Days of Little Texas Read Free Page B

fills my stomach, rushes up my throat plumb to my eyeballs. Begins to carry me off.
    “I say now, put your hand in the hand of Jesus,
ah!
Make yourself ready,
ah!
Because in my Father’s house there are many mansions,
ah!
He prepareth a place for the bridegroom to take your hand in marriage,
ah!
In the final days the clouds will roll back,
ah!
with a blasting of trumpets,
ah!
and the graves of the righteous will burst open,
ah!
and those who believeth on His name,
ah!
The dead in Christ shall rise,
ah!
Take His hand,
ah!
No man knoweth when his time cometh,
ah!
I say
no man
knoweth,
ah!
And those who do not repent,
ah!
shall be cast into the lake of everlasting fire,
ah!
”
    My eyes roll back and flutter. I can’t feel the Bible in my hands anymore. The Holy Spirit is lifting me up, floating me away; everything is floating, someone is screaming, then ten thousand voices are screaming, and my soul comes flooding out my temples, pouring down the sides of my head like molten light.
    It’s like I’ve swallowed the world.
    But somehow I’m weightless. There is no roof to the tent anymore; I’m moving into the open sky. I can see myself down there, no bigger than a hickory nut.
    I’ve left my body behind. I’m outside. Outside with her.
    The girl from my dreams.

When I’m done testifying, the spirit that has toted me up to heaven slowly hauls me back down from the clouds. I become aware of things around me again—people standing, screaming, waving, clapping their hands. The girls, especially the girls.
    They are reaching their arms out like they could touch me from twenty feet away. Some of them are weeping.
    Sugar Tom’s Bible is heavy on my wrist now. I hand it to him. He takes it with both hands, saying “Amen,” and I watch Certain Certain put it back in the prayer box.
    I turn my eyes from the congregation to look for Miss Wanda Joy. Her black eyes push their way into my head. She raises her arms and says the same thing she says after every sermon.
    “If you believe in the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, if you are ready to offer up your soul in hope of eternal salvation through the blood of the Lamb, come forward. Come kneel at the Calvary Rail.”
    The Calvary Rail runs along the edge of the stage. It’s nearly twenty foot long, made of heavy white oak varnished dark brown. The idea is, there’s room for all the Apostles.
    But far more than twelve people come forward. Those that can, squeeze in, with the rest of them left standing. Miss Wanda Joy directs them to kneel, their fingers twined, heads bowed.
    Miss Wanda Joy keeps her fingernails short for a reason; she goes down the line tapping each person on the head, repeating words I know by heart in one long string:
    “AreyoureadytoacceptJesusChristasyourLordandpersonal-Savior?”
    Each sinner nods, and Miss Wanda Joy goes to work, praying over them. Some of them shout. Some raise their hands as if drawn up by a heavenly magnet.
    A woman with a purple shawl starts speaking in tongues, saying something like “Radda daddaa tat a ta!” and flops on the floor like a catfish. She lays there kicking and holleringawhile, then a couple of men get her up and help her back to her seat. Gradually the rest of the kneelers stand up and go sit back down again.
    I turn my attention to a line of folks that has formed up beside the stage. Certain Certain is waiting with the first woman. She comes forward careful, like she’s scared her legs are going to fold up under her. Certain Certain takes her by the elbow, holding her arm so ginger, you’d think the woman was made of spun sugar.
    “It’s my hip, praise Jesus,” she says. “But I just know you can help me, Little Texas.”
    She starts to pull up her white dress, lifting it up to show her veiny blue leg, but Certain Certain puts his hand on top of her hand, saying, “That’s all right, sister, that’s all right. We understand.”
    “The doctor tells me I need hip replacement surgery,” the