The Bible Salesman (4 page)

Small, frosty bushes lined the dirt walkway to Mrs. Albright’s front door. She wore a black dress and black hat to church every Sunday and sat beside her odd son in a pew halfway down the right side.

Henry opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch — it was dark and quiet in there — and knocked on the front door. It opened and Mrs. Albright smiled at him and bent down. A toothbrush twig stuck out from her mouth, and snuff juice had started little rivers from the corners. “Well, hey there, little Henry.”

“I brung you some blankets,” said Henry. “May God bless you.” Henry smelled snuff and another smell too, coming from inside the house, something that had a little bit of a dirt and stink and fertilizer smell in it.

“God bless
you
, son. Come on in the house and let me give you a little pretty or a piece of candy or something.” She took him by the arm. “It’s mighty cold out there, ain’t it? We can always use blankets.” She closed the door behind him. “Always use blankets. Can’t have too many.”

Several cats came into view and then more — cats that weren’t moving much, lolling around, some very still, one licking its shoulder. “It’s like a cat heaven and hell down there,” Uncle Jack had said. “A hundred cats that talk.”

A fire blazed in the fireplace. “We can sure use a couple of blankets,” said Mrs. Albright. “Yes sir. We sure can.”

Henry wanted to go home. It was dark and hot. Mrs. Albright’s and Mrs. Tyler’s houses were the only two without electricity. Uncle Jack had said, “She gets electricity down there and one of them cats’ll get his tail stuck in a outlet and blow up.”

Mrs. Albright held his lapel. “Let me have your coat and hat, son.”

Yancy, dressed in blue flannel pajamas, emerged from behind a closed door. The ball on his neck was a “broiter” or something like that.

“We got company, Yancy. Get outen your pajamas.”

Yancy threw up a hand and smiled his odd smile. Yancy was a grown man, but he wasn’t too tall, and Aunt Dorie said he had the mind of a child. He had a round face that was kind of red, especially around his chin — and the ball down on his neck between his chin and ear was red too. His forehead had a crowd of bumps and wispy hair. He made sounds. He turned back into his room. He always did what Mrs. Albright said to do. “At least he’s well behaved,” people said. And everybody knew he didn’t like the cats.

Mrs. Albright led Henry to a chair in which a calico cat lay, looking up at them. “Git outen the chair, Angel,” said Mrs. Albright.

Angel had a bobbed tail and only one eye open. Crust lined the slit of the other.

“Git!” Mrs. Albright waved her arm.

When the cat lit on the floor she turned to look at Henry over her shoulder and said, in a little high voice, “Glory to God in the highest! Peace on earth, goodwill toward men!” then strode away, her shoulders slowly rising one after the other like she was Miss Smarty-Pants.

Mrs. Albright said to Henry, “You sit down. That one sitting beside the wood is Moses. Have you ever seen any other cats that can talk, Henry-Boy?”

“No ma’am.”

“Say something, Moses.”

“I was found in the bulrushes,” he squeaked. “I said to the pharaoh: ‘Let my people go!’ ”

It was Mrs. Albright talking. That’s what it was. She was throwing her voice. He wanted to get on back home, maybe. Unless she had that little pretty, or a piece of candy.

“Don’t you tell nobody my cats talk, now, you hear? Especially no little children.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now, would you like some corn bread and molasses or a piece of candy?”

“A piece of candy.”

“Good. I ain’t got no corn bread, anyway.” She laughed. “You’re all boy, ain’t you? All boy.” She moved into the kitchen. “Judas. Git off the table.”

Judas said, “I’m gonna hang myself by the neck, I messed up so bad, or cut open my stomach.”

“Git off there
.
”

Henry heard the soft thump of cat feet hitting the floor.

Judas said, “If I had a gun, I’d shoot myself.”

Yancy, dressed in overalls and long johns, came out again, moved a cat away from his doorway with his foot, closed the door.

“Here you go,” said Mrs. Albright. “A stick of red-and-white candy. Your Aunt Dorie is the best thing.” She looked at Yancy. “She sent us some blankets, Yancy.” She bent closer to Henry.
“BOO
! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha. Did I scare you?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yancy, bring me that pad and pencil.

