jesust somebody, so we’ll all be saved by the sight of him!”
Enoch began shouting without a sound. He shouted that way for a full minute while Hazel Motes went on.
“Look at me!” Hazel Motes cried, with a tare in his throat, “and you look at a peaceful man! Peaceful because my blood has set me free. Take counsel from your blood and come into the Church Without Christ and maybe somebody will bring us a new jesus and we’ll all be saved by the sight of him!”
An unintelligible sound spluttered out of Enoch. He tried to bellow, but his blood held him back. He whispered, “Listenhere, I got him! I mean I can get him! You know! Him! Him I shown you to. You seen him yourself!”
His blood reminded him that the last time he had seen Haze Motes was when Haze Motes had hit him over the head with a rock. And he didn’t even know yet how he would steal it out of the glass case. The only thing he knew was that he had a place in his room prepared to keep it in until Haze was ready to take it. His blood suggested he just let it come as a surprise to Haze Motes. He began to back away. He backed across the street and over a piece of sidewalk and out into the other street and a taxi had to stop short to keep from hitting him. The driver put his head out the window and asked him how he got around so well when God had made him by putting two backs together instead of a back and a front.
Enoch was too preoccupied to think about it. “I got to go now,” he murmured, and hurried off.
CHAPTER 9
Hawks kept his door bolted and whenever Haze knocked on it, which he did two or three times a day, the ex- evangelist sent his child out to him and bolted the door again behind her. It infuriated him to have Haze lurking in the house, thinking up some excuse to get in and look at his face; and he was often drunk and didn’t want to be discovered that way.
Haze couldn’t understand why the preacher didn’t welcome him and act like a preacher should when he sees what he believes is a lost soul. He kept trying to get into the room again; the window he could have reached was kept locked and the shade pulled down. He wanted to see, if he could, behind the black glasses.
Every time he went to the door, the girl came out and the bolt shut inside; then he couldn’t get rid of her. She followed him out to his car and climbed in and spoiled his rides or she followed him up to his room and sat. He abandoned the notion of seducing her and tried to protect himself. He hadn’t been in the house a week before she appeared in his room one night after he had gone to bed. She was holding a candle burning in a jelly glass and wore, hanging onto her thin shoulders, a woman’s nightgown that dragged on the floor behind her. Haze didn’t wake up until she was almost up to his bed, and when he did, he sprang from under his cover into the middle of the room.
“What you want?” he said.
She didn’t say anything and her grin widened in the candle light. He stood glowering at her for an instant and then he picked up the straight chair and raised it as if he were going to bring it down on her. She lingered only a fraction of a second. His door didn’t bolt so he propped the chair under the knob before he went back to bed.
“Listen,” she said when she got back to their room, “nothing works. He would have hit me with a chair.”
“I’m leaving out of here in a couple of days,” Hawks said, “you better make it work if you want to eat after I’m gone.” He was drunk but he meant it.
Nothing was working the way Haze had expected it to. He had spent every evening preaching, but the membership of the Church Without Christ was still only one person: himself. He had wanted to have a large following quickly to impress the blind man with his powers, but no one had followed him. There had been a sort of follower but that had been a mistake. That had been a boy about sixteen years old who had wanted someone to go to a whorehouse with him because he had never been to one before. He knew where the place was but he didn’t want to go without a person of experience, and when he heard Haze, he hung around until he stopped preaching and then asked him to go. But it was all a mistake because after they had gone and got out again and Haze had asked him to be a member of the Church Without Christ, or more than that, a disciple, an apostle, the boy said he was sorry but he couldn’t be a member of that church because he was a Lapsed Catholic. He said that what they had just done was a mortal sin, and that should they die unrepentant of it they would suffer eternal punishment and never see God. Haze had not enjoyed the* whorehouse anywhere near as much as the boy had and he had wasted half his evening. He shouted that there was no such thing as sin or judgment, but the boy only shook his head and asked him if he would like to go again the next night.
If Haze had believed in praying, he would have prayed for a disciple, but as it was all he could do was worry about it a lot. Then two nights after the boy, the disciple appeared.
That night he preached outside of four different picture shows and every time he looked up, he saw the same big face smiling at him. The man was plumpish, and he had curly blond hair that was cut with showy sideburns. He wore a black suit with a silver stripe in it and a wide-brimmed white hat pushed onto the back of his head, and he had on tight-fitting black pointed shoes and no socks. He looked like an ex-preacher turned cowboy, or an ex- cowboy turned mortician. He was not handsome but under his smile, there was an honest look that fitted into his face like a set of false teeth.
Every time Haze looked at him, the man winked.
At the last picture show he preached in front of, there were three people listening to him besides the man. “Do you people care anything about the truth?” he asked. “The only way to the truth is through blasphemy, but do you care? Are you going to pay any attention to what I’ve been saying or are you just going to walk off like everybody else?”
There were two men and a woman with a cat-faced baby sprawled over her shoulder. She had been looking at Haze as if he were in a booth at the fair. “Well, come on,” she said, “he’s finished. We got to be going.” She turned away and the two men fell in behind her.
“Go ahead and go,” Haze said, “but remember that the truth don’t lurk around every street corner.”
The man who had been following reached up quickly and pulled Haze’s pantsleg and gave him a wink. “Come on back heah, you folks,” he said. “I want to tell you all about me”
The woman turned around again and he smiled at her as if he had been struck all along with her good looks. She had a square red face and her hair was freshly set. “I wisht I had my gittarr here,” the man said, ” ‘cause I just somehow can say sweet things to music bet tern plain. And when you talk about Jesus you need a little music, don’t you, friends?” He looked at the two men as if he were appealing to the good judgment that was impressed on their faces. They had on brown felt hats and black town suits, and they looked like older and younger brother. “Listen, friends,” the disciple said confidentially, “two months ago before I met the Prophet here, you wouldn’t know me for the same man. I didn’t have a friend in the world. Do you know what it’s like not to have a friend in the world?”
