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shorts teased him through deep and shallow water, coarse and slippery rocks, weak and mighty currents. They stopped finally on a shelf of grass and mud that shot out from the bank and nearly sealed off the river. Out of breath, he bent down and grabbed them. When he stood up, there in front of him with her arms akimbo and her face scowling was the Widow. He quickly left her face, looking down at the broad shoulders and thick arms that came from years of man labor, the curveless plunge of her black dress that frayed right below her knees.
    “Kiss me raas! Look what the man of God come to?”
    He let the quiet between them grow thick. In the past, drunkenness would have saved him from embarrassment, but now he had no hope but that she would slip away. And should they pass each other, both would be shrouded in their own tribulations and acknowledge no acquaintance beyond a nod. He remembered who she was. The Widow Greenfield had buried her husband five years before and stopped coming to church since.
    “Running bout the river like some mongrel dog with you business hanging all out o door. But then that is nothin new for you. Well, what you have to say for yourself?
    “I suppose cock mouth catch cock. Well, me no know what prospect you have down a river so you might as well come with me. Unless God coming back with a three-piece suit.”
    She stepped off, not looking to see if he would follow. There was nowhere to go but behind her step. He followed her, but not because another night of mosquitoes was unbearable. And not because he would again be under a roof. He followed her because he was now a man stripped of authority and went where authority told him.
    As soon as he saw Brillo Road all sense of relief vanished. The two of them walking the entire length of the street (Widow Greenfield’s house was near the top) created much fuss. One that showed Pastor Bligh what existed beyond shame. As he hobbled dripping in shorts, each step laid bare new humiliation. The defrocked and disgraced Preacher was on the street from which he had been banished with no liquor to diffuse his awareness. The children laughed. The wives whispered. The men turned away. Only Lucinda could make this worse. Or the man in black. Always the man in black. A force, an apparition, never Apostle York. If that were not enough, there he was walking several paces behind the Widow as if he was a dog or a servant. What existed beyond shame? More shame. Disgrace as deep as grief that eroded dignity in ways that were more dreadful than one could imagine. An embarrassment so thick that it disconnected from the subject, mocking him and leaving him even more ashamed. If only the Lord would kill him right now at this very moment. Before Gibbeah would see him drag his feet into Widow Greenfield’s house.

REVIVAL Part One
    S ix men, seven women, and three children got saved on Sunday. lived outside Gibbeah and would never be seen again, but the number was still more than all the years of Hector Bligh’s pastorship, by Lucinda’s count.
    Just after he prayed for salvation and sent the newly saved to their seats, the Apostle commanded The Five to remain at the altar. There they lingered, one standing alert, one fidgeting, one glancing right, the other left, the last to the floor, all fearing they would be made an example of.
    “In the name of the Father I rebuke the evil spirit. I bind it by the blood of the lamb! I loose it from their dreams and thoughts and cast it back into Hell.” Then York spoke a language never heard before. All that happened next, happened to Tony Curtis first. Mute since an accident at twelve, he screamed a noise that shook the church. He had not yet fallen when the rest of The Five began to yell, scream, and fall to the ground in spasms. People remembered that before Lillamae stabbed Pastor Bligh she had damaged each of The Five who tried to subdue her. So when Brother Vixton leapt up screaming, Hallelujah! his stiff neck was stiff no more.