Half of Paradise

  “You know that ain’t true, Brother. What’s that thing around your neck?”

  Brother Samuel touched the wooden disk that hung on a leather cord.

  “The Black Man give it to me. These letters is written in a language that ain’t even used no more. It means I got the power to control spirits.”

  “I thought you didn’t have no powers.”

  “I still got my magic powers. I ain’t got my spiritual ones.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “My magic ones is from the Black Man, and the others is from the Lord. I ain’t had no truck with the Black Man since he made me sin agin Jesus.”

  “Look at it this way,” the inmate from gang two said. “If you use the Black Man’s powers to do the work of Jesus, then you can get back at him for making you sin.”

  “I ain’t thought of it that way.”

  “Ain’t it the work of the Lord to heal people? Well, that’s just what you’re doing.”

  “That’s the way I figure it, too,” Daddy Claxton said.

  “Use some of them things you carry around with you,” the inmate from two said. His name was Benoit. He was dark complexioned and unshaved, with close set pig-eyes, and he smelled of sweat and earth.

  “I ain’t sure it’s right. I gone back to following the Word.”

  “Lay down, Jeffry, and let him heal you.”

  “I don’t want to be healed. I tried it once. It don’t work.”

  “Sure it works,” Benoit said.

  “I’m about to puke from this fish already. I don’t want nobody fooling with me.”

  “Tell him to get hisself healed, Billy Jo.”

  “Get yourself healed,” Billy Jo said, his mouth filled with bread and carp.

  “Let me be.”

  “Go ahead, Brother.”

  “I ain’t sure.”

  “It ain’t Jesus’ will to let a man suffer when you can cure him.”

  “You want me to try, Jeffry?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s sick in the head with fever,” Benoit said.

  “His head’s all right. He ain’t got faith,” Brother Samuel said.

  “You got no faith, Jeffry,” Benoit said.

  “You guys let me alone.”

  Most of the men had finished lunch and came over to watch.

  “How about it, Brother?”

  “I’ll try.”

  The men held Jeffry’s arms and legs to the ground and pulled up his shirt to expose his stomach.

  “Goddamn you bastards! Leave go! Do you hear me! I’m sick! Turn loose!”

  He struggled for a moment and then became still. He twisted his head up to watch his stomach and to see what Brother Samuel was going to do.

  “What’s them things you got?” Daddy Claxton said.

  “Them’s what I control the spirits with.”

  He knelt beside Jeffry, his face the color of mud under the straw hat that came down to his ears. His large ill-fitting clothes were damp with sweat.

  “I’m going to use my moccasin fang and turtle foot first. It ain’t going to hurt none, you’ll just feel something pulling on you when the spirit leaves your body.”

  “You guys got no right to let him do this,” Jeffry said.

  “It’s time you got religion,” Benoit said.

  “This ain’t religion. It’s conjuring. Don’t let him touch me with that stuff.”

  “Lie still,” Brother Samuel said. “I’m going to make a cross on your belly.”

  He drew a white impression of a horizontal line across Jeffry’s stomach with the turtle foot, then drew a vertical line through it with the snake fang. He placed the fang and the foot on the ground beside a piece of string and the ball of hair taken from a cow’s stomach. He folded his hands together and rocked slowly back and forth.

  “Goddamn each of you bastards,” Jeffry said. He struggled again. The men held him firmly. The figure of the cross was pink and white on his stomach.

  “Great Belial,” Brother Samuel began, “cast out of the spirits of Zion that want this man to bow before the bloody hill where you wrecked the faith of mighty Jerusalem, and let him take the snake to his cheek.” Samuel picked up the snake fang in his fingers and held the curved ivory point over Jeffry’s stomach. “With the sign of your kingdom I plunge the poison of the shade into your enemy’s heart.” He brought the snake fang down and struck the center of the cross.

  “I’m bleeding,” Jeffry said. “Look at what you done. You stuck me full of poison. I heard you say so.”

  There was a small drop of blood at the joint of the cross.

  “I never seen nothing like that,” Daddy Claxton said.

  “Jeffry don’t look good.”

  “What the hell do you think I look like when somebody is sticking snake poison in me?”

  “I didn’t put no poison in you,” Brother Samuel said.

  “I heard you say it.”

  “That’s just part of what I got to say to cast out the spirit.”

  “You feel any different?” Daddy Claxton said.

  “Yeah. I got a hole in my belly that I didn’t have five minutes ago.”

  “I reckon it takes some extra conjuring to get you healed,” Benoit said.

  “I had my fill. I don’t want no more.”

  “It’s a powerful spirit got hold of you,” Brother Samuel said.

  “It ain’t no spirit. It’s the runs. Everybody gets the runs,” Jeffry said.

  “Try another cure, Brother Samuel.”

  “Not on me. I ain’t having no more.” The men still held him to the ground.

