stepped up into the Airstream. I felt conspicuous waiting around in the dark outside the trailer. The Terrells always said members of the evangelistic team were like family. I realized at that moment that being
like
family was a long way from actually being family. Mama, Gary, and I were insiders, but the Terrells were the inner circle itself and we hovered just outside their circumference. Members of the congregation approached us and asked about Brother Terrell. Laverne’s eyebrows came together and she dropped her head and shook it slowly from side to side. After a few minutes the door opened and Randall’s belly came through the opening. His mother and Pam followed. They were crying. Randall mumbled something about how God was going to let his daddy die. Someone drove Betty Ann and her kids home.

Laverne, Gary, and I picked our way through the dark, stepping across electrical cords and around tent stakes until we were back under the tent. Brother Cotton had called for an all-night prayer meeting for Brother Terrell and almost the entire congregation remained. Several hundred people knelt at their seats or walked around and around the building, praying. Kids curled up on makeshift beds of pushedtogether chairs. I didn’t see my mom, but I knew she was there somewhere, calling on God over and over again, asking him not to let Brother Terrell die. Laverne put Gary and me to bed on the chairs and walked to the altar to pray. I told her I was going to stay awake and pray, but a few hours later my mother dredged us from sleep. She settled Gary onto her shoulder and walked me outside the tent to the Cottons’ car. She settled us in the backseat, then climbed into the passenger’s seat as Laverne started the car.

“Where’s Brother Cotton?”

Mama turned and looked over her shoulder at me. “Shh. You’ll wake Gary. Brother Cotton’s staying in the trailer with Brother Terrell.”

“Why are they staying here?” No one answered.

Laverne steered the car through the parking lot and turned onto the highway. She threw a quick glance at my mother. “You think he’ll make it, Carolyn?”

Mama stared into her own face in the glass of the passenger window. A soft rain had started to fall and the water ran in rivulets through her reflection. “The devil has done everything in his power to stop Brother Terrell. Money problems. Randall. The Klan. Family problems . . . I don’t know.

“He’s fighting for his life tonight, Laverne.” Her voice broke.

I stared out the window and let myself drift through the night. The sound of the tires on the road, the way the night softened the edges of the world, these things soothed me. I patted my mother’s shoulder. Her hand closed over mine. I wished that we could drive like that forever.

MAMA FUMBLED THE KEY INTO THE LOCK WHILE MOTHS BEAT AGAINST the porch light overhead. Tomorrow, thin, dry wings would litter the stoop. Sometimes I cupped my hand and swept them out of the flow of traffic, but most days I ground their flimsy bodies under the heel of my shoe without a thought. I hopped from one foot to the other and hugged myself to stay warm.