Jimmt B. Tester
Jimmy wipes his greasy hand across his craggy and pockmarked face; rubbing two fingers hard and deep in his eye sockets until tears appear. “I suppose the hag ain’t lyin’, boy. That night was the end of my time as a preacher, I reckon. A goddamn shame, truth be told. My good works comin’ to a end on such a holy night. Ironic, that’s what they call stuff like that.” He repeats, “Ironic.”
He speaks that last sentence in a voice of authority, as if he is explaining something complex to an idiot. I’m the idiot, I’m realizing at this stage, for not getting off this hill and never looking back.
Jimmy pauses for a moment, then continues. “I met her pretty much by accident downtown in the big city. She took me up to this rat-hole on the east side. A dark lookin’ place. One of them flophouses that didn’t have no name and a lit up sign on the outside that has a letter or two out.
“I shouldn’t a killed her, that girl. It wasn’t my fault, entirely, you got to remember. I went there to preach to her, to heal her. I put hands on her and before I know’d what was what, I fucked her. Then it all came apart right quick.
“I kept layin’ hands on her and a prayin’. Then I felt the comfort and presence of the Lord and I know’d I’d done the right thing. I could tell by her sad eyes and her dirty clothes her life wasn’t no good, and I figure I saved her from that life; in a harsh way, I suppose. She didn’t even get her panties full back on and she was wantin’ to go runnin’ off to the next boy.
“The devil was in her. I saved her from that.
“It was Christmas Eve, 1968. I turned on the TV as she lay there bleeding and I saw them Apollo spacemen showin’ movin’ pictures of the moon and back to Mother Earth. I heard the one spaceman readin’ from the Genesis book and talkin’ about all us on the good earth and I know’d I done right. I kept my hands on her as I watched the spacemen. When the TV program was over I saw the dead girl’s blood had dripped on my Bible. I know’d that was the blood of the lamb and I’d done God’s work.
“Then I got the Hell outta that motel, I’ll tell you that, boy. I know’d I’d done God’s work, but the police wouldn’t a see it that way... Besides, I had my preachin’ work to attend to. Souls to save, ‘er, so I thought. Fer some reason the word of this little junkie dyin’ got caught up in the news like hellfire. Fuckin’ police and TV news was all up all the place at that damn motel. She was a girl from the trailers and she found herself down in the big city all alone and I went to console her a mite and pray with her and it all went ta haywire.
“My boys, the church, we all figger’d it best if I come back to this hill and hide out fer a spell. No matter what we tried, they wanted to crucify me in the TV and papers and magazines. It got bad. I was ridin’ high on the damn hog and all a sudden it come crashin’ the hell right down. I went on the radio, even the TV once ta pray fergiveness. We had to beat feet from the cops after that one. The cops come to raid the station fer my ass. I cried, and I said Jesus had forgiven me my sin and why couldn’t they. That never worked, and it always worked afore.
“Next thing some son of a bitch was diggin’ way the fuck back, inta the 30s and even deeper. My time in the big war come into question and the tax evasion crap with Mister Shultz. It was a big goddamn shit storm.
“Pretty soon I’m a goddamn fugitive and things is gettin’ tight. Real tight. I met with my boys, I called them my bishops, and we decided the only hope for me and the church was for me to die. A goddamn crucifixion by the law. My followers still believed me, they said, to a man, it was a setup, and all made up, but them cops and FBI, they was on my scent. So the plan was for me to fake die and then come back after five or ten years. I’d be the new goddamn messiah, and we’d be knee deep in the bucks. Turns out late 1967, my best friend, and by now the head of my church, only second to me, was Hiram. Hiram he caught the cancer late that year. He was dying fast. We both looked alike, tall and skinny with them long ass hillbilly beards. A plot was hatched. The church would take care a his family and he’d die for me.”
That’s it for me this week. Here are some books to look at.
Stay safe, it’s getting weird out there!
Bill