  “I ain’t got but one left.”

  “Go ahead and use it. Jeffry is willing to do anything to get rid of the runs.”

  “You sonsofbitches.”

  “Don’t use cuss words when we’re talking about things of the spirit,” Benoit said, his pig-eyes smiling at Jeffry.

  “I wouldn’t do this to none of you when you was sick,” Jeffry said.

  “That’s because you got no charity. You got no faith, neither. Ain’t that right? Jeffry’s got no faith.”

  “You rotten bas…”

  A man clamped his hand over Jeffry’s mouth.

  “Get on with the conjuring. We got to use force to get him healed.”

  Jeffry’s eyes rolled wildly.

  “What are you going to do with that ball of hair?” Benoit said.

  “It’s for casting out the spirit.”

  “How’s it work?” Daddy Claxton said.

  “I send the spirit out of Jeffry into the ball of hair, and then I set fire to it and let the spirit free again.”

  “What happens if he don’t get free?”

  “Belial will send another spirit into my body to make me turn him loose.”

  “Who’s this Belial guy?” Billy Jo said.

  “He was one of the angels the Lord run out of Heaven,” Brother Samuel said.

  “I never heard of no Belial,” Billy Jo said.

  “That’s because you and Jeffry got no religion,” Benoit said.

  “I don’t need none.”

  “Mmpppppppht,” Jeffry said, beneath the clamped hand.

  Brother Samuel held the ball of hair to Jeffry’s stomach and closed his eyes and began to speak in a language that none of the men could understand. He rolled the ball in a circle and his voice became a chant. Jeffry’s stomach started quivering under Brother Samuel’s hands. The pink and white impression of the cross had disappeared, and only the small smear of blood remained. Brother Samuel chanted louder and rocked on his knees, with his body bent over Jeffry.

  “Is that all there is to it?” Billy Jo said.

  “I got to set the spirit free.”

  “You mean he’s inside that ball of hair?”

  “Take it and hold it in your hand.”

  “I don’t want it,” Billy Jo said.

  Samuel offered it to Daddy Claxton.

  “I ain’t touching it,?
?? the old man said.

  “I’ll hold it,” Benoit said.

  Brother Samuel put it in his hand.

  “It jumped! My God, there’s something in it!” He jerked his hand away and let it drop to the ground. The men were grinning at him. “I tell you it jumped. I ain’t lying. I felt it bump in my hand like it was alive.”

  “The sun must have fried your brains.”

  “One of you guys pick it up.” No one did. “Go ahead, pick it up. See if I’m lying. It tried to jump out of my hand.”

  “You been drinking the kerosene from the line shack again?” Billy Jo said.

  “All right, bastard. You pick it up.”

  “You can play witch doctor if you want. I ain’t making an ass out of myself.”

  “Turn Jeffry loose,” Brother Samuel said.

  Jeffry wiped his mouth with his hand and tucked in his shirt. There was spittle and pink finger marks around his mouth.

  “You see this piece of string?” Brother Samuel said. “I’m tying three knots in it. I’m going to give it to you, and I want you to put it in your pocket and not look at it till tonight. When the knots is gone your stomach won’t bother you no more.”

  “You mean them knots is going away by theirself?” Daddy Claxton said.

  “As long as he don’t look at the string till dark.”

  “I ain’t going to look at it no time. I don’t want the goddamn thing. Hey, what are you doing?”

  “I’m putting it in your pocket for you.”

  “I had my fill of this stuff.”

  “Shut up and do like he says,” Billy Jo said.

  Brother Samuel picked up the ball of hair. He took a kitchen match from his denims and scratched it across the sole of his work boot. He held the flame to the ball and waited for it to catch. A wisp of yellow-black smoke came up, and the sweet-rotten odor of burnt hair made the men draw back. He stood up and hurled the ball of flame into the air, where it burst apart in a myriad of fire. Pieces of burnt hair floated slowly to the ground.

  “It’s over. I set him free,” Brother Samuel said.

  Jeffry got up and walked across the clearing, his legs held close together.

  “Where are you going?” Billy Jo said.

  “To the goddamn latrine.”

  The whistle blew for the lunch break to end. The men filed past the back of the pickup and dropped their plates and spoons into a cardboard box. Toussaint and Avery went back to work on the trench.

  “Does that go on all the time?” Avery said.

  “That’s the first time I seen him do any conjuring. He’s usually talking about the Word and soul-saving.”

  “He stuck the snake’s fang right in the center of the cross.”

  “I seen that done down home before. I knowed a man that did the same thing to get rid of a sickness. He said when he died he could pass on his powers, but it had to be to a woman. A man can only give them to a woman, and a woman only to a man.”

  “He puts on a fine show.”

  “He’s a good man. He don’t do nothing unless he thinks he can help somebody,” Toussaint said.

