Icy Sparks (31 page)

“No! No! No!” Brother Thomas preached. “It don't matter, 'cause all God cares about is our insides. All God wants is our love, our hearts, our souls.”

“Hallelujah! Sweet Savior!” the crowd yelled.

“All God cares about is our souls,” Miss Emily sang out. “All God wants is our love,” she said, her mammoth hips swaying, her fingers splayed open, trembling for a taste of the Holy Spirit, like mouths of baby birds, opening for the taste of worms. “In God's eyes, I'm not fat.” Miss Emily was shaking her head. Her eyes were closed tightly. Her body was moving gracefully back and forth. “In God's eyes, there's just more of me to love. More of me to love Him.”

“Sweet Jesus is good!” the people declared.

“More of me to love!” Miss Emily began drawing imaginary circles in the air, swirling her palms around and around, the circles growing larger and larger. “More of me to love Him,” she said, gingerly lowering her body, then springing upward, painting circles all the while.

Astounded, I stared wide-eyed at her while sliding my chair closer to the woman beside me. But Miss Emily didn't notice. She just stood there, now perfectly still, her hands clutched, her eyelids closed, her lips puckered as though she were kissing the air.

“Come on up, sister!” Brother Thomas urged, as she stood there with tears streaming down her plump cheeks. “Give your heart to the Lord!” With those words, Brother Thomas extended his hand in her direction.

The musicians began to play.

“What a friend we have in Jesus,” the tent sang. “All our sins and grief to bear! What a privilege to carry, everything to God in prayer!”

Brother Thomas insisted, “Please, sweet sister, give your heart to the Lord!”

“O, what peace we often forfeit. O, what needless pain we bear. All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer!”

Miss Emily's eyelids fluttered open. My arms reached out to her. But her arms reached out to the stage.

“Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care? Precious Savior, still our refuge, take it to the Lord in prayer.”

“Come, sister! Come!” Brother Thomas begged.

“No!” I mouthed, shaking my head. “Don't go!”

“Come to the Lord!” Brother Thomas requested.

“Please, Miss Emily,” I entreated, “don't go!”

“Do Thy friends despise, forsake thee? Take it to the Lord in prayer.”

Miss Emily took a step forward.

“Don't!” I begged her. “Don't do this!”

“In His arms He'll take and shield thee. Thou wilt find a solace there.”

“I'm coming!” Miss Emily cried. “I'm coming to the Lord!” With those words, she took another step. People seated in front and in back of us slid back their chairs, and Miss Emily began to move easily between the two rows, past me, toward the center aisle. “I'm coming!” she declared, with her arms stretched out in front of her, with her fingers flailing the air. “In His arms He'll take and shield me,” she sang out. “I wilt find a solace there.”

I buried my face in my hands and felt the beginnings of a jerk ripple along my stomach. “Please, Miss Emily, not you!” I moaned. Horror-stricken, I caught sight of Miss Emily's massive form, gliding like a hula dancer down the aisle, her arms undulating gracefully to the music. As she moved, she effortlessly lowered her body—inch by inch—bending down, closer and closer to the sawdust-covered floor, until she was resting on her haunches directly in front of the stage. Then—like a huge emerald whale—she rose upward, through the mist and heat, onto the platform.

“Standing on the promises of Christ my King. Through eternal ages let His paises ring,” five hundred sweet voices rang out.

“Come to me, sister!” Brother Thomas implored.

Surrounded by the rhythmical clapping of hands, Miss Emily stood before him with her head tossed back, her mouth opened wide.

“Give your heart to the Lord!” he said, offering her his hands.

“Glory in the highest, I will shout and sing. Standing on the promises of God,” the tent sang out.

With her face turned upward, Miss Emily ever so slowly, finger by finger, put her hands over his and gently squeezed. Thereupon, Brother Thomas folded her into his huge arms and pressed her against him. “This is a holy hug!” he announced, fervently patting her back, stroking one shoulder, then the other. “Touch sanctioned by God!”

