This Tender Land (22 page)

WHAT IS IT?
Mose signed.

“Got me,” Albert said.

“An angel.” The look on Emmy’s face told me she believed it.

“Whoever it is, she’s got a swell voice,” I said. “And just listen to that trumpet.”

“Gabriel’s horn,” Emmy said.

“I don’t know about that, but he sure knows his stuff.” I looked to Albert. “We should check it out, don’t you think?”

“Not all of us.”

“I’m not staying here,” I said.

“I want to go, too,” Emmy said.

Mose signed,
All for one and one for all.

Albert spent a moment weighing things. “All right,” he said, giving in. “But we need to be careful. There’s five hundred dollars on our heads. Even an angel would be tempted.”

We left the sandy spit, climbed the steep riverbank, and made our way through a thin line of trees. On the other side was a railroad bed and tracks, then a broad meadow, and beyond the meadow, a town. The sky was still overcast, and the reflection of the town lights made the low clouds look like smoke above a raging fire. In the center of the meadow stood a huge tent surrounded by smaller ones. The large tent was brightly illuminated from inside, and shadows moved across the canvas walls. A number of automobiles had been parked in the meadow.

“A circus?” I said.

“You ever hear of a circus band playing religious music?” Albert said. “That’s a revival.”

“What’s a revival?” Emmy said.

“Let’s go see.” I started forward.

Albert grabbed my arm. “Too risky.”

A gentle wind blew out of the west. Our clothes were damp and the breeze was chilling. Emmy held herself and shivered.

Mose signed,
Emmy’s cold and wet. The tent is shelter.

“She’s all over the papers,” Albert said. “Someone might recognize her. Hawk Flies at Night did.”

I sniffed at the air. “Do you smell that?”

“Food,” Emmy said.

“Good food,” I said. “I swear it’s coming from that big tent.”

Mose signed eagerly,
Do they feed people at revivals?

“I don’t know,” Albert said.

“Please, Albert.” Emmy looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I’m freezing. And I’m so hungry.”

Emmy had put on the seed cap Albert gave her. “Pull that bill down real low,” I told her. She did, and I said, “There, Albert. Can’t hardly see her face at all.”

My brother relented. “Let Mose and me go first. If everything’s okay, we’ll give the high sign.”

As we crossed the meadow, music broke out again from inside the big tent, a hymn I recognized from the services the Brickmans had held in the gymnasium at Lincoln School, “Lord of All Hopefulness.” That beautiful angel’s voice rose above the others and above the instruments as well. It was a voice that spoke to a deep human longing, probably in those already inside the tent, but also in me. Emmy and I waited near the entrance, while Albert and Mose checked things out. The music stopped, and I heard a woman begin to speak. Mose appeared and signaled us to come ahead.

Inside, the tent was lit by electric lamps hung from the support poles. Benches had been placed in rows with an aisle up the middle that ran to a raised platform, where a piano stood and behind it folding chairs on which sat several musicians with their instruments. Above
the platform hung a banner that proclaimed,
SWORD OF GIDEON HEALING CRUSADE
. A woman held center stage. Her hair was a long, sleek tumble the color of fox fur, and she wore a flowing white robe whose long hem trailed behind her as she moved. The tent was little more than half-filled, mostly older men and women dressed in clothing not much better than the things Emmy and Albert and Mose and I wore. There were a few kids scattered here and there, enough so that we didn’t stand out. Albert and Mose were sitting together on a bench on the left side of the center aisle. Emmy and I took a bench on the opposite side. The air was warm inside the tent, but Emmy nestled against me and I could feel her shivering. The good smell of food—chicken soup, I’d decided—was powerful, but I couldn’t see any sign of it.

“. . . and so we are all afraid,” the woman in the white robe was saying. “Afraid of hunger, afraid of loss, afraid of what today holds and afraid that tomorrow will be no better, or maybe even worse. In these dark days, we’re terrified that we’ll lose our jobs, our homes, that our families will be torn apart. We’re reluctant to answer the knock at the door because maybe it’s the Devil waiting there with a foreclosure notice in his hand. We drop to our knees and pray to God for deliverance from all this misery. We look toward heaven, hoping for a sign that things will get better.”

