Holy Ghost Girl (16 page)

Pam walked to the side of the house and came back with an empty bucket. She scooped mud into the bucket with her hand and stirred it with a stick. She wiped her hands on her dress and looked at me thoughtfully. “Let’s play soda shop. We need some glasses.”

The back door opened and out came Brother Cotton. “You kids having fun?”

A chorus of “uh-huh”s affirmed our fun. Randall walked toward him. “Y’all done praying?”

“No, son. I’m just going over to the tent to cancel the morning and afternoon services, so we can spend the day in prayer with your daddy.”

Pam looked up at Brother Cotton and smiled. “Would you get some glasses for us?”

“How many do you want, honey?”

“Just four.”

He stepped inside and brought out four of our best glasses, no questions asked. I realized for the umpteenth time how different life would be if I had dimples.

Pam picked up the bucket. “Come on, Donna. Let’s play like we’re making chocolate milkshakes.”

We mixed the mud in the pail until it had the right consistency and the right color and poured it into a glass. Pam wiped the sides with the hem of her dress and held it up. “Just like the chocolate malts from the A&W.”

Randall took the glass. “That gives me an idea. Those kids at the end of the street? Let’s tell ’em these are real milkshakes and see if they’ll drink ’em.”

Randall dispatched Gary and me to bring the kids to our soda shop. “They’ll trust y’all ’cause you’re about their age.”

We found them, a boy and girl, sitting on the edge of their porch, hands propped on their knees as if waiting for something to do to come up and grab them by the hand. Gary called hi, but neither of them answered. We walked to the bottom of the steps and looked up at them. I made a megaphone of my hands and called, “My brother said hey. Can’t y’all hear?”

The girl nodded yes.

“We got chocolate milkshakes. Wanna come over?”

They nodded. Neither of them said anything on the walk to our house. I asked the girl if they were idiots and she shook her head no.

“Well, is your brother a deaf-mute?” Again she shook her head no.

“If he is, you could bring him to the revival and get him healed. You know about the revival?”

She nodded yes, but I didn’t believe her. “Do you know you’ll go to hell for lying?” She didn’t have time to answer because by then we were approaching our front stoop. Gary ran and took a seat on the bottom step as Pam stood and held up a glass of chocolate mud.

“Y’all want a milkshake?”

The girl didn’t move but her brother nodded eagerly and took the glass. He brought the glass to his face, hesitated, then took a big, greedy drink. Gary and I fell in the mud laughing. Randall laughed so hard he had to lean against the house. The boy began to retch.

Pam jumped from the porch and bent over him. “I think he’s really sick, y’all.”

The boy’s sister didn’t flinch. Pam glared at her. “Girl, I said your brother’s sick. Get over here and help him.”

Randall grabbed a glass and headed for the faucet at the back of the house. He brought back a glass of clear water and held it up to the boy. Pam took the glass and put it to the boy’s lips. He wouldn’t look at her.

“Rinse your mouth out. It’s not a trick this time. Really.” He sipped just enough water to wash his mouth out. Pam rubbed his back with her free hand. The girl wedged herself between Pam and her brother. She pulled him up by the hand and they walked across the yard. Randall scurried after them. “Hey. We’re sorry. We didn’t mean nothing. Can’t we be friends? Come on, now.”

They walked down the middle of road and turned into their yard. Pam figured if they were going to tell on us, they would head straight into the house. We were relieved when they sank back down on the porch instead. Randall sloshed water from the pail across the steps and washed the mud away.

“There’s no telling what some people will do,” he said. “Just no telling.”

 

 

The Brother Terrell who took the platform that night was a scythe, a blade beveled and honed so that all that remained was the thin quick edge of purpose. He was the will of God personified. He took the microphone from Brother Cotton, clipped it around his neck, and the audience went still. He moved to the pulpit and we moved with him. He inhaled and expectation rose in our chests. He exhaled and we hung there, waiting.

