PREACH

A Fable by Charlie Sudduth

Old highway 61 was the first paved road through the Mississippi Delta and it ran between Deer Creek and the Illinois Central Gulf Railroad line from Leland to Onward, twisting and turning from creek bank to railroad and back to creek bank using up at least 180 miles of concrete to cover a span of 90 miles. In contrast, the railroad engineers used maybe 91 miles of steel to transverse that same 90 miles. The first settlers had built their homes along the creek as it was their main thoroughfare to the outside world, then towns and villages grew up around those first plantations and hence the first paved roads followed the meandering streams and rivers. Once a car bearing New York license plates stopped in our town for gas and the driver asked, "How much longer does this narrow, bumpy road last?" We didn’t know whether he was a lunatic or merely ignorant for as we all knew, Highway 61 was the finest highway within 200 miles. At night we would drive a mile or so out of town, sit down on the smooth concrete and listen to the Chicago radio station on our car radio. Sometimes our local police would come out to sit with us or challenge our best car to a drag race with their police cruiser.

TURN ON YOUR RADIO

Jambalaya	Camp Town Races
Baby Elephant Walk	Caissons
Double Eagle March	Loch Lomond
Maple Leaf Rag	Marine Corps Hymn
Music Box Dancer	Mrs. Robinson
When the Saints	This Land Is Your Land
Bugle Boy of Co. C.	Stars and Stripes Forever
Yellow Rose of Texas	Zorba the Greek
Amazing Grace	The Entertainer

Then one summer the State Highway Department decided to straighten out a series of deadly hair-pin turns between Panther Burn and Nitti Yuma so I went to work for that department. That was the best job that anyone could have had because there was never anyone around to watch over us. We could come to work at 8:30, 9:00 or even 9:30—nobody cared. Sometimes we had to do a little surveying or watch while the contractor poured concrete to see that they spaced the steel rebar right and sometimes to make test samples of their concrete and generally saw to it that the contractor kept his end of the bargain and supplied only top-quality materials to the State.

The money was good too….$1.95 per hour which was lavish considering that work in logging and agricultural was more likely to pay $5.00 to $8.00 per day and that kind of work is a back-breaker. As well the contractor gave us each an additional $20.00 every week, not calling it a kick-back or bribe but just said it was for keeping an eye on his equipment and machinery like bull dozers and dump trucks and wire and dynamite and other such supplies used in road building.

They kept all that parked behind "our house" as we called it, as it was in the new Right-of-Way and had been taken by eminent domaine by the State and would be torn down when the job was completed. The contractor had fixed it up for us really well---put in air-conditioning and a stove, a refrigerator, tables and chairs and beds and a TV set and a radio then kept it stocked with plenty of sardines, crackers, cheese, sliced ham, sausages, fruits, soda pop and the such like goodies. We would sit around and smoke or play gin rummy or watch TV and the contractor would even send us the test samples of his concrete so that we hardly had to over-see anything. The samples were about two feet long and four inches square. We would put them in a sort of a vise with a big screw on top that would screw down and break them so that we would record how much pressure it took to break one. They were not supposed to break at less than 2000 pounds and they never did. In fact some of them would not break at all and our press turned down 10,000 pounds pressure.

It was a fine job to me and I often said so, but Satch would laugh. He said the only way to get on the Mississippi Highway Department was to get fired off the Anguilla Police force.

Anyhow, there was me and Satch and the preacher and Jack McAfee. Preach had a little church over near the river----probably didn’t make no money at it so he took a job along side us. Lots of folks don’t hold with a preacher doing labor but he had my respect anyway. A man does what he can. Before Preach started working with us, the contractor would stop by every Thursday afternoon to ask, "What can I brang you boys tomorrow?" and we would each tell him what we wanted and the next day his foreman would bring us each two fifths of whatever whiskey it was that we wanted. But Preach stopped that quick enough which was just as well to my mind. Just give me the money and I’ll buy my own liquor, than you. So that is how come we got paid an extra $15.00 every week.