She stood in the center of the stage, under the bright light, her long hair like a flow of glowing embers, her robe pure snow, her eyes so clear that even from the back of the tent they were like fresh, green willow leaves. She spread her arms wide, and the fabric of her robe opened as if she’d suddenly sprouted wings. A man stepped onto the stage and handed her a wooden cross that was nearly as tall as she. She took it in her hands and lifted it high, and the lights of the tent dimmed until the only one still shining was at her back. Across all those benches and the people there, she and that cross cast a long shadow.

“The sign has already been given to us,” she cried in a voice lovely as a nightingale’s. “It came as a promise drenched in blood, spoken in
agony and in love. ‘Father, forgive them.’ ” She raised the cross higher and intoned, “ ‘Father, forgive them.’ ” She lowered the cross, and her voice dropped with it, and she said gently, liltingly, “ ‘Father, forgive them.’ Brothers and sisters, God so loved the world that he gave his precious only son to save us. This is not a God who would ever turn his back on you. In your darkest hour, even when Satan is knocking at your door, God is beside you. Even when you believe you are steeped so deeply in sin that you must be lost to him, God is with you, and he forgives your sins. He asks only that you believe in him with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul.”

She smiled wondrously, and Emmy drew away from me and leaned toward her as if sucked in by some powerful, unseen wind.

A man near the front stood and cried out, “Sister Eve, we need a sign. Please, give us a sign, now, tonight.”

“I can’t give you a sign, brother. That comes from God alone.”

“Through you, Sister Eve, I know. I’ve seen it. Heal my son, Sister. Please, heal my son.” The man reached down and drew up a kid who looked no older than I. The boy was hunched, his spine so crooked it bent him nearly double, and he could barely look up. “My boy Cyrus was born with the Devil on his back. He’s been this way his whole life. I heard you take the Devil out of people, Sister Eve. I’m begging you, drive the Devil out of my boy.”

A look of deep compassion washed over the woman’s face. She handed the cross back to the man who’d brought it to her and opened her arms toward the crook-backed boy.

“Bring him to me.”

It was painful to watch the kid make his way up the steps of the platform. His father helped, and when they were both before Sister Eve, the boy stood, but still so terribly bent that it was clearly painful to lift his eyes to her. She knelt down and put her face level with his.

“Cyrus, do you believe in God?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I heard him utter. “I do.”

“Do you believe that God loves you?”

“I do, ma’am. I do.”

“And do you believe that God can heal you?”

“I want to, ma’am.” I could hear the choking in his voice, and although his back was to me and I couldn’t see his face, I was pretty sure he was pouring out a flood of tears.

“Believe, Cyrus. Believe with all your heart and soul.” Sister Eve reached out, placed her hands on his misshapen back, and the snow-white folds of her robe fell across his shoulders. She raised her eyes toward the canvas tent roof. “In the name of God whose divine breath fills us with life, in the name of God who shapes our hearts on the anvil of his love, in the name of God by whose boundless grace the halt and the lame are healed, I ask that this boy’s affliction be taken from him. Take out of his body, take out of his bone, take out of his whole being every last unclean thing and let this child walk upright again. In the sweet name of our Lord, let him be whole.”

And son of a gun, that crippled boy began to draw himself up. It was like watching a leaf unfurl. I could have sworn I heard the cracking of every vertebra as his spine straightened. He stood fully erect, and the lights came back up, and he turned toward all of us sitting on the benches, and I saw that I had been right. A waterfall of tears ran down his cheeks. His father was crying, too, and embraced him.

“Thank the Lord, and God bless you, Sister Eve,” the grateful man cried.

“Praise the Lord,” someone shouted from the benches, and others took up the cry.

Maybe there was supposed to be more healing, I didn’t know. Maybe they were going to pass an offering plate or something. But if this was so, it didn’t happen. What did happen was this. As the man and boy sat themselves back down, a voice from behind us hollered, “Bullshit!”

