Three Days Before the Shooting ... (205 page)

and staggering backwards and going down, and now he was on his own feet, moving toward the young man.

For all his size Hickman seemed suddenly everywhere at once. First stepping over the back of a bench, his great bulk rising above the paralyzed visitors like a missile, yelling, “No. NO!” to the young man, then lumbering down and reaching for the gun—only to miss it as the young man swerved aside. Then catching sight of the guards rushing, pistols in hand, through the now standing crowd, he whirled, pushing the leader off balance, back into his companion, shouting, “No, don’t kill him! Don’t kill that Boy! Bliss won’t want him killed!” as now some of his old people began to stir. But already now the young man was moving toward the rail, waving a spectator away with his pistol, looking coolly about him as he continued forward; while Hickman, grasping his intention from where he struggled with one of the guards, now trying in beet-faced fury to club him with his pistol, began yelling, “Wait, Wait! Oh, my God, son—WAIT!” holding the guard for all his years like a grandfather quieting a boy throwing a tantrum, “WAIT!” Then calling the strange name, “Severen, wait,” and saw the young man throwing him a puzzled, questioning look, then climb over the rail to plunge deliberately head first to the floor below. Pushing the guard from him now, Hickman called a last despairing “Wait” as he stumbled to the rail to stand there crying down as the group of old people quickly surrounded him, the old women pushing and striking at the angry guards with their handbags as they sought to protect him.

For a moment he continued to cry, grasping the rail with his hands and staring down to where the Senator lay twisting upon the dais beside an upturned chair. Then suddenly, in the midst of all the screaming, the shrilling of whistles, and the dry ineffectual banging of the chairman’s gavel, he began to sing.

Even his followers were startled. The voice was big and resonant with a grief
so striking that the crowd was halted in mid-panic, turning their wide-eyed faces up to where it soared forth to fill the great room with the sound of his astounding anguish. There he stood in the gallery above them, past the swinging chandelier, his white head towering his clustered flock, tears gleaming bright against the darkness of his face, creating with his voice an atmosphere of bafflement and mystery no less outrageous than the shooting which had released it.

“Oh, Lord,” he sang, “why hast thou taken our Bliss, Lord? Why now our awful secret son, Lord?… Snatched down our poor bewildered foundling, Lord? LORD, LORD, Why hast thou …?”

Whereupon, seeing the Senator trying to lift himself up and falling heavily back, he called out: “Bliss! You were our last hope, Bliss; now Lord have mercy on this dying land!”

As the great voice died away it was as though all had been stunned by a hammer and there was only the creaking sound made by the serenely swinging chandelier. Then the guards moved, and as the old ladies turned to confront them, Hickman called: “No, it’s all right. We’ll go. Why would we want to stay here? We’ll go wherever they say.”

They were rushed to the Department of Justice for questioning, but before this could begin, the Senator, who was found to be still alive upon his arrival at the hospital, began calling for Hickman in his delirium. He was calling for him when he entered the operating room and was still calling for him the moment he emerged from the anesthetic, insisting for all his weakness, that the old man be brought to his room. Against the will of the doctors this was done, the old man arriving mute and with the eyes of one in a trance. Following the Senator’s insistence that he be allowed to stay with him through the crisis, he was given a chair beside the bed and sank his great bulk into it without a word, staring listlessly at the Senator, who lay on the bed in one of his frequent spells of unconsciousness. Once he asked a young nurse for a glass of water, but beyond thanking her politely, he made no further comment, offered no explanation for his odd presence in the hospital room.

When the Senator awoke he did not know if it was the shape of a man which he saw beyond him or simply a shadow. Nor did he know if he was awake or dreaming. He seemed to move in a region of grays which revolved slowly before his eyes, ceaselessly transforming shadow and substance, dream and reality. And yet there was still the constant, unyielding darkness which seemed to speak to him silently words which he dreaded to hear. Yet he wished to touch it, but even the idea of movement brought pain and set his mind to wandering. It hurts here, he thought, and here; the light comes and goes behind my eyes. It hurts here and here and there and there. If only the throbbing would cease. Who … why … what … LORD, LORD, LORD WHY HAST THOU … Then some seemed to call to him from a long way off,
Senator, do you hear me?
Did the Senator hear?
Who? Was the Senator here? And yes, he did, very clearly, yes. And he was. Yes, he was. Then another voice seemed to call,
Bliss? And
he thought is Bliss here? Perhaps. But when he tried to answer he seemed to dream, to remember, to recall to himself an uneasy dream.