Jack McAfee. Jack was about the worst man you ever saw for gambling and wasn’t hardly ever with a pack of cards or some dice and when he got you wore out on that he’d start betting on what kind of a bird would land in what kind of tree in the next five minutes or whether it was going to rain in the next sixty. He reminded me of that character "Euchre" in Zane Grey’s The Lone Star Ranger, which by the way, is about the best book what ever I read. There were a couple of enormous old pecan trees in front of our house that used to had five or six squirrels running around in their tops until Jack started bringing his shot gun and they only lasted five or six bets. He had me and Satch pretty well tired out with his incessant betting after a month or two even though he never quit trying to lure us into some new game of chance. After Preach saw that we were fairly well of his opinion too about gambling, he would lay into Jack any time that Jack laid into us. But that only got Jack to making up more bets, just to get Preach irate and give a lecture.

Jack was laying in bed one day and rolled over and says, "Looky here, Satch old buddy, I’ll bet you one dollar what Preach ain’t brought his Bible today."

And Satch replies, "All right. That’s a safe bet. Preach aint goin’ nowhere withouten his Bible. I’ll bet you for funsies."

That was about the only thing you could say to insult Jack. "Funsies? Funsies? Naw, you won’t bet me fer no funsies. If you win, then you win my money and if I win then I win your money."

Preach was starting to get that hard look in his face; his eyes got little, his nose crinkled up and his lips pulled back. Jack then made the same offer to me and it was a safe bet that Preach had that little black book in his pocket. It was an easy dollar unless Jack knew something that I didn’t. Preach said, "An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop."

"Why my mind aint idle," says Jack. "Hit’s active. Hit’s just tryin’ to get a little friendly game a-goin’."

Preach said, "The only thing yore mind is got goin’ is the road to Hell. Leave them boys alone and quit tryin to lead them away from the path of righteousness."

"Aw, Preach, the Lord aint goin’ to mind me taking a dollar or two offen Satch. I might even put a tithe in the plate next Sunday. Everbody is sposter put ten percent of his income to the church, now aint that right?"

Preach says, "Well, don’t be gambling on the Good Book expecially not mine own cause I wouldn’t tell you whether I got hit or not. The Lord don’t want none of your sin-money nohow.

That’s the way it went. Things would get so bad that some times Preach would go outside and pretend to be watching the equipment in case anybody was to happen along and decide to walk away with a bull dozer or two.

*****

About a week later our head office in Jackson sent us a new man. He was a student at Ole Miss by the name of Bonwit Howler. Said he was going to be a Professer and only worked summers to make spending money for the winters. We didn’t like him over much and just as soon he had stayed in school because he was too snot-nose stuck up for us working folks. But he made two bad mistakes: the first was arguing with Preach and the second was gambling with Jack.

Bombwit ,(that’s what we called him) would come dancing in to work and start yapping about there being no God and no Heaven and no Hell for which we give him credit for being sharp. There wasn’t nothing what Preach could say but he’d have some smart remark for it. One morning he drug in about 11:00 and laid right into Preach, "Hay preacher-man! You don’t really believe in God, now do you?"

Preach was already wore to a frazzle arguing with him so he didn’t say. But Bonwit kept at it, "Tell me which God you believe in Preach? Is it the Baptist God or the Methodist God or maybe it’s the Jewish one, hah?"

Preach says, "I reckon you think you don’t believe in none of them?"

"Think I don’t? Haw haw! I know I don’t!" He had a way of laughing at a man’s beliefs that would make you see red.

Preach says, "All right. Wait til that Devil lays that red hot pitch fork on your backsides. You’ll be thinking and believing something else then. It will burn into your flesh like nothing you ever felt before."

"Haw haw!" roared Bonwit. "I’d grab that trident and poke it up his ass!"

