Green Eyes Page 0,50

Praise Gods and Hallelujahs; the crowd rustled; the fat lady raised her hands overhead, palms up, praying silently.

'I'M TALKIN' 'BOUT THE SAME SPIRIT THAT SOON ONE MORNIN'S GONNA LIFT US ON ANGELS' WINGS INTO THE LIGHT OF THE RAPTURE WHERE WE WILL LIVE IN ECSTASY 'TIL HIS EARTHLY KINGDOM IS SECURE HALLELUJAH!'

'Hallelujah!' chorused the crowd. Donnell was beginning to relax, his senses settling; he stretched out his legs, preparing to be bored. Papa Salvatino paced the stage: a downcast, troubled man. The organ rippled out an icy trill.

'OH, CHILDREN, CHILDREN, CHILDREN! I SEE THE PATHS BY WHICH YOU'VE TRAVELED GLEAMIN' IN MY MIND'S EYE. SLIMY SERPENT TRACKS! YOU BEEN DOWN IN THE MUCK OF SHALLOW LIVIN' AND FALSE EMOTION SO LONG YOU'RE TOO SICK FOR PREACHIN'!' He pointed to the fat lady beside Donnell. 'YOU THERE, SISTER RITA! I SEE YOUR SIN SHININ' LIKE PHOSPHOR ON A STUMP!' He pointed to others of the crowd, accusing them, and as his gaze swept over Donnell, his yellow face, gemmed with those glittering eyes, was as malevolent as a troll's.

'BUT IT AIN'T TOO LATE, SINNERS! THE LORD'S GIVIN' YOU ONE LAST CHANCE. HE'LL EVEN GET DOWN IN SATAN'S DIRT AND TEMPT YOU. HE'S OFFERIN' YOU A ONE-TIME-ONLY-GUARANTEED - YOUR - SOUL - BACK - IF - YOU -AIN'T-SATISFIED TASTE OF SALVATION! AND I'M HERE TO GIVE YOU THAT TASTE! THAT SOUL-STIRRIN' TASTE OF HOSANNAH-IN-THE-HIGHEST AMBROSIA! 'CAUSE EVEN IF HE CAN'T SAVE YOU, THE LORD JESUS HIMSELF WANTS YOU TO HAVE BIG FUN TONIGHT DOWN ON THE BAYOU!'

The crowd was on its feet, waving its arms, shouting.

'YOU WANT THAT TASTE, CHILDREN?'

'Yes!'

'WHAT'S THAT YOU WANT?'

'A taste!' called the organist, prompting the crowd, and they hissed raggedly, 'A taste!' The saxophone brayed, the drummer bashed out a shuffle beat, and the organist unleashed a wash of chords. Papa Salvatino shed his jacket. 'AMEN!' he shouted.

'Amen!'

Donnell turned and saw open-mouthed, flushed faces, rolling eyes; people were shouldering each other aside, poising to rush the stage.

'THY WILL BE DONE!' Papa leapt high and came down in a split, gradually humping himself upright, and did a little shimmy like a snake standing on its tail. 'I WANT THE SICK ONES FIRST AND THE WHOLE ONES LAST! ALL RIGHT, CHILDREN! COME TO PAPA!'

The crowd boiled toward the stage, bumping Donnell's chair, and once again the gray-haired usher loomed before him. He helped Donnell up. Jocundra pried at his grip, protesting, and Donnell struggled: but the usher held firm and said, 'You come with him if you want, sister. But I ain't lettin' you stand in the path of this boy's salvation.'

After much shoving, many Biblically phrased remonstrations directed at people who would not move aside, the usher secured a choice spot in line for Donnell, fourth behind Sister Rita and a thin, drab woman with her arm draped around a teenage boy, a hydrocephalic. He grinned stuporously at Donnell. His hair was slicked down, pomaded, a mother's idea of good grooming; but the effect was of a grotesque face painted on a balloon. He let his head roll around, his grin broadening, enjoying the dizzy sensation. A pearl of saliva formed at the corner of his mouth.

'Jody!' The thin woman turned him away from Donnell, and by way of apology smiled and said, 'Praise the Lord!' Her hair was piled up in a bouffant style, which accentuated her scrawniness, and her gray dress hung loosely and looked to be full of sticks and air.

'Praise the Lord,' muttered Donnell, struck by the woman's sincerity, her lack of pose, especially in relation to the fraudulence of Papa Salvatino; his face was a road map of creepy delights and indulgences, and masked an unaspiring soul who had discovered a trick by which he might prosper. The nature of the trick was beyond Donnell's power to discern, but no doubt it was the cause of the anticipation he read from the shadowy faces bobbing in the aisle below.

The music lapsed into a suspenseful noodling on the organ, and Jocundra leaned close, her face drawn and worried. 'Don't let him touch your glasses,' she whispered. She pointed to the rear flap of the tent, which was lashed partway open behind the drum kit, and he nodded.

'What's ailin' you tonight, Sister Rita.' Papa clipped the microphone to a stand and approached. 'You look healthier than me!'

'Oh, Papa!' Sister Rita wiggled her hips seductively. 'You know I got the worst kind of heart trouble.'

Papa laughed. 'No need to get specific, sister,' he said. 'Jesus understands full