Suncatchers (42 page)

At last Eldeen's thick voice broke the stillness. “When I was a little girl,” she said slowly, “I went to a church called the Sweet Fields of the Promised Land over in Cloverdale, Arkansas, just fifteen miles from Chester, where I was born. The preacher was named Brother Farley Whitehead, which I always thought suited him just right since his hair was snowy white.” She stopped and pulled the large buttonlike red earring off her right ear. “There—that feels better. It felt like a lobster had a hold of my ear! Anyway, Mr. Whitehead was a man of God, bless his heart, and one time he said something that I never ever
ever
forgot. I guess I couldn't of been more'n eleven or twelve that summer. I know I wasn't as old as Joe Leonard here.” She paused and squinted her eyes almost closed as if trying to see back through all those years.

Perry was seized with a sudden curiosity about the Eldeen of long ago. What would she have been like as a
child
? His imagination, usually so agile, was unable to produce the slightest inkling of an idea. But she was already talking again, he realized, and he couldn't dwell on the matter now. He vowed to ask her sometime if she had any pictures of herself as a child. There was so much about her background that he didn't know. He wasn't sure why he had never thought to ask. Maybe it was because the Eldeen of
now
was so overpowering that it was all he could do to keep up with her, without the task of trying to develop her history. Most likely, though, it was because he had known all along that he would feature Eldeen in the
CAST
section with a personal profile—along with three or four other church members—and had simply put off delving into her past until he scheduled her official interview.

“And so he did,” Eldeen was saying. “He invited this Mr. Esperando, who just had one arm, to lead the singing for the summer tent meetings that year. Oh, you just should of heard the clashin' and fussin'! ‘What do we need a
opera
singer for?' folks was saying. ‘Why doesn't he just get Freddy Showalter over in Pikeville to do it like always?' Freddy was this little man who never had grown right and was just shy of being what you'd call a dwarf. But, oh, he was the
friskiest
little man—just hopped around the platform like a toad frog! Sometimes he'd even stand up on a chair and holler, ‘Is that all the louder y'all can sing? Come on, let's shake the rafters of heaven on this next verse!'” Perry heard Sid Puckett slap his knee and guffaw, then break off suddenly.

“Well, anyway,” Eldeen continued, “Mr. Reginald Esperando accepted Brother Whitehead's invitation and came to Cloverdale that summer and was the song leader for Mr. Samson Warwick, who was the travelin' preacher Brother Whitehead had engaged for our annual tent meetings. Some of you've probably heard tell of Samson Warwick. He was a real famous preacher in the South back in the twenties and thirties. I can remember clear as it was yesterday how I just purely walked around in a
trance
that whole week. Mr. Warwick was one ball of fire as a preacher, I'll tell you—but the
real
bang for me, spiritually speakin', came from Mr. Esperando, that one-armed opera singer. He had a voice clear and true as a pitcher of mountain spring water. It just
flowed
out like sparklin' liquid. When he opened up his mouth that first night and led us out in ‘I Would Be Like Jesus,' every person under that tent just
gawked
, I'll tell you. Our singin' just fizzled out—we was dazed by Mr. Esperando's voice! He was left singin' all by hisself. Freddy Showalter was always good enough before, and he'd sure done the best he could, bless his little heart, but next to his little old thin nasally voice, Mr. Esperando sounded like the wind and the waves and the rollin' thunder! I can still feel the shiver that went all over me that night—and not just because Mr. Esperando had such a powerful voice, but also because he sang the words so that you were forced to think about the wonderful
meanin'
of it all!”

Joe Leonard had lifted his head, Perry noticed, and was staring at his grandmother. Jewel was gazing into her lap, a placid smile playing around her mouth. Willard ran his thumb back and forth across his lower lip. All around him Perry saw eyes wide with interest as Eldeen told her story. It was impossible to tell where she was headed, of course, but she had such a colorful style of speech that apparently no one thought of questioning the relevance of what she was saying.

