Brimstone

She was including me to be polite, and I knew it.
“I want to change,” she said. “I don’t want to be that woman, that Allie, anymore. I want to be a good woman, take care of a man, sing in the church, keep a proper house.”
Neither Virgil nor I spoke. Allie was staring at the lights, in some sort of dream, and I wasn’t even sure she was talking to Virgil.
“I was in the bottom of the pit in Placido,” she said. “The bottom, no way to go down deeper. I was gonna die there.”
She looked at Virgil.
“And then you came, and you brought me out.”
“Everett and me,” Virgil said.
“Yes, Everett, too. And it was like you were from heaven come to save me, and you did; after all I done to drive you away, you found me and you saved me.”
“I ain’t one for giving up on things,” Virgil said.
“And you bore me away and brought me here,” Allie said.
“On a buckboard,” Virgil said.
“Oh, don’t tease me,” Allie said. “This is too much… I got too much feeling. I’m gonna change, Virgil, I swear to God, I swear… I’m changing now, I can feel it going on.”
“Good,” Virgil said. “You was looking a bit peaked when I found you.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Virgil.”
“I know it ain’t, Allie,” Virgil said.
They were both quiet. I was, too. I had my own views on Allie’s potential for change, but sharing them didn’t seem like a useful thing. So I stayed quiet.
“You ain’t touched me since you found me in Placido,” Allie said.
I concentrated hard on watching the people moving through the lantern light. I wasn’t sure Allie even remembered I was there. But whether she did or not, this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to join.
“Things take time,” Virgil said.
“Like finding me,” Allie said.
“Took a lotta time,” Virgil said.
“But you’re not one for giving up on things,” Allie said.
“I am not,” Virgil said.
“So maybe you’ll find me again,” Allie said.
“Expect I will,” Virgil said.
 
14
THE WHITE CLAPBOARD BUILDING looked like a Congregational church in some town in Vermont. Except it was at the south end of Arrow Street in Brimstone, beside the Paiute River, in the middle of the Texas prairie. A sign over the door read The Church of the Brotherhood. Brother Percival was giving his morning service when Virgil and I came in. We took off our hats and stood at the rear of the church while Brother Percival told us in unpleasant detail what hell was like and how easy it was to get there.
He was a big, strapping man, with blond hair to his shoulders. His eyes were big and the sort of hard bright blue you see in Navajo jewelry. He was dressed in a white robe and sandals. His voice was deep and reached without apparent effort to every corner of the big church.
“There is a long and slippery slope,” he said, “that all of us live on. It is called this world, and there are no handholds. And all those who live only in this world begin slowly to slide, slowly, slowly, to slide toward the pit.”
There was no religious ornamentation in the church. Merely a big crucifix on the wall behind Brother Percival, and a polished mahogany altar rail in front of him. As he preached he walked back and forth behind the rail.
“And the closer to the pit we get, the faster we slide, and we reach out, and we try to stop but there is nothing to stop us, this downsloping world has nothing to hang on to and we slide faster and faster, weighted down by all the things of this world, surely and ever more surely toward the pit.”
The interior of the church was painted white. The windows on either side of the church were the same pale glinting blue as the preacher’s eyes. Above us where we stood, in the back of the church, was a balcony. I couldn’t see from where I stood, but I assumed the Kansas City organ was up there.
“God alone is our handhold, and his kingdom is not of this world. We grasp frantically, trying to hang on to the things of this world, all the while turning our backs to our only hope for rescue, for salvation, for escaping the raging inferno of the eternal pit.”
The church was nearly full, men and women, maybe more women. Along the walls stood hatless men in black suits and white shirts.
“The main business of this community is whores and whiskey and gambling with cards. It is a community run by people who trade on human weakness, on lust, and thirst, and greed. It is a community of the godless.”
The audience was entirely still, motionless in their church pews, listening to the word of the Lord. The men along both walls nodded their heads silently. The morning sun shining through the pale blue windows gave a blue tone to everything.
“But we are not godless,” Brother Percival roared. “We are the godly, and we are growing, and as we grow, a new and ever more muscular love of righteousness will grow with us and spread through this community and drive out the pustulating corruption, and the Lord God Almighty will prevail here as He must everywhere, and we will prevail here in His name.”
Brother Percival was sweating. His face was shiny with sweat. His muscular neck was glistening with sweat, and as he turned in his pacing behind the altar rail, the sweat was darkening the back of his white robe between his shoulder blades.
“We will prevail,” he said softly.
He stood erect and spread his arms.
“We will prevail,” he said louder.
“In God’s name, and with his strength”-he was bellowing now-“we… will… prevail.”
Then he stopped and stood for a moment with his arms spread wide and his face raised to the ceiling. The room was dead still. Then he dropped his arms and buried his face in his hands and stood exhausted. Then the room erupted. Men and women were clapping. Many were screaming, “We will, we will.” Most rose to their feet. The clapping was sustained, and as it and the screaming went on, the men in the dark suits began to move down each of the aisles, passing collection baskets.
Virgil and I stayed where we were while the tempest and the collection ran their course, during which time Brother Percival stood motionless in the front of the church with his face in his hands.
I looked at Virgil.
“Fella knows an awful lot about hell,” I said.
Virgil nodded and smiled at me.
“So do we,” he said.
 
15
WHEN THE COLLECTION WAS TAKEN and the money stored, and the baskets put away, and the last of the churchgoers had left the church, the deacons went back to their positions along the walls. Only then did Brother Percival raise his face. He seemed to have collected himself during the interlude. He saw Virgil and me standing in the back and opened the altar-rail gate and walked down the center aisle of the church toward us. Up close, he was impressive. Bigger than I was, and muscular. He looked at us calmly for a moment.
Virgil introduced himself and me.
“New deputies,” Percival said.
“We are,” Virgil said.
“Here on the Lord’s business?” Percival said.
“Sort of all the Lord’s business, ain’t it?” Virgil said.
“Suppose it is,” Percival said. “But some of it is Satan’s business, too.”
“Well, we’re all opposed to that,” Virgil said.
“I hope so,” Percival said.
Virgil surveyed the church.
“Heard you had an organ,” he said.
“In the choir loft,” Percival said. “The Lord has yet to send us someone to play it.”
Virgil nodded.
“I’m sure,” Virgil said, “that he’ll send someone soon.”
“As am I,” Percival said.
There was a quality of ironic artificiality in his bearing that was hard to figure. It was like we all knew he was a fraud and it amused him to pretend he wasn’t… Or maybe he wasn’t a fraud.
“Lotta deacons,” Virgil said.