Preacher was getting all shaky and purple and staring at the ground with his fists doubled up and a scowl on his face. We would have cheered if he had poked a fist in Mr. Bombwit’s eye but he didn’t, he just said, "Keep breathing. Just keep on a-living a little while longer. You’ll get yore chanst to do just exactly that one of these days afore long and I do surely hope to be there when it happens." Then Preach went out to watch the equipment some more. We felt sorry for him sitting out there alone in that hot sun---it was one of those really hot and humid days like we get in late May when there is a fierce thunder storm about to roll over the river from Louisiana. Our house faces west to Louisiana and there was nothing between us and the river but cotton fields and those two ancient and scarred pecan trees reaching upward 130 feet above the flat fields and the first dark clouds could be seen in the distance lit up by the dull flare of lightening.

Jack had seemed to be asleep lying on his side facing the wall for about an hour after Preach had gone out. All at once he raised up on his elbows and says, "Tell you what Bombwit. You really don’t believe in God?"

"Hail naw! What do you think I am…some kind of an ignorant redneck?"

Jack shook his head and says, "You sure aint got no common sense and that’s bout the same thing as bein’ ignorant but I don’t want to judge on that. You claim that there is no God. Me personally aint never had no proof either way and til I get proof that there aint, I’m a-goin’ to keep on believin’ what there is."

"Proof? What kind of proof do you want? I can’t take hold of Him and show you that He does not exist, now can I? What you cannot see or touch does not exist.

Jack says, "Well some times the Lord ack in funny ways. You cain’t take hardly no hold of your ear with your elbow neither but that don’t mean you aint got no ear. I tell you what…" Jack stood up from the bed, went to the window and opened it. A cool gust of wind blew the curtains back and we could see the clouds darkening the sky. The storm was on the way. Preacher was standing outside looking at Jack and Jack looked back at him. Jack says, "I’ll make you a bet. I’ll bet you a twenty dollar bill that you will not go outside, sit down under them two puckan trees and deny God and ax Him to strike you dead with a bolt of lightning if there is such a God/"

Mr. Bonwit Howler has already been skinned just as bad as me and Satch gambling with Jack McAfee so he ought to have known better and surely could see that those two monster pecan trees were the only lightning arrestors for miles around but I reckon he had to do it, if only to spite Preach.

"What else do I have to do?" Nothing else thou fool. Let Jack know you’re even thinking about gambling with him and you may as well go ahead and give him your money.

Jack was still at the window looking at Preach and Preach was turning purple and hard-set again. "You got to do it on the Holy Bible. You got to sit down directly between those two trees. You’ve got to stay exactly right there for ten minutes and say ten times over, ‘There is no God. If there is a God, may he strike me dead for blasphemy.’"

Bombwit hesitated a minute then said, "Who’s going to hold the money?" and Satch volunteered. Then we were all outside and Jack had the Preacher’ small black book in his hand but Preach pretended not to notice. Jack handed it to Bonwit, "On your knees Blasphemer! If you get up or turn around in less than ten minutes then I win the bet." A terrific flash of lightning lit up the sky and Satch started to count, "One thousand…one thousand and one…one thousand and two…" When he reached twelve a blast of thunder about knocked us down. "Two and a half miles" hollered Satch. The storm had turned to a huge black boiling mass and every few seconds there was another yellow bolt flashing out.

We all ran back inside but Jack kept right on going out the back door so me, Preach and Satch were there staring out the window and heard Bonwit begin his intonation: "THERE IS NO GOD! IF THERE IS A GOD THEN LET HIM STRIKE ME DEAD FOR BLASPHEMY!"

At the end of the fifth minute there was another spectacular flash/boom at the fore of the storm, again Satch counted off the seconds but this time only seven elapsed before the crack reached us/ The next thing we saw was Jack with his rusty old Sears and Roebuck double-barrel come tip-toeing around the house and sneaking up on Bonwit and the latter blaspheming away. Then Preach was yanking on my arm and grinning like a madman.

Bonwit was cursing now for the ninth time while big drops of rain were beginning to splatter in the dust. A wall of lightning seemed to explode right before our eyes and Satch only counted, "Two thou…" before it knocked us back on our heels. Jack was poised four feet behind Bonwit, the twin tubes of the shotgun held six inches over his head.