“And I can still hear every word Brother Whitehead said plain as a church bell when he rebuked us all in his gentleman-like way the Sunday after the revival meetings was done. ‘God doesn't mind us enjoying
quality
,' he said. ‘The Bible doesn't command us anywhere to settle for tackiness!' Oh, he was a wise old man, Brother Whitehead was. He sure ruffled some feathers around Cloverdale, but the point was, he was
right
, and my little old girl's heart told me so. ‘Some of you thought I was way out of line,' Brother Whitehead told us, ‘bringing a man of Mr. Esperando's credentials here to little backwoods Cloverdale—I know you did. I heard reports of some of the talk. But I wanted you to see something,' he said. ‘I wanted you to see for yourself that beauty and art and music and elegance, when it all comes from a pure heart, can
elevate
a Christian's soul and make him more tender to the truth of God. It cost us a little more to get Mr. Esperando's services,' Brother Whitehead said, ‘but what we got in return was well worth it.'”

Eldeen paused a moment and reached up to remove her other earring, then stood with her head cocked, rubbing her earlobe and staring down at the carpet. “My mama had Mr. Esperando for supper one night during the revival, and I sat across from him at the table just soakin' up every word that man said. He had this little tiny black mustache and just the most refined manners I had ever seen! I never knew if he was really left-handed or had only taught hisself to be on account of losing his right arm, but he was so smooth and
resourceful
with that one arm that you almost forgot he didn't have another one until you noticed the empty sleeve pinned up out of the way. When he led the singing, he just moved that left arm around so graceful. It just floated like a bird!” Here she stopped and gave a brief demonstration, holding her right arm behind her.

Eldeen dropped her left arm abruptly and craned her neck forward, narrowing her eyes. “God loves beauty!” she said, pointing her finger and moving it slowly across the congregation. “Think of the names He gives His Son in the Holy Bible: the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley and the Bright Morning Star! I think He wants His house to be a
beautiful
place. He didn't tell His people to make the curtains of the tabernacle out of some old rags. He said they was to be made of fine linen, purple and scarlet and blue—
not dark brown so it wouldn't show the dirt!
I been readin' in the book of Exodus how God tells 'em down to the
teeniest
detail how He wants his house to be built and decorated—with gold and silver and brass and fine needlework and sweet-smellin' spices and soft animal skins. And He didn't tell the priests to sling just any old burlap sack over theirselves either. He gave 'em a big old list of instructions about their holy garments that must of weighed a ton after they got 'em all on, with all them jewels on the breastplate and them solid gold chains and the pomegranates and bells on the hems of their robes and all. But, see, the point of it all wasn't just to flaunt all them
things
—it wasn't just show-off beauty. It was beauty that was a testimonial to the
holiness of the Lord!
”

The air-conditioning unit gave another clunk and began humming in a lower, steadier key. Perry saw Brother Hawthorne turning the pages of his Bible. No one else moved.

Eldeen shifted her weight and shook her head sorrowfully. “I sure didn't aim to hurt anybody's feelings,” she said. “Something just came over me all of a suddenlike. I just now remembered, too, that after the children of Israel followed all them instructions, it says that the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle. That's what we want here at the Church of the Open Door—we want God's spirit to hover over us and surround us and fill us and send us out to be saints in circulation!” She stopped and turned around to face Brother Hawthorne. “I want to go on record in favor of the burgundy carpet, and I mean to give some extra in the offering plate to help out.” She looked back at the people uncertainly, then crinkled her face into its painful-looking smile, and said, “Amen! The end!” and sat down.

After Eldeen sat down, the room was deathly still. Perry never knew who started it first, but someone—maybe it was Willard—began singing softly, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.” As others joined in, Perry recorded in his notes: “Eldeen—speaks at length about relationship of beauty and holiness of God; supports purchase of burgundy carpet.”

“Are you still there, Perry?” For just a second Perry couldn't remember why he was holding the telephone receiver in his hand. “Hey, Perry, I asked you a question.”

“Sorry, Cal, I . . . what was it again?”

“I'm worried about you, Perry. Do you need a break? You could take a few days off and go somewhere. Get away and regain your perspective. Go to the beach or drive to . . . what's close to you down there? Atlanta? Drive to Atlanta.”