It was a bright day and he said, Come on out here, Bliss; I got something to show you. And I went with him through the garden past the apple trees on under the grape arbor to the barn. And there it was, sitting up on two short sawhorses.

Look at that, he said.

It was some kind of long, narrow box. I didn’t like it.

I said, What is it?

It’s for the service. For the revivals. Remember me and Deacon Wilhite talking about it?

No, sir.

Sho, you remember. It’s for you to come up out of. You’re going to be resurrected so the sinners can find life ever-lasting. Bliss, a preacher is a man who carries God’s load. And that’s the whole earth, Bliss boy. The whole earth and all the people. And he smiled.

Oh! I said. I remembered. But before it hadn’t meant too much. Since then, Juney had gone away and I had seen one. Juney’s was pine painted black, without curves. This was fancy, all carved and covered with white cloth. It seemed to roll and grow beneath my eyes, while he held his belly in his hands, thumbs in trousers top, his great shoes creaking as he walked around it, proudly.

How you like it?

He was examining the lid, swinging it smoothly up and down with his hand. I couldn’t see how it was put together. It seemed to be all white cloth bleeding into pink and pink into white again, over the scrolls. Then he let the lid down again and I could see two angels curved in its center. They were blowing long-belled valveless trumpets as they went flying. Behind them, in the egg-shaped space in which they trumpeted and flew, were carved clouds. Their eyes looked down. I said,

Is it for me?

Sho, didn’t I tell you? We get it all worked out the way we want it and then, sinners, watch out!

Suddenly I could feel my fingers turn cold at the tips.

But why is it so big, I said. I’m not that tall. In fact, I’m pretty little for my age.

Yeah, but this one has got to last, Bliss. Can’t be always buying you one of these like I do when you scuff out your shoes or bust out the seat of your britches.

But my feet won’t even touch the end, I said. I hadn’t looked inside.

Yeah, but in a few years they will. By time your voice starts to change your feet will be pushing out one end and your head out the other. I don’t want even to have to think about another one before then.

But couldn’t you get a littler one?

You mean “smaller”—but that’s
just
what we don’t want, Bliss. If it’s too small, they won’t notice it or think of it as applying to them. If it’s too big, they’ll laugh when you come rising up. No, Bliss, it’s got to be this size. They have to see it and feel it for what it is, not take it for a toy like one of those little tin wagons or autos. Down there in Mexico one time I saw them selling sugar candy made in this shape, but ain’t no use in trying to sugar-coat it. No, sir, Bliss. They have got to see it and know what they’re seeing is where they’ve all got to end up. Bliss, that there sitting right there on those sawhorses is everybody’s last clean shirt, as the old saying goes. And they’ve got to realize that when that sickle starts to cut its swarth, it don’t play no favorites.
Everybody
goes when that wagon comes, Bliss; babies and grandmaws too, ‘cause there simply ain’t no exceptions made. Death is like Justice is
supposed
to be. So you see, Bliss, it’s got to be of a certain size. Hop in there and let’s see how it fits….

No, please. Please, Daddy Hickman. PLEASE!

It’s just for a little while, Bliss. You won’t be in the dark long, and you’ll be wearing your white dress suit with the satin lapels and the long pants with the satin stripes. You’ll like that, won’t you, Bliss? Sure you will. In that pretty suit? Course! And you breathe through this here tube we fixed here in the lid. See? It comes through right here—you hear what I’m saying, Bliss? All right then, pay attention. Look here at this tube. All you have to do is lay there and breathe through it. Just breathe in and out like you always do;
only through the tube
. And when you hear me say, Suffer the little children … you push it up inside the lid, so’s they can’t see it when Deacon Wilhite goes to open up the lid …

But then I won’t have any air….

Now don’t worry about that, there’ll be air enough inside the box. Besides, Deacon Wilhite will open it right away….