All heads turned toward the tent entrance, where four young men stood together, grinning like rattlers and unsteady on their feet. One of them held a pint bottle of what I was pretty sure was bootlegged
liquor. He’d been the one to call out, and he called out again, “Bullshit, you phony bitch.”

The other three laughed and handed the bottle around.

The man who still held Sister Eve’s cross set it down and stepped up next to her on the stage. He was a burly guy with a nose and face that made me think he might have once boxed heavyweight. Sister Eve raised a hand to keep him at a distance, then she addressed the rowdy group in back.

“Do you have any idea what brought you to me tonight?” She spoke gently, as if coaxing a frightened animal.

“Yeah, I heard about your dog and pony show, this healing crap. Wanted to see it for myself. Sister, let me tell you, I’ve seen better shows on a burlesque stage.” He hooted, grabbed the bottle, and took a pull.

“You’re here because your soul needs tending,” she said.

“I got something you can tend, Sister, but it sure as hell ain’t my soul.” He made a lewd gesture with his hips and gave a drunken whoop.

“Get out,” someone shouted. “We don’t need you busting in here, you drunken ass.”

A general murmur of agreement arose.

“It’s all right.” Sister Eve raised her arms to quell the rising tide of anger. “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”

“I’d rather find rest unto those big boobs, Sister.” That got a good laugh from his cohorts.

Sister Eve left the stage and walked slowly down the aisle, the long hem of her robe trailing behind. Everyone turned as she passed and watched mesmerized as she approached the group of drunken men at the back. She stood before them like a white lamb before dark, hungry beasts. “Take my hand.” She held it out to the rude young man.

He seemed startled, then a wary look came into his eyes.

“Take my hand, and I will refresh you.”

He stared at her open palm and didn’t move.

Sister Eve smiled gently. “Are you afraid?”

That got him. He reached out and roughly grasped her hand.

Sister Eve closed her eyes for a moment, as if praying. When she opened them again, the look she gave him was warm with understanding. “How old were you when she died?”

Now the young man looked stunned, as if she’d smacked him between the eyes with a pipe wrench. “When who died?”

“Your mother. You were very young, weren’t you?”

He jerked his hand from hers. “Leave my mother out of this.”

“She died in a fire.”

“I said leave her out of this.”

“You watched her burn.”

“Goddamn you!” He raised his fist as if to strike her.

“You believe it was your fault.”

“No,” he shouted and waved that fist in the air. “No,” he said again, but with less force this time.

“You’ve carried this burden too long. I can take it from you, if you’ll let me.”

“Get away from me, bitch.”

“Let go of this burden and you will be refreshed. You will feel whole again, I promise.”

He let his arm drop and stared at her, eyes huge and, I thought, pleading. “I . . . I can’t.”

“Because you believe you are too full of sin. So are we all. Yet we are all forgiven. We just need to believe it. Take my hand and believe.”

He bowed his head and stared at the ground, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes.

“Take my hand,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear.

Like a thing long dead, his arm rose ever so slowly. He placed his hand again in Sister Eve’s palm and fell to his knees before her. He began to weep, deep sobs that racked his body. She knelt and took him into her arms.

“Do you believe?” she said in the most comforting voice I’d ever heard.

“I believe, Sister.”

“Then let your soul be at rest.”

She held him awhile longer, and finally stood and brought him up with her. “Go now in peace, my brother.”

He couldn’t speak. He simply nodded and turned, and he eyed the three young men who’d come with him in a way that made them step back. They retreated from the tent and he followed.

Sister Eve opened her arms to us all. “The table has been prepared. Let us thank the Lord and share in his bounty.”

A flap at the side of the tent was drawn back, revealing a long table on which sat a couple of big, steaming pots, and the smell of chicken soup wafted in, the aroma of heaven.

THAT NIGHT, I
lay on my blanket, once again unable to sleep. I could hear the soft rustle of the Minnesota River only yards away, sweeping through the bulrushes along the edge of the sand spit. We were near enough to the town—whose name I didn’t know yet—that occasionally I heard the undercarriage of a truck rattling like metal bones as it bounced along the streets. Along the river, the tree frogs sang a natural, lulling melody that did nothing to make me drowsy.