“Let’s see now. Let me write a nice note here. A nice note. ‘Thank you God for Christian neighbors’ is a note I could write to God, now, couldn’t I, Henry?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Mrs. Albright held her hand to Henry’s shoulder as he left through the front door, then she stood on the porch as Henry walked away.

Back inside she went to the kitchen and from a whiskey bottle poured a little of her gold liquid into a glass, added some water, walked back to the living room, and sat in her favorite chair.

Isaac said to Paul, “He’s the one his daddy got killed by the truck timber, ain’t he?”

“That’s right,” said Paul. “When he was a baby.”

“He might consider himself lucky,” said Isaac, “that he didn’t have no stinky old man to give him grief on the mountain.”

“There’re more mountains than one, you know.” Paul rolled onto his back, curled his paws in, closed his eyes.

“You traveled around too much,” said Isaac, “entirely too much. You should have stayed home more, raised a family.”

Angel and Mary Magdalene stood, stretched, and moved toward the kitchen.

Judas jumped into Mrs. Albright’s lap and purred.

Mrs. Albright took a little sip of the devil’s disciple, placed her hand on Judas’s neck, looked down at him.

Back in his yard, Henry didn’t notice the shiny black car in the driveway until he almost walked into it.

Inside, Aunt Dorie sat on the living room couch, and on the floor nearby a man knelt beside an open valise and several Bibles. He was dressed like a gentleman and had silver hair. He looked up and said, “This must be the young man.”

Aunt Dorie had taken off her apron, Henry saw, but still had the green scarf on her head. “Henry, this is a Bible salesman, Mr. . . . I’m sorry I —”

“Levingson, Mr. Levingson.” Still kneeling, he extended his hand to Henry, looked back at Aunt Dorie. “Just call me Tommy.”

Henry almost stopped and stepped backward, but he didn’t. He took the hand.

“What a handsome young man,” said Mr. Levingson. “You were certainly right about that. Your mama told me all about you, son. She tells me you’ve started memorizing scripture.”

“I’m his aunt,” said Aunt Dorie.

“Your aunt, I mean.”

Aunt Dorie said, “Recite John three, sixteen, and Timothy three, sixteen, son.”

“John three, sixteen,” said Henry. “ ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ Timothy three, sixteen: ‘All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.’ ”

“Goodness gracious,” said Mr. Levingson. He could smell that they’d had bacon for breakfast, and he hoped the lady might offer him a little something to eat. “She told me you were going to grow up to be a Christian gentleman. And I’ll bet you will.”

“He’s won the Bible sword drill in his age group twice this year already,” said Aunt Dorie, her eyes still on Henry.

“Sword drill?”

“You never did sword drills?”

“No ma’am. I was a, ah, Presby—
am
a Presbyterian.”

“Well, have you got a Bible Henry can hold? And one you can hold? We’ll show you.”

“Here you go.” Mr. Levingson handed Henry a Bible and got one for himself out of his valise. What the hell is this? he was thinking.

“Okay, now,” said Aunt Dorie, “you-all stand side by side and pretend there were six or eight more children standing beside you. I’ll just move to this chair so you can face me. I’m the general. Okay, now. Hold the Bible down by your side,” she said to Levingson. “You watch Henry and you’ll see how it works.”

Levingson glanced down at the boy, held the Bible at his side in his right hand. He sure hadn’t counted on something like this.

Aunt Dorie said, “Atten
tion
.”

The boy jerked to attention. Levingson did too.

“Draw
swords
.”

What the — ? The boy snapped his Bible to a position in front of him, held the Bible as if he were about to open it — left hand on top, right on bottom. Levingson did the same. Wait a minute, he wasn’t going to have to . . . She was going to call out a
verse
? And he didn’t know from holy crap where anything in there was, except Genesis.

“Prepare to advance,” said the woman. “Psalms one hundred, verse five. Charge!”

The boy snapped open his Bible, turned a couple of pages, placed a finger on a page, stepped forward, clicked his heels together.

Holy Christmas! Levingson opened his Bible and pretended to look.

“Henry,” said the woman.

“Psalms one hundred, verse five. ‘For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting, and his truth endureth to all generations.’ Psalms one hundred, verse five.”

“Very good,” said Aunt Dorie. “You beat the Bible salesman. You see how it works?” she said to Mr. Levingson.