Preach was five feet behind Jack, the bundle of dynamite against the short stub of cigarette then laid it on the ground and began to run back to us. He almost made it to the door before it went off. Satch was flat out on the floor trying to pull my head down but that wasn’t possible. I actually saw Jack go flying past Bonwit then Bonwit go skidding into the field behind him. Then the shock wave hit our house and there was nothing but a roar and flying glass and dust and bright lights then Preach came through the door, tearing it off neatly at the hinges.

Bonwit was piled up in some cotton stalks when we got to him…face down, arms out, legs up but praying and bawling in earnest now instead of cursing, "hallowed be Thy name…Mother of God pray for us sinners…I pray the Lord my soul to keep…" and seven or eight other such incantations. We each grabbed an arm and walked him back to the house. He was not too badly hurt except for a busted nose and scratched up face. We tried to calm him down but he just rolled his eyesand cried and kept praying. He couldn’t hear too good yet which was just as well.

We left Bonwit in the house and went to look for Jack but all we found was his shot gun where he dropped it at the creek. Both barrels had been fired. Then we spent the rest of the day driving around in the rain hollering and blowing the horn but if Jack was alive, he surely did not produce himself.

I made it to work the next day by 6:15 but Preach was already standing out front looking as sad as a sick cow. He stared at me then said, "Truck’s still here." Meaning Jack’s truck of course.

Satch drove up about ten minutes later. Preach went back to town to cross the bridge and we heard him hollering for Jack and blowing his horn.

Satch says to me, "I cain’t be no party to no murder. Come eight o’clock and I’m got to go for the Sheriff." Which was only right too because we couldn’t hardly swear Jack was missing and presumed drowned dead until he didn’t show up for work. Preach come back after awhile and we sat out in the ragged and splintered front of our house watching him stumbling around where Bonwit skidded into the field. He was out there an hour picking up a few Bible pages that were mostly shredded or torn up. He came back to sit down with us and tried to read some of the verses or at least portions thereof.

We heard the siren screaming long before the flashing lights appeared and they were still screaming and flashing when the Sheriff skewed up in the yard. He jumped out with a hog leg .45 in his hand, cocked too, waving it all around and says, "All right. Where’s the Corpus Deletus?"

He waved it at me and I stood up to raise my hands. Lord God! All I could see was that great big black hole in the end of the barrel and it looked like all the death-in-the-world was hiding in there. Satch got up then too and I turned around twice…real slow because I wanted him to know that I wasn’t armed. Satch caught the idea and did the same thing but Preach just kept sitting there on the bench with his arms on his knees looking at his scraps of pages and the Sheriff says, "I got some top priority number one information that there’s a dead body out here and I aim to see him."

Preach stood up, shaking all over, laid his papers on the bench and says, "I am my brother’s keeper. I affirm that as my beholden duty. You will notice that I do not shirk it. I have searched in the wilderness but it is not God’s will that I be the one who delivereth Abel unto his Father. Jack aint here. Jack’s dead."

The Sheriff says, "I know Jack aint dead. Jack’s in the jail house. And he aint dead neither not yet least no ways although he might feel like hit and do surely look like hit. He has confessed to killing one Bonwit Howler."

Well, that was enough. We talked some more and found out that Jack was at the Sheriff’s office when he opened that morning naked as a new born babe. Hairless, all eat-up with mosquito bites and scratches. As for Bonwit we had put him on a bus last night bound for Ole Miss. He reckoned what he did not need the money so bad as all that and he could get a loan for summer school. We didn’t like him too much when he was around but sort of got to miss him once he was gone.

It took the Sheriff near an hour calling around on his radio to find out that Bombwit was back at college like we said. Meantime me, Satch and Preach got our story straight. What could we do but tell the whole story, truthful like? Preach surmised it was one of those cold bolts of lightning what knocked all the leaves off the trees and last night's rain washed the powder burns off the grass. Preach wouldn’t have it no other way. He said he didn’t mind going to prison; he just could not bear to lose two converts to the path of righteousness.

Jack McAfee is now an ordained minister and gives superb sermons on the evils of gambling…even has his own church. Preach flagged me down not long ago and said, "Well, I might go to Hell for telling one lie to so many people but I’ll go knowing what I left two people here to take my place."