“Oh, merciful Lord!” Miss Emily cried, her fingers tentatively brushing against her shoulders. “Oh, praise God!” she shouted, turning to face the congregation. “I've been touched!” she sobbed. “Touched! Touched! Touched!” At once, she started to vibrate. Waves of fat rippled and rolled down her body. A smile covered her lips. Ecstasy shimmered in her eyes. “Touched! Touched! Touched!” she cried. I began to see smiles. Smiles, it seemed, were forming all over Miss Emily's body. Creases of fat had turned upward. On her elbows. Around her ankles. On her earlobes. Smiles were in her chin. They chased each other, giggling down her neck. They danced on the palms of her hands. Around her knuckles. All over her. But I could not smile back.

“Touched! Touched! Touched!” her voice lilted.

Smiles were whiplashing around her. Outlining her girth. Swimming near the lights. Like giddy earthworms, they pirouetted across the stage. Smiles were everywhere. On everyone's face. Yet my face was frozen.

A commotion came from the back of the tent, and I turned to look behind me. The middle-aged woman with the glass eye vaulted up and started babbling, “Ajja…Nasha…La…La…La!” Rivers of sweat poured down her face. Looking directly at me, she chanted, “Talla…Salla…Ta…Ta…Ta!”

“And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance,” Brother Thomas quoted, holding aloft the Bible.

“Driiii…Sriiii…Mriiii…Triiii…” the wizened old man at the end of my row trilled.

“God's power is here tonight!” Brother Thomas screamed, shaking the Bible like one of Moses' tablets. “Don't turn your backs on Him!” he warned. “Just open up your hearts!”

“Mi corazón! Mi corazón!”
Miss Emily shouted.

The jerk, once in my stomach, now yanked at my heart, then slammed against my chest. “Matanni! Matanni!” I whined, my eyes scanning the row. But she was gone, too. “Matanni! Matanni!” I called out, whipping around in my seat, frantically searching for her. “Oh, Matanni!” I cried. In front of me, one of the elderly women jumped up, tossed out her hands, and shrieked. I covered my ears with my palms. The men in the royal blue suits who earlier had opened the tent's flaps were now moving methodically up and down the center aisle, offering their hands, and escorting people toward the stage. Worshipers were contorting and falling down on their knees. I removed my hands from my ears. Twisting from side to side, my eyes continued to hunt for her small form. Then I spotted her. In the side aisle, on the arm of Gracie Vanwinkle, the two of them were walking, floating toward the stage. “I'm all alone!” I muttered. “Here, in this place, all alone.”

“Just a closer walk with Thee,” the musicians sang, swaying from side to side. The women in purple were shaking their tambourines. The drummer's sticks were gliding over the drums. The guitars buzzed like bees.

The jerk ripped through my head. My neck lurched spasmodically to the left.
You're alone!
my thoughts declared.

“Grant it, Jesus is my plea!” the tent boomed.

You got no one,
my mind said.
No Patanni. No Matanni. No Miss Emily. No Jesus. No God.

In front of the curtain, Miss Emily's humongous body was oscillating. Beside her, Matanni and her friend were swaying, too. So was the woman with the glass eye and the wizened old man. Fifty people were weaving back and forth on the wooden platform. All of them were singing, “He leadeth me. O blessed thought! O words with heavenly comfort fraught!”

“What'er I do, where'er I be, still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me,” Brother Thomas sang back, tightly gripping the microphone, which once more was fondling his lips.

“Oh, merciful Lord!” I whispered, folding my arms around me, hugging myself tightly. “Please, don't leave me now!” I begged, realizing that the people I loved most in this world were separated from me by a gulf much wider than the distance I had to travel to get to that stage.