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

Henry looked at the Bible in Levingson’s hands. “Why are you looking in the front?”

“Oh, just kind of . . . messing around. Letting you win.”

“You open to the
middle
to get to Psalms. Didn’t you know that?”

“Oh yeah. I just —”

“Want to play again?”

“Oh no. I see what a sword drill is now, and I’ve got to be getting on down the road right soon here.”

“Henry, son,” said Aunt Dorie, “I reckon it’s time you had your own Bible.” She reached to the table beside her chair. “I think you ought to have this one. It has India paper and a zipper. Look. Here you go.”

The Bible felt thin and a little bit limp. It seemed kind of precious.

Aunt Dorie was proud. Henry was admiring his own Bible, the nice man was standing there, sunlight was coming through the window.

“That’s a fine Bible,” the man said to Henry. “One of our best-selling models. We can’t keep them in stock. And then the Family Edition,” he said to Aunt Dorie, “would be good for the whole family. It’s a model that —”

“Henry,” said Aunt Dorie, “go get me the scissors off the table in the kitchen.”

Henry left, and Dorie said to the Bible salesman, “I’m sorry, we can’t afford another Bible. My husband’s checking some rabbit boxes, and I just realized he’s due back, and he shouldn’t know right yet that I’m buying one for Henry even. It’s part cigar money I’m using.”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Sorrell. Of course. Let me just get these things together. And I appreciate those names you gave me. May God bless you and all the people you love.” He stood, stuck out his hand, bowed a little bow, sort of a neck stretch.

Henry was back with the scissors.

“You be good, son,” said the man. “Take care of that Bible. It’s a fine one.”

As soon as the door closed, Aunt Dorie said, “Look at those pages.” She reached over and thumbed a page. “It’s India paper, and you can almost see through it.”

This Bible felt almost as thin as a New Testament. It was like a little fire truck — not a big clumsy fire truck. It was small and swift and would maybe be easy to understand because it was thin, and it felt good in his hands. “Was he a preacher?” asked Henry.

“He was a Bible salesman. Spreading the Gospel that way.”

“Why did you need the scissors?”

“Oh, I just need to cut something in a minute.”

Henry walked to the front window, saw the man open his car door and place his valise inside, then look over the top of his car down toward Mrs. Albright’s house, knock a cigarette up out of a pack, pick it out with his lips, put the pack away, and then light the cigarette with a match cupped in his hands. He looked back at Aunt Dorie’s front door before he got in the car. He seemed sad.

He backed out of the driveway, turned, and headed down the hill. He slowed and turned into Mrs. Albright’s driveway. Henry wondered about Mrs. Albright’s husband. He got killed in a war about the Spanish something. He was a hero and left behind a widow and two children. Uncle Jack said Mrs. Albright’s daughter was unhappy because she didn’t have anything wrong with her, so she left home. Aunt Dorie said you were supposed to take care of orphans and widows. Widows were not the same as black widows. Black widows ate their husbands, Uncle Jack said.

Dorie walked to the window, stood beside Henry, and looked down toward Mrs. Albright’s. “We don’t want to worry Uncle Jack about buying a new Bible, so don’t say anything to him about it. I’ll tell him.”

“Since Mrs. Albright had Yancy, does she still have him?” asked Henry.

“She had Yancy, yes,” said Aunt Dorie. “What do you mean?”

“Does she have
him
the same way he has that
ball
in his neck?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like you can’t throw it away.”

“Well, that’s right. I guess that’s the way it is,” said Aunt Dorie.

“But some things you have you can throw away.”

“That’s right.”

“Why do they both have the same word, ‘have’?”

“I never thought about it. Come on over here and let’s look at your Bible.”

1939

T
he teacher, Mr. Harris, talked along. New Sunday school year at Antioch Baptist Church. Henry and five other nine-year-old boys sat in wicker-bottom chairs in the church basement classroom, a framed picture of the twelve-year-old Jesus on the wall — the picture that was on their Sunday school quarterly cover and on the walls in several other rooms throughout the children’s classrooms — along with other pictures, including Jesus with little children at his feet, outdoors somewhere.

“God created the light before he created anything else,” said Mr. Harris, “and then he made the land and the water and he made it separate. And then he made all the plants. Then God made the sun and the moon and then after that the stars.”