The preachers’ heads turned in unison as he paced. They had arrived early to stake out seats on the stage, eager for their congregants to know they were associated with Brother Terrell. Privately, some said his popularity wouldn’t, couldn’t last long. His lack of education caused him to make wild, improbable claims about the nature of God, the Bible, and the world in general. Besides, rumors of marital infidelities had surfaced. It was only a matter of time. Midway across the platform, Brother Terrell stopped and stared at the preachers, without speaking. After a couple of minutes, they began to cross and uncross their legs. A nervous chuckle passed among them.

He rubbed his forehead as if trying to banish a particularly troubling thought, then turned to face the audience. “I broke my fast this morning.” The audience and the preachers applauded.

Brother Terrell did not smile. “Some of you may not be clapping when I finish here tonight. Some of you may be running for cover.

“I broke my fast because Jesus appeared in my trailer last night. He touched me here, in the palms of my hands.”

He held up both hands. “Jesus said, ‘If I be lifted up, I’ll draw all men to me.’ He said he was bringing a great revival to the earth, a revival that would not be corrupted . . .”

He dropped his hands, picked up the microphone around his neck, and turned back to the preachers. “. . . A revival that would not be corrupted by the churches. The Pentecostal revival that began on Azusa Street back in the twenties has lost its fire. People ain’t getting healed like they use to. They ain’t getting delivered like they use to.”

He kept an even, rhythmic pace, the delivery of his words timed to his steps, his right hand striking the air for emphasis. “Why? Because you preachers are more interested in buildings and comfort and glory than you are in preaching the truth.”

He stood in front of them. “Don’t you wag your heads at me. Don’t you cross your arms like it ain’t true.” He walked up to one of the ministers and threw open the man’s crossed arms. “You know it’s true!” He gestured back at the audience. “They know it’s true! And I’m telling you God knows it, too, and he’s tired of it!” The audience rose in sections as he spoke until every person was standing and clapping.

The preachers sat slack-jawed, arms at their side, legs open at the knees. Some of these men were from the local churches, some from farther afield. They clearly didn’t like what they were hearing. Evangelists often employed a shake-’em-up, wake-’em-up strategy in dealing with organized religion. It was part of their role and everyone expected it. But this unrestrained animosity was something else. Brother Terrell had no mercy and showed no signs of relenting.

“Jesus told me he’s sending a revival the likes of which the earth has never seen. He showed me a vision of a revival where people speak the Word and missing arms and legs grow back.”

He stepped off the platform, walked down the prayer ramp, and stood level with the audience. He raised both hands and looked up. Light bathed his face and hands.

“I saw men of God healing waterhead babies. Bless God, I saw a dead-raisin’ revival! That’s right. I saw the people of God walking into funeral homes and raising those who had died in the faith.”

He began to run in front of the crowd and scream. “The Bible says death shall have no dominion over them! This is the revival Jesus was talking about when he said in the scripture, ‘These things ye shall do and greater.’

“Jesus showed me a vision of this revival spreading like wildfire across the whole earth. Then before the devil and the churches could get into it and destroy it, it was over. And then a time of great tribulation came upon us.” He buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. His voice wheezed out a cry.

“I saw Christians persecuted in this country for refusing to renounce Christ, just like I saw in my vision back in fifty-nine.

“Then it was over and I saw the Son of Man, Jesus, coming in the clouds. We don’t have much time, people. We got to lift up Jesus. We’re entering into a new dispensation. It’s got to be Jesus, Jesus, Jesus from now on out. I don’t understand everything that this means, but I believe as we seek the Lord, he’ll tell us.”

He stretched out his hand toward the congregation. “And one more thing. Jesus told me if I would obey him, he’d supply all my needs. He said, ‘You’ll never have to beg for an offering again.’ That’s thus saith the Lord, people.”

Brother Cotton brought the four offering buckets and handed them to Brother Terrell. My mother began to play softly on the organ. Brother Terrell set the buckets up on the ground in front of him. “Whatever y’all give tonight will be given back to you multiplied. The Lord will bless those that bless this ministry. That’s what he said.”