Perry laughed. “One minute you're complaining that I'm not doing enough work, and the next you're telling me to take it easy. You're one confused person, Cal.”

“I'm only thinking of you,” Cal said. “I don't want you going off the deep end because of this project. I'd never forgive myself.”

“Well, rest easy,” Perry said. “I'm nowhere near the deep end. I hate water, rememeber?” He laughed again. “Nobody's going to be baptizing me anytime soon.”

A few seconds later Perry was staring at the telephone receiver, which he had returned to its cradle. He couldn't even remember if he had said good-bye to Cal before hanging up.

28

Cloudy Nights

“You think you can get all the guys in your car, Perry?” Sid Puckett asked. “Dottie and I can take the girls in our van, and we'll just meet out there.”

“Sure.” Perry looked over at the boys standing in a loose circle under the maple tree in the church parking lot. One of the Chewning twins was throwing rocks at a telephone pole over by the empty field next to the church and yelling “Gotcha!” every time he hit it. Joe Leonard had both hands balled up inside his jacket pockets and was nodding at something Howie Harrelson was saying. The other three boys—the other Chewning twin and the Chewning boys' two guests—had their backs to Perry, looking up at a low-flying airplane in the sky.

The six girls were already climbing into the Pucketts' van. One of them looked back at the boys and shouted, “We're gonna beat y'all there!” and there was a chorus of laughter as the van door slid shut.

“You're all riding with me,” Perry called to the boys.

Joshua Chewning dropped his handful of gravel onto the parking lot and dashed for the station wagon. “Last one there owes the first one a hundred dollars!” he said. Caleb took off after him, and the two brothers scuffled good-naturedly getting into the car.

Joe Leonard and Howie got into the front seat with Perry. Joe Leonard had already introduced Howie when they had picked him up at his house earlier, and Howie had talked nonstop all the way to the church. He wore layers of oversized, sloppy clothing, and his hair stood up in little spikes all over, most of it dark brown except for the part in front that was bleached blond. It was odd to Perry at first that Joe Leonard had chosen someone like this to invite to the Each-One-Bring-One activity, but maybe he had wanted to relieve himself of the burden of having to make conversation. Perry could certainly understand that. Maybe Howie's constant talk reminded Joe Leonard of Eldeen and made him feel like he was at home. Howie played percussion in the band, Joe Leonard had explained, and that's how they knew each other.

As soon as Howie had gotten into the car, Perry had started trying to think of who it was the boy reminded him of, and it wasn't until they had pulled into the church parking lot that he thought of it. It was Wally Cleaver's friend on the old
Leave It to Beaver
TV show—Eddie Haskell, that was the kid's name. Howie had the same smile that was a little too ingratiating, the same courteous tone of voice with adults that was a little too deferential, the same placid eyes that blinked a little too fast. This was a kid who would shred you to ribbons behind your back, Perry decided. He had a worldly-wise air about him that told Perry he had probably dabbled in a little bit of everything. Maybe he had done more than dabbled.

“ . . . probably doesn't get very good gas mileage, though, does it, Mr. Warren?” Howie was asking now.

“Probably not,” Perry replied. “Joe Leonard would know more about that than I do, though, since it's his mother's car. She offered it for tonight since mine's pretty small.”

“Oh, I see,” Howie said politely. “That was nice of her.” He turned to the boys in the backseat. “Any of you guys play basketball?”

“I do,” one of them said.

“You're Brian, right?” Howie said.

“No, Kent—that's Brian there.”

“Well, Kent, you ought to get me and my buddy Joe Leo here to give you some tips. He's going out for basketball this year, isn't that right?” He gave Joe Leonard a friendly dig with his elbow.

“Maybe,” Joe Leonard said, looking straight ahead.

“Yeah, him and me's gonna be the backbone of the team, aren't we?” Howie laughed so hard and long that Perry wondered if he was making fun of Joe Leonard or just celebrating prematurely. Joe Leonard smiled but didn't reply.