“Thou shalt not kill,” Mr. Manly prompted.
“Thou shall not kill. That’s one of them.”
“The one that sent you here. Both of you. And now you’re disobeying that commandment again by fighting. Did you know that? When you fight you break the Lord’s commandment against killing?”
“What if you only hit him?” Raymond asked. “Beat him up good, but he don’t die.”
“It’s the same thing. Look, when you hit somebody you hurt him a little bit or you hurt him a lot. When you kill somebody you hurt him for good. So hitting is the same as killing without going all the way. You understand that, Harold?”
“What was that, captain?”
Mr. Manly swiveled around slowly to look out the window, toward the convicts standing by the main cellblock. Close to a hundred men here, and only a handful of them, at the most, understood the Divine Word. Mr. Manly was sixty years old and knew he would never have time to teach them all. He only had a few months here before the place was closed. Then what? He had to do what he could, that’s all. He had to begin somewhere, even if his work was never finished.
He came around again to face them and said, “Boys, the Lord has put it on the line to us. He says you got to keep His commandments. He says you don’t keep them, you die. That doesn’t mean you die and they put in a grave—no-sir. It means you die and go straight down to hell to suffer the fires of the damned. Raymond, you ever burn yourself?”
“Yes, sir, my hand one time.”
“Boys, imagine getting burned all over for the rest of your life by the hottest fire you ever saw, hotter’n a blast furnace.”
“You’d die,” Raymond said.
“Only it doesn’t kill you,” Mr. Manly said quickly. “See, it’s a special kind of fire that hurts terrible but never burns you up.”
They looked at him, or seemed to be looking at him; he wasn’t sure.
He tried again. “Like just your head is sticking out of the fire. You understand? So it don’t suffocate you. But, boy, these flames are licking at your body and it’s so hot you’re a-screaming your lungs out, ‘Water, water, somebody give me just a drop of water—please!’ But it’s too late, because far as you’re concerned the Lord is fresh out of mercy.”
Raymond was looking at the window again and Harold was studying the wall.
“Hell—” Mr. Manly began. He was silent for a while before he said, “It’s a terrible place to be and I’m glad you boys are determined not to go there.”
Harold said, “Where’s that, captain?”
After they were gone Mr. Manly could still see them standing there. He got up and walked around them, picturing them from the back now, seeing the Negro’s heavy, sloping shoulders, the Indian standing with a slight cock to his hip, hands loose at his sides. He’d like to stick a pin in them to see if they jumped. He’d like to holler in their ears. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you understand plain English? Are you too ignorant, or are you too full of evil? Answer me!
If they didn’t understand the Holy Word, how was he ever going to preach it to them? He raised his eyes to the high ceiling and said, “Lord, if You’re going to send me sinners, send me some with schooling, will you, please?”
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. In the silence that followed he hurried around the desk to sit down again.
Maybe that was the answer, though, and saying it out loud was the sign. Save somebody else, somebody who’d understand him, instead of two boys who couldn’t even read and write. Sixty years old, he didn’t have time to start saving illiterates. Somebody like Frank Shelby. Save him.
No, Frank was already trying. It was pretty clear he’d seen the error of his past life and was trying to correct it.
Norma Davis.
Get Norma in here and ask her if she was ready to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as her saviour. If she hadn’t already.
No, something told Mr. Manly she hadn’t yet. She was in for robbery, had shot a man, and had been arrested for prostitution in Wichita, Kansas. It wasn’t likely she’d had time to be saved. She looked smart though.
Sit her down there, Mr. Manly thought.
He wasn’t sure how he’d begin, but he’d get around to picking some whores out of the Bible to tell her about—like that woman at the well. Jesus knew she was a whore, but He was still friendly and talked to her. See, He wasn’t uppity about whores, they were just sinners to him like any other sinners. Take the time they’re stoning the whore and He stops them, saying, Wait, only whoever of ye is without sin may cast a stone. And they had to quit doing it. See, Norma, we are all of us sinners in one way or another.
He kept looking at the way her top buttons were undone and the blouse was pulled open so he could see part of the valley between her breasts.
Where the soap had run down and over her belly.
She was sitting there trying to tempt him. Sure, she’d try to tempt him, try to show him up as a hypocrite.
She would undo a couple more buttons and he’d watch her calmly. He would say quietly, shaking his head slowly, “Norma, Norma.”
She’d pull that blouse wide open and her eyes and her breasts would be staring right smack at him.
Sit back in the swivel chair then; show her he was at ease. Keep the expression very calm. And kindly.
She’d get up and lean over the desk then so they’d hang down. Great big round things with big reddish-brown tips. Then she’d jiggle them a little and he’d say in his quiet voice, “Norma, what are you doing that for? Don’t you feel silly?”
Maybe he wouldn’t ask her if she felt silly, but he’d say something.
She’d see she wasn’t getting him, so then she’d take off her belt and slowly undo her skirt, watching him all the time, and let it fall. She’d back off a little bit and put her hands on her hips so he could see her good.
“Norma, child, cover your nakedness.”
No, sir, that wasn’t going to stop her. She was coming around the desk now. She’d stepped out of the skirt and was taking off the blouse, all the way off, coming toward him now without a stitch on.
He had better stand up, or it would be hard to talk to her.
Mr. Manly rose from the chair. He reached out to place his hands on Norma’s bare shoulders and, smiling gently, said, “Child, ‘If ye live after the flesh ye shall die’—Romans, eight, thirteen—‘but if ye mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.’ ”
From the doorway Bob Fisher said, “Excuse me.”
Mr. Manly came around, seeing the open door that had been left open when the two went out; he dropped his hands awkwardly to the edge of the desk.
Bob Fisher kept staring at him.
“I was just seeing if I could remember a particular verse from Romans,” Mr. Manly said.
“How’d you do with Harold and Raymond?”
“It’s too early to tell. I want to see them again in the morning.”
“They got work to do.”
“In the morning,” Mr. Manly said.
Bob Fisher thought it over, then nodded and left the office. Walking down the hall, he was thinking that the little preacher may have been trying to remember a verse, but he sure looked like a man about to get laid.
Lord, give me these two, Mr. Manly said to the window and to the yard below. Give me a sign that they understand and are willing to receive the Lord Jesus Christ into their hearts.
He didn’t mean a tongue of fire had to appear over the two boys’ heads, or they had to get knocked to the ground the way St. Paul did. All they had to do was show some interest, a willingness to accept their salvation.
Lord, I need these two to prove my worthiness and devotion as a preacher of your Holy Writ. I need them to
