Four Spirits (59 page)

Brothers and sisters. On the rock of God we stand. All other ground is sinking sand.

All other ground is sinking sand,
the congregation intones. Stella is numb and silent.

And we come here today as sinners. Sinners. Believing in the Redeeming Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for us. There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuel's veins. And sinners

Sinners,
the congregation repeats after him.

Sinners plunged beneath that flood—lose all the guilty stains. And we believe

Stella hears the first quaver of emotion; he quavers on the second syllable of be
lieve.

in the resurrection of the body, and that these dead will rise again at the latter day. The corruptible will be made incorruptible

Here, Stella notices, is emphasis and vibrato on the first syllable of
in
corruptible, but immediately he drops the quaver. She will pay attention—to everything. If there's any solace in his message for her, she wants it. Cat! Christine! Arcola! And Charles!

and the crooked straight, and

With falling emphasis.

the lame shall leap for joy.

And Stella can't bear it. Oh, he cannot help but glance, just the quickest movement of his eyes, she knows she would, at Cat's coffin,
because she was the
lame among us.
The congregation audibly breathes together. In spite of herself, Stella thinks,
We bond and become one in understanding.
Mr. Fielding puts his arm across her shoulders.

I've seen you before, haven't I, brothers and sisters? We saw each other when four little girls attending church on Sunday were killed by a bomb hidden in the church, here in Birmingham. And I seen you in Jackson, along the highway, didn't I? When somebody started shooting from ambush—you were there, weren't you? And I was there. We were there in Detroit, Michigan, and we were there in a place named of all things Liberty, Mississippi, when Herbert Lee was murdered for helping voter registration. We been here
before,
haven't we, brothers and sisters. We know this place. Yes, we know it. This is the place of the skull.

Stella sees Gloria is out of her chair. She's standing up, short and proud, and she's singing in her own pure voice like a stab that pierces Stella's heart and comes out the other side: “Were you there?”
Was she? Was she?
Stella's heart accuses.
I should have been.
Guilt comes to knot itself with grief, and the two constrict and contend with each other, and the pain in Stella's heart is excruciating. Gloria sings out and through and above and beneath the entire congregation, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” Gloria cannot stop herself till the room is full of her beautiful voice.

Were you there?

Lionel Parrish repeats.

He takes up her words and now his speaking voice has surrendered to the full grip of inspiration, soft, low, and trembling.

Yes, I think you was. But I'm here before you today for a very special reason. I'm here because one of these dead, dying in my
arms
at the White Palace, said to me, “I liked you from the beginning, Mr. Parrish. Preach it for me.” That's what she, or he, asked: “Preach it for me.” No, it doesn't matter which one. I'm not going to say which one asked it. That's not the important thing.

We been together in grief before. Us here. We don't have enough of
anything
else,

So quietly, he speaks.

but grief.
That, we are well acquainted with. But brothers and sisters, it's hard

His voice rises and will rise; Stella waits for it to lift her above the coffins of
her family, of the four girls, of Kennedy's bier, of these heart-dear friends coffined before her.
Lift me!

it's hard, it's hard to see you again.

The congregation all stir in their seats; they are uncomfortable; they know what's coming; the introduction is over. Even Mr. Fielding and the white people shift their weight. All try to prepare to face the facts here at the front of this church. He starts low and gentle, again. He must climb the hill again. Stella wonders
How many times must we climb it?
But she is thinking of the myth of Sisyphus, not Golgotha. Gloria seats herself.

Dearly beloved
(his eyes circle the tabernacle: all are included; the walls disappear),
we are gathered here at Joseph Coat-of-Many-Colors A.M.E. Church to mourn the passing of four young people—and I name them in alphabetical order by last names—Miss Arcola Anderson, Miss Catherine Cartwright, Mr. Charles Powers, Mrs. Christine Taylor. Bless them.

Bless them,
everyone says.

We standing at the skull. Crying.

Crying.

And as they say the word, people sob and thrash, and weep afresh.

Wishing we could have them back.

They groan with mourning.

And yet if we believe in Jesus, if we believe in Jesus, if we believe—

And the cadence falls, as Stella knows it must. One cannot build and build, one must fall back, then build again, lest somebody's heart be left by the wayside. This is the rhythm that catches all in its net and none will be left behind alone. But does Stella believe? How can she?

He whispers his inevitable question, like a hiss.

—then how can we want 'em back?

How
can
we want them back? If we believe.

We want them back for
their
lives, for the living they ain't done.

Yes, Stella agrees. She joins the church in its mourning.
Cat, my precious Cat!
Stella joins everyone present, in grief, if not in belief.
Arcola! Charles! Christine!
And with that last name the rafters of her mind ring. Four angels from four corners blast those names against her head, their trumpets pressed against her skull, and she is afraid of fainting and falling.