The audience filled the buckets, then began to press money into Brother Terrell’s hands and pockets, telling him it was for his personal use. He shook hands and thanked people for their support. He inclined his head to listen to prayer requests. He hugged the older men and women and blessed the children of the younger ones. When people grabbed him and refused to let go, he waved Brother Cotton aside and patted their hands and nodded while they told him how much he meant to them. In him they saw a more powerful, dazzling image of themselves. He came from the same grim poverty that had shaped them, but it did not cling to him. His smile held out a promise; what it was they couldn’t have told you, but the memory of it lingered for days after they saw him. He was one of them, but his face lacked the hopeless, haunted expression they glimpsed as they walked past streaky storefront windows. When he spoke he sounded like them, and people
listened.
He stood on that platform in those fine store-bought suits and told stories of huntin’ coons and eatin’ stewed squirrel, and when the newspaper men came to take his picture and write about him, he laughed and didn’t try to talk in a prettified way. He was them without the shame. He was them without the hopelessness. And oh how they loved him for it.

Just as Jesus promised, Brother Terrell never had to beg or plead for money again. Crowds went up and down, and sometimes we had to cut corners, but the bills were paid on time and the old desperation about money was gone. So were the ministers who sat on the platform that night. Others took their places, but over time they, too, left as Brother Terrell’s “revelations” led him further away from traditional church doctrine. After Brother Terrell’s one-on-one with Jesus, my mother immersed herself in the Bible, looking for scriptural backing for what she and Brother Terrell called the Revelation of Jesus Christ. What she found took on heightened significance in light of the Visitation.

Scripture referred to Jesus as the firstborn of many brethren; that meant God was raising up a people who would be just like Jesus. Brother Terrell taught it was Jesus’s choices rather than his birthright that made him a son of God. The churches responded with charges of blasphemy and preachers issued not-so-veiled warnings about him in front of their congregants. And then Brother Terrell piled on the soggy straw that broke the camel’s back: He began to baptize in the name of Jesus, instead of the Trinity. Mainline Protestant preachers, always tepid supporters at best, stayed away. The Assemblies of God hierarchy officially withdrew its support, and he was banned from preaching in their pulpits. People said publicly the split was based on doctrine. Privately they said it was about Brother Terrell’s dalliances with women. All of that was true, but the real deal-breaker was money. When Brother Terrell came to town, church coffers dwindled. He responded to their disapproval by forming the New Testament Holiness Church, a taxfree nonprofit under which followers began to organize congregations based on his teachings. The men and sometimes women who headed those churches were subject only to Brother Terrell.

BELIEVERS SAW THE COURT CASE OF DAVID TERRELL VS. RICHLAND COUNTY as a mythic battle. It was Moses vs. Pharaoh, David vs. Goliath, and Jesus vs. the Antichrist all rolled into one. Newspapers cast the struggle in less grandiose terms: EVANGELIST TOLD TO CURB NOISE; HEARING SLATED. The story was written up by the Associated Press in three-tofive-inch installments and carried on the inside pages of newspapers throughout the South and as far west as California. The two realities never came together, and the faithful still talk about the revival in Columbia, South Carolina, as, “That time Brother Terrell fought the devil and made front-page headlines across the world.”

It began on opening night with Brother Terrell exhorting a smaller-than-average crowd to make up in volume what it lacked in size. “If the people of Columbia won’t come out to praise the Lord, the same God that turned a valley of dry bones into a living army in the Old Testament will command these old wooden chairs to stand up and praise him!”

He ran back and forth across the stage, his mouth stretched wide over the microphone. “Will somebody, oh somebody please stand up and say hal-le-lu-jah with me?”

His question and the response it generated reverberated through the living rooms and bedrooms of people who lived up to a mile away from the state fairgrounds. Not prone to late-night religious ecstasy, the neighbors picked up the phone and gave the sheriff an earful. By the time the patrol car crawled through the parking lot, the crowd was so caught up chanting “Hallelujah!” that no one noticed. The sheriff parked behind the tent and waited inside the car with his deputy, windows down, cigarette tips glowing in the night. Brother Wilson, the new tent manager, walked over to talk to the officers. He assured them that neither he nor Brother Terrell wanted any trouble and that he would personally turn down the sound system.