Panicked, I stared straight ahead at the swinging backdrop of Jesus and at Miss Emily swaying in front of it. Energy rippled through the curtain and through Miss Emily's body. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like frames in a movie, the backdrop began to flicker to life. Miss Emily moved to one side, and a blond-haired boy looked up adoringly at Jesus. Miss Emily moved back, and Jesus smiled down at him. Miss Emily swayed again. Now a little girl with dark hair was sitting on the ground, worshiping by His feet.

“He leadeth me. He leadeth me. By His own hand, He leadeth me. His faithful follower I would be. For by His hand, He leadeth me.”

No one!
I thought. Another jerk throbbed in the tips of my toes.
No one!

Miss Emily shifted again, and all of the children at Jesus' feet turned around to look at me.

“Sweet Jesus!” I sobbed, gazing at the curtain, staring at the children who were staring back at me.

Once more, Miss Emily swayed; and between each of her movements, I saw either Jesus or my grandmother standing behind her.

“Sweet Jesus!” I repeated, looking straight ahead.

Back and forth. Back and forth. It was Jesus. Then Matanni. Jesus. And Matanni. And then Jesus changed.

Startled, I jumped up.

“Patanni!” I cried.

All alone. All alone,
my thoughts insisted.

“No!” I said out loud. “No!” I repeated.

The backdrop pulsated, and my grandfather held my grandmother.

“Patanni, I'm back here!” I yelled, stretching up on my toes.

And, breaking into a smile, my grandfather nodded, then reached out his arms to me.

The backdrop waved again; instantly, Patanni disappeared.

You see, he's dead,
my thoughts said.
You're alone.

“No!” I groaned as a twitch tore through my arm. “It's not true!” I protested, my fingers clawing the air. “No! No! No!” I cried, breathing in deeply, feeling hot tears. “No! No! No!” Then, clutching my forearm, I bowed my head and began to plow through legs, pushing toward the center aisle. “No!” I sobbed, tripping over a woman's foot, stumbling to the floor.

“Don't you worry none,” a voice whispered, soft fingers taking my hand. “I'll help you up,” the soothing voice said. And, turning my head to the side, I watched silently as Mamie Tillman wove her strong arm through mine and eased me off the sawdust-covered floor. Unsteady on my legs, I nodded to her and smiled. Nodding back, she lifted her head and, with eyes opened wide, looked toward the stage.

Hovering above the platform was a golden light, and everyone illuminated beneath it was as still as a mannequin. Only the curtain moved, floating like a cloud above the platform.

Alone!
my thoughts reminded me.

Exasperated, I covered my eyes with my hands.

“Don't let your heart be afraid,” I thought I heard Patanni say. “If you're waiting for darkness, you'll never see the light.”

I held in my breath and parted the fingers over my eyes. Yellow rays of light slipped through. Like a curtain opening, my hands slid to the sides of my face. There, shining bright before me, was Jesus Christ, His form dancing across the backdrop. At His feet, gazing upward, was the dark-haired girl. My eyelids blinked, and Rose's knotted body was fighting against itself. Jesus was looking down at her, His eyes brimming with tears, His hand trembling with hesitation. Sweet Rose lay twisted beneath Him. Suddenly her lips turned upward, and her arm corkscrewed outward. Tenderly, she touched His fingers; whereupon He brought that same hand to His heart and smiled. Rose touched Jesus, I thought. She willed it just like she willed her way toward me.

I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them, the blond-haired boy was singing along with Jesus. In the chirps that sprang from Reid's throat, sweet Jesus was singing but one song. You must love yourself!

“You must love yourself,” I echoed.

At once, the five hundred churchgoers began to sing. “All my heart to Him I give. Ever to Him I'll cling,” they sang out. “In His blessed presence live, ever His praises sing. Love so mighty and so true merits my soul's best song. Faithful, loving service, too, to Him belongs.” I glanced around me. Five hundred faces were flushed; a thousand eyes were beaming. “Love lifted me! Love lifted me!” all of those who were lost but looking were singing. “When nothing else could help, love lifted me!” all of those already saved sang.