That's why we mourn.
(His quiet voice stills the ringing of her head.)
That's why our hearts is heavy. In spite of belief in Jesus, we got to mourn these four young people for the
living
that passed on. For Arcola Anderson—if you knew her, you loved her. Always having a joke, Arcola, always making things smooth and friendly. Also working hard at her studies, getting ready to go out in life well educated. That's lost. That's gone now. Her daddy and her mama—Jesus will comfort you. Jesus
is
with you. Christine Taylor, mother of these three young children here. She trusted those children, trusted 'em over, to Sister Agnes and Brother TJ that day. But Christine won't get to play with 'em again or see them grow to be fine adults. But Christine did
this
! She made her statement. So that
all
children could grow up in a world that would be more fair. More equal. So white and black could sit down together. Like we are now.

And I mourn, I mourn for Catherine Cartwright. With all my heart. She was a natural teacher. She was dedicated to teaching. And she got to teach a little bit. But what a waste, what a waste, brothers and sisters, that we won't have Cat. She had a great friend, Miss Stella Silver, who came out to Miles College to teach with her, and Miss Silver and her friend is here with us to mourn, and Cat's brother and her father. And I know you'll all want to extend the right hand of fellowship to them.

I mourn Charlie Powers. Mr. Charles Powers. A young man, making his way in the world. It was my privilege to see how he was changing, how he was becoming a steady man. And he didn't forget his mother or his little sister or three little brothers, after he left home. He visited them, shared what he could, showed what it was to be a man. He was with Christine, in May 1963, when Bull Connor turned on the fire hoses and let loose the dogs. But Charles Powers valued education, just like these three young women, and he went on from protest to be a pupil in the night school.

But that's over. That's all over. For
all
of these. Black and white.

We'll miss 'em.

We'll miss 'em.

We miss 'em
today;
we miss 'em
tomorrow;
we miss 'em
forever.

Stella catches his fearless allusion to George Wallace, who vowed, just so, that segregation would be unending. The congregation breaks up into separate utterances, shocked out of unity.

That's right. Tell it. Lord. Lord, help us. Preach it. Preach it right.

George Wallace, he try to tell us 'bout yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Let him wave the flag of Old Dixie and the flag of segregation, but I tell you, I tell you, I tell you. Together today; together tomorrow; together forever. One world! God didn't make but one world. And he didn't send but one Son.

They are stirred, and he lets everyone settle. Stella knows:
he wants us to settle again.
He wants his people to settle once again. And again he drops back into his quiet voice; he is not a preacher who shouts all the time, instead he makes music of a sweet and low and startling trumpet blast. Lionel Parrish's bandaged hand waves out wounded and white, but it is not the badge of surrender. Not now, not ever.

Let me explain about Time. There be
eternity.
God's time. There be
change
. Our time.

I think I miss loved ones most at change of season. Then I think, if only they could see this. See the coming on of autumn, the way the leaves from the mighty oak trees fall down and curl on the ground. And then when we lift our faces, how blue the sky is through the bare branches. I don't think white people realize sometimes what a comfort the mere blue of heaven is to poor folks. And then when the colors of spring come on. The many colors, bright and various as the colors in Joseph's coat, the coat his brothers made him before they sold him into bondage—

When the colors of spring arrive and the dogwood blooms, I wish the dead could open their eyes, could open their eyes and see Nature, see what he's gave us here on earth, to enjoy. Yes, I'm sad when the seasons change. Change. I think change is the essence of our lives here on earth.

I don't want to stagnate. I want to develop myself, and I know they wanted to develop themselves—Charles and Catherine and Christine and Arcola. And it makes me sad to see any change in the season that those whom we love and who have passed on would have enjoyed.

But now summer is a-goin' on. Without these dead. The robins still here; bluejays still screaming “Thief! Thief.” Up in the trees, the seed pods from wisteria hanging like grapes. Remember how we breathed in that wisteria aroma last spring? We'll try to smell it in the air when we go out of here. Because we remember springtime and
resurrection.
If the fall comes, so, surely, will the spring. And let's appreciate the beauty of the earth, and take comfort in it. Dahlias—so bright and cheerful—dahlias blooming in everybody's yard, and zinnias so round and perfect you want to take 'em to the fair. Jesus loves us.

He lifts his arms and opens wide his hands, as though to embrace the four coffins and the dead within.

And where are they? Them? They lying in the coffin, you say?

And his preacher question comes to Stella, burrows into her secret mind,
What can I believe?
But it's Gloria standing up and speaking out: “They with us. They in us,” and the question is irrelevant. Gloria opens her mouth wider, and her voice opens up, and she's singing “Abide with Me.” And the piano so soft—Jonathan—knows her key, the piano comes to help her, and all sing, but Gloria's voice leads clearest, and she becomes the leader she was born to be, and Stella sings, too, following the voice of her friend:

Fora moment, Stella believes. She believes in love, the blessed community. In life, in death, there is love. Yes. That simple. And her heart overflows. She puts her hand and then her head on Nancy's shoulder, and cries with complete abandon, cries down the years for those dear and lost. Nancy sobs with her.

I tell
you.
Birmingham can't hold them. They left
this
city. They walking in the heavenly city, and I can see them there.

I see them,
the congregation intones.

They walking on the streets of gold. They're holding hands, all of 'em, like us, healthy and happy, walking, walking, walking to the throne of God.