Forever and I ride out into the flaming night.
The whole neighborhood burns. I watch the McMansions come down. Beside me is Finger, former dumpster diver turned stockbroker. Next to him is Nono, a woman of great adventure. And then Al and Hal, former wizards, who finally felled their bullies. Where’s Snowball, I ask.
Got a little rocky up there, he says from behind me. Had to bail.
I give him a hit from the pint of Jack Daniel’s in my general’s coat.
The good stuff, he says.
Where’s Eli and Tuesday, Nono asks.
I don’t know, I say.
Eli, I scream. Tuesday!
Then a sound. Is that you, Eli? A low howling coming from the deep woods. We all run to an open patch. You are standing there holding Tuesday’s hand.
Where have you been, Eli?
Looking at the moon, you say.
7
The days are shorter and the Confederate daughters weep under men on stone horses. A hurricane named Honey is swirling off the gulf. When you were gone, Eli, I smashed all my ships in a bottle. Out there above the cotton are dead stars whose light we still see.
Virgin birth can scientifically happen. But this means nothing. Or it does but I don’t know what it is. Christ said there would be no more kings but there were kings.
Tuesday comes to the boat, Eli. She is with child and wears a ring from Finger. They were married on a weekend to Gatlinburg.
Thank you, she says.
For what?
You took me from the brink, you taught me.
Tuesday, I was grasping in the dark.
And you loved me and I spit it back in your face.
I know, I say.
She comes to me and is warm there in my arms, forgiven.
They cut the bottom of St. José’s feet and make him walk toward the cemetery. He does not give in. At times they stop him and say, If you shout Death to Christ the King, we will spare your life. José only shouts, I will never give in. Moments before his death he draws a cross in the dirt and kisses it. In the town square is a girl jumping rope and a butcher draining blood into the street. The girl trips and the daisy falls from her hair into the blood. The yellow trees shiver in the yard and the dog’s barks sound like I love yous.
My boat rocks in the water. I am moving through the world in my mind. Intellectuals destroyed the imagination and Christians destroyed the fun.
There’s a knock at the door. It’s Darling. She’s angry but still has the smile from deep within. There are strawberries on the table in a cold white bowl.
I came to get my things, she says.
She gathers her lace underwear and records and books.
I’d like to start over if I could, I say.
Start what over?
Everything.
The firemen are testing their fire trucks shooting water all night like a waterfall of diamonds. The marching band on campus plays “Bang a Gong.” There is a bit of hope left, slim as it may be. Elvis died on the crapper, they say. John Lennon gunned down in the street. It doesn’t matter where and when you die, Eli, it matters how you get there. I see Finger on the street with his new suit and short hair.
Hi, Finger, I say.
He laughs.
I think I’m going to play pool at that bar, he says.
OK, I say.
We challenge the girls in tight jeans to a twenty-dollar game and let them win. I put a quarter in the jukebox. We drink whiskey sours. There is sun in the forecast.
St. Bart goes to the firing squad barefoot in order to be more conformed to Christ. A doctor to the poor, he even once saved the life of his future executioner. This is a country with no money and beautiful trees. The cherry blossoms rain down on the executioner’s face and he wipes them away.
I go to Nono’s market to buy flowers for Darling and there you are, Eli.
Good morning, I say.
Morning, Maloney.
Eli, how are you?
Good, how are you?
I’m well, Eli.
There is a pause.
You laugh. I laugh. We laugh. I’m not really sure why we are laughing but we are laughing.
The Holy Ghost licks me head to toe. I want to ask her questions but I’m mute with pleasure. There are doves flying out of my heart in figure eights.
Eli, your wedding to Nono is a sight. You ride Boom’s pony down the aisle and Willie dog is the ring bearer. Wise Jane makes some sort of psychedelic hooch and we enter the other side with love on our minds and eat ourselves stupid. Romantic spells are placed upon bride and groom by Al and Hal. Tuesday and Finger make love under a dogwood like it was the first time the act was ever performed. Darling is in the corner of the field looking north to a great unknown like a moonstruck goddess.
8
You’ve reached the voice-mail box of Reverend Maloney — well-tempered cavalier and reluctant spiritual guide, first mate on Christ’s holy ship and lover of females in every state of the former Confederacy. I’m usually tripping the light fantastic on Wednesdays so I might not return your call till Thursday. Have a blessed day — leave a message after the beep.
Beep.
Sir, this is the Lafayette County sheriff. Seeing if you wouldn’t mind coming down to talk about the disturbance at Dick Dickerson’s last week. We’re two doors down from First Baptist across from the Afro-American’s barbershop. Thanks.
Eli, your dear friend and supporter is summoned by the powers that be. Might there be an escape on the horizon?
You should learn something about the right to remain silent, you say.
Silent, I say, is not my normal position.
The rains come quickly in the fall like a silver curtain drawing closed at the end of a beautiful play. Battleship clouds over a small layer of thin blue. A purple twisting wind like a river, right over the house, threatening. Darling enters stage left in the drama of my life.
I’m pregnant, says she.
Well, well, well, I say.
That’s it? That’s your response?
Well, well, well, well, well.
Here the will of God is done as God wills as long as God wills. St. Gerard is bilocated preparing Darling a little office of our lady at the same time he crosses the red vineyard praying in the room of tears. America of iron and steel, America of rivers and trees, America of digital hearts and minds. There comes unto you a child.
Gazing into the abyss, I try to keep my balance. Bishops of the night, hear my heart as it goes out into the rattling darkness of the city to dream unspeakable things. The Holy Ghost strokes my loins and we engage thousands of mystics in prayer.
Ramshackle police station in the center of town. A coffee-stained table and a one-sided mirror in a small room like every noir movie. Sheriff cleans his glasses with his tie.
Do you know why you’re here, Reverend?
A disturbance at Dick Dickerson’s, as I understand it.
There’s six witnesses saying you’re at the scene riding a horse around in a general’s uniform, firing at will.
Allegedly.
A female cop hunches over with a tit half hanging out.
A whole subdivision was burned to the ground, says she.
I believe there was a kidnapping and I was a hero, I say.
I see no heroics here, says the sheriff.
Am I under arrest?
Get out of my office, Maloney. But don’t leave town.
St. Wolf sees blue mountains in his dreams and rides the serpent into the shadows. A bullet strikes his heart but he knows how to fly. Guide me, great magic, he says. The great magic says nothing.