But suppose something happens and …

Nothing’s
going
to happen, Bliss.

Yes, but suppose he forgets?

He won’t forget. How’s he going to forget when you’re the center of the services?

But I’m scaird. In all that darkness and with that silk cloth around my mouth and eyes.

Silk, he said. He looked down at me steadily. What else you want it lined with, Bliss? Cotton? Would you feel any better about it if it was lined with something most folks have to work all their lives and wear every day—weekdays and Sunday? Something that most of our folks never get away from? You don’t want that, do you?

He touched my shoulder with his finger. I said, Do you?

I shook my head, shamed.

He watched me, his head to one side. I’d do it myself, Bliss, but it wouldn’t mean as much for the people. It wouldn’t touch them in the same way. Besides,
I’m so big most towns wouldn’t have men strong enough to carry me. We don’t want to have to break anybody’s back just to save their souls, do you, Bliss?

I don’t guess so, but…

Of course not, he said quickly. And it won’t be but a few minutes, Bliss. You can even take Teddy with you—no, I guess you better take your Easter bunny. With your Easter bunny you won’t be afraid, will you? Course not. And like I tell you, it will last no longer than it takes for the boys to march you down the aisle. I’ll have you some good strong, big fellows, so you don’t have to worry about them dropping you. Now, Bliss: you’ll hear the music and they’ll set it down in front of the pulpit. Then more music and preaching. Then Deacon Wilhite will open the lid. Then I’ll say, Suffer the little children, and you sit up, see? I say do you see, Bliss?

Yessuh.

Say
Sir!

Sir
.

Good. Don’t talk like I talk; talk like I
say
talk. Words are your business, boy. Not just
the
Word. Words are everything. The key to the Rock, the answer to the Question.

Yes, sir.

Now, when you rise up, you come up slow—don’t go bolting up like no jack-in-the-box, understand? You don’t want to scair the living daylights out of anybody. You want to come up slow and easy. And be sure you don’t mess up your hair. I want the part to be still in it, neat. So don’t forget when we close you in—and don’t be chewing on no gum or sucking on no sour balls, you hear? Hear me now…

Yes, sir, I said. I couldn’t turn away my eyes. His voice rolled on as I wondered which of the two with the trumpets was Gabriel….

… It depends on the size of the church, Bliss. You listening to me?

Yes, sir.

Well, now when you hear me say,
Suffer the little children
, you sit up slow and, like I tell you, things are going to get quiet as the grave. That’s the way it’ll be.

He stood silently for a moment, one hand on his chin, the other against his hip, one great leg pushed forward, bending at the knee. He wore striped pants.

Bliss, I almost forgot something important: I better have the ladies get us some flowers. Roses would be good. Red ones. Ain’t nobody in this town got any lilies—least not anybody we know. I’m glad I thought of it in time.

Now, Bliss. We’ll have it sitting near the pulpit so when you rise up you’ll be facing to the side and every living soul will see you. But I don’t want you to open your eyes right off. Yes, and you better have your Bible in your hands—and leave that rabbit down in there. You won’t forget that, will you?

No, sir.

Good. And what are you suppose to say when you rise up?

I ask the Lord how come he has forsaken me.

That’s right. That’s correct, Bliss. But say it with the true feeling, hear? And in good English. That’s right, Bliss; in Good Book English. I guess it’s ‘bout time I started reading you some Shakespeare and Emerson. Yes, it’s about time. Who’s Emerson? He was a preacher too, Bliss. Just like you. He wrote a heap of stuff and he was what is called a
philosopher
. Main thing though is that he knew that every tub has to sit on its own bottom. Have you remembered the rest of the sermon I taught you?

Yes, sir; but in the dark I…

Never mind the dark—when you come to
Why hast Thou forsaken me
, on the
me
, I want you to open your eyes and let your head go back. And you want to spread out your arms wide—like this, see? Lemme see you try it.

Like this?

That’s right. That’s pretty good. Only you better look sad, too. You got to look like you feel it, Bliss. You want to feel like everybody has put you down. Then you start with,
I am the resurrection and the life—
say it after me:

I am the resurrection…