fear of “the government.” Whatever it was, there were whispers it might take us kids away. I don’t know if the threat was real or simply an extension of the adults’ increasing mistrust of the larger world, but the rumors added to everyone’s nervous condition. Sometimes Mama or Betty Ann would notice how tired and unkempt we kids looked. “Poor little things,” they said. “This is no life for kids.” Their eyes watered but never quite spilled over into tears.
On the calendars it was mid-October, but in Dallas it was still summer. The tent collected and radiated heat like a cast-iron frying pan. Daytime services were the worst. About three hundred people sat scattered among the seventeen hundred or so wooden folding chairs. The employers of the elect insisted that they show up for work, revival or no revival, and that kept the morning and afternoon services small, quiet, and dull as dirt. The only movement was the occasional flick of a fan fashioned from the “Repent and Be Saved” flyers we printed and handed out as advertisements. Beyond the rows of empty chairs, beyond the rolled-up canvas curtain, beyond the hot white light reflected off the dusty automobiles parked in neat lines across the gray clumpy field, beyond the field and the sticky tar of the highway lay the world with its oscillating fans, water-cooling units, and air conditioners . I eyed the glare beating through the tent above me and wondered why it never stormed during the morning services.
Brother Terrell perched on a chair in the middle of the platform. He was early into his latest fast and already everything about him seemed sharper, more focused. He had declared fasts before, for a week, two weeks, thirty days. This time it was different. This time he wouldn’t eat until he heard from God. Fasting mortified the flesh and honed the spirit, and that made it easier to get to God. He was dark as a crow with his black hair and black suit. The Bible lay open on his lap and his finger traced Jesus’s red-letter words. “Verily, verily I say unto you . . .” The visiting ministers sat behind him in rows, all dressed in the same dark suits. My mother had moved away from the organ bench and arranged herself at the end of a row, legs crossed, face eager, her body pointed toward the true north of Brother Terrell. Under the dark heavy fabric of her ankle-length skirt, her leg pumped back and forth. Mama had taken to wearing long skirts and dresses as a consecration, a sort of secret pact between her and God. Despite her high-necked, long-sleeved blouse and heavy skirts, she looked unfazed by the heat. I picked up my paper fan and moved it across my face. Hot air. My mother, the preachers, and Brother Terrell seemed so removed up there on the platform. Their zeal for God turned the ordinary comforts of life into something as unnecessary as a dime-store whatnot.
Down here in the valley things were different. Pasted to the back of my chair with nothing to distract me, I counted seven new beads of sweat rolling down my body. I slumped in my seat, head lolling on my shoulder. My dress, petticoat, panties, and socks were soggy. I was indeed a poor little thing. My eyes rolled up to Laverne, Brother Cotton’s wife, searching for pity. She bent over her Bible, following Brother Terrell as he marched through scripture, hup, two, three, four, verily, verily.
Gary and I sat through the services with Laverne now instead of Betty Ann. When Betty Ann became pregnant, Mama said it was too much of a burden on her to watch us. And then the baby came and it really was too much of a burden. Pam still sat with her mama and the baby, and her absence made the tedium of the daytime services almost more than I could bear. I watched my foot swing round and round, then switched directions. A horsefly landed on my wrist and crawled up my arm, feathery-legged and red-eyed. I gave him a limp swat and slumped lower in my chair. Just when I thought I couldn’t take
On the calendars it was mid-October, but in Dallas it was still summer. The tent collected and radiated heat like a cast-iron frying pan. Daytime services were the worst. About three hundred people sat scattered among the seventeen hundred or so wooden folding chairs. The employers of the elect insisted that they show up for work, revival or no revival, and that kept the morning and afternoon services small, quiet, and dull as dirt. The only movement was the occasional flick of a fan fashioned from the “Repent and Be Saved” flyers we printed and handed out as advertisements. Beyond the rows of empty chairs, beyond the rolled-up canvas curtain, beyond the hot white light reflected off the dusty automobiles parked in neat lines across the gray clumpy field, beyond the field and the sticky tar of the highway lay the world with its oscillating fans, water-cooling units, and air conditioners . I eyed the glare beating through the tent above me and wondered why it never stormed during the morning services.
Brother Terrell perched on a chair in the middle of the platform. He was early into his latest fast and already everything about him seemed sharper, more focused. He had declared fasts before, for a week, two weeks, thirty days. This time it was different. This time he wouldn’t eat until he heard from God. Fasting mortified the flesh and honed the spirit, and that made it easier to get to God. He was dark as a crow with his black hair and black suit. The Bible lay open on his lap and his finger traced Jesus’s red-letter words. “Verily, verily I say unto you . . .” The visiting ministers sat behind him in rows, all dressed in the same dark suits. My mother had moved away from the organ bench and arranged herself at the end of a row, legs crossed, face eager, her body pointed toward the true north of Brother Terrell. Under the dark heavy fabric of her ankle-length skirt, her leg pumped back and forth. Mama had taken to wearing long skirts and dresses as a consecration, a sort of secret pact between her and God. Despite her high-necked, long-sleeved blouse and heavy skirts, she looked unfazed by the heat. I picked up my paper fan and moved it across my face. Hot air. My mother, the preachers, and Brother Terrell seemed so removed up there on the platform. Their zeal for God turned the ordinary comforts of life into something as unnecessary as a dime-store whatnot.
Down here in the valley things were different. Pasted to the back of my chair with nothing to distract me, I counted seven new beads of sweat rolling down my body. I slumped in my seat, head lolling on my shoulder. My dress, petticoat, panties, and socks were soggy. I was indeed a poor little thing. My eyes rolled up to Laverne, Brother Cotton’s wife, searching for pity. She bent over her Bible, following Brother Terrell as he marched through scripture, hup, two, three, four, verily, verily.
Gary and I sat through the services with Laverne now instead of Betty Ann. When Betty Ann became pregnant, Mama said it was too much of a burden on her to watch us. And then the baby came and it really was too much of a burden. Pam still sat with her mama and the baby, and her absence made the tedium of the daytime services almost more than I could bear. I watched my foot swing round and round, then switched directions. A horsefly landed on my wrist and crawled up my arm, feathery-legged and red-eyed. I gave him a limp swat and slumped lower in my chair. Just when I thought I couldn’t take
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