  “He didn’t do much good for Jeffry. He’s still on latrine duty.”

  Evans came over to watch the work. The width and length of the trench were dug out, and Avery had spaded the depth down to a foot. Evans chewed on a matchstick. He rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue.

  “We want it finished this afternoon,” he said. “Put in a little less talk and more work.”

  “We was talking about this fellow Belial.”

  “What?”

  “This is the place where you can get the spirit run out of you, the camp latrine.”

  “What the hell are you saying, Boudreaux?”

  “You’re the only hack in camp with a conjuror on your gang.”

  Avery threw a load of dirt to the side of the trench and didn’t look up.

  “You got no sense. You could be smart and do easy time,” Evans said.

  That would put you out of a job. You wouldn’t have nobody to lock up in the box.”

  “You got a lot more years to pull. You ain’t going to make it.”

  “Don’t put no money on it.”

  “You’ll break down,” Evans said. “I seen bigger guys than you crack. Some of them went to the bughouse at Pineville. You ever see anybody go nuts from stir? A stir nut is something to see.”

  “How deep do you want the trench?” Avery said.

  “I told you before, three feet.”

  “It looks deep enough now.”

  “You better learn something now. You do like you’re told in the camp.”

  “I thought I might give a suggestion.”

  “Don’t.”

  “All right.”

  “This man you’re with is trouble. Buddy with him and he’ll get you time in detention,” Evans said.

  “I didn’t ask to dig latrines with him.”

  Evans stared at Avery as though he were evaluating him. He flipped the chewed matchstick into the trench. The butt of his revolver and the cartridges in his belt shone in the sun.

  “Do your stretch easy. It’s the best way. Don’t give me no trouble.”

  He left them and went to the trees.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” Toussaint said.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t think you ever got to take pressure off me.”

  “I got tired of listening to him talk.”

  “I don’t want you putting your neck out for me.”

  “Why did you start that stuff with him?”

  “I thought it might pick up the conversation.”

  “He’s right. You’ll never make your time,” Avery said.

  “You believe what he said about cracking a man down?”

  “I don’t know. A few years of this. Jesus.”

  “You think he can crack you?”

  “I don’t ask for trouble.”

  “It don’t matter if you ask for it or not. You got one to three years of it when you walked through that front gate,” Toussaint said.

  “Free will.”

  Toussaint looked at him. “It’s a joke the brothers used to teach us,” Avery said.

  The sun went behind a cloud and the clearing fell into shadow. The breeze from the river felt suddenly cool; the sky was dark. A dust devil swirled by the trench and spun into the air. Its funnel widened, whipped by the wind, and disappeared.

  The afternoon wore on, and at five o’clock the men climbed into the trucks and were taken to the barracks. The trucks rolled down the gravel roads over the railroad tracks and through the fields of green and yellow grass with the sun’s dying rays slanting over the pines. The men showered and changed into fresh denims and lined up outside the dining hall for supper. They sat at the wooden tables and benches and ate the tasteless food that still seemed to smell of the carbolic and antiseptic that was used to clean the kitchen. They went back to the barracks and lay exhausted on their bunks, listening to the sounds of the frogs and night birds in the woods. Then it was nine o’clock and the lights went out and someone struck a match to the candle and the poker game began for those who were not too tired to play.

  Toussaint’s bunk was two down from Avery’s. The army blanket on it was stretched and tucked so tightly across the mattress that you could bounce a quarter off it. The pillow was laid neatly at the head, and his foot locker was squared evenly with the base. He had a cardboard box fixed to the wall above his pillow, where he kept his razor, soap, toothbrush, tobacco, matches, and cigarette papers. He sat on the side of his bunk and reached up to get his package of Virginia Extra. He rolled a cigarette and popped a match on his thumbnail. He dropped the burnt match into a small tin can that he kept under his bed.

  The poker game was being organized on the floor between the two rows of bunks. Jeffry’s foot locker had been pushed out into the aisle to be used as a table, and an army blanket was spread over the top. The men played wi
th pocket change, although it was against camp regulations for any inmate to have money. A visitor would slip a prisoner a few crumpled, hand-soiled bills, and they would eventually circulate through the entire camp by way of poker and dice games and bribes to the trusties and guards for favors. Billy Jo ran the poker game in Toussaint’s barracks on a house system, by which he took a nickel out of every pot for the use of his candles and cards. He would cover any bet up to five dollars, and allow credit if the player could put up security.

  “We need two more guys,” Billy Jo said.

  “We got four already,” Benoit said.

  “We need a couple more. You want in, Claxton?”

  “Will you give me something on next tobacco ration?”

  “You already owe it to me. What else you got?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Brother Samuel.”

  “I ain’t a gambling man.”

  “Who wants to play. We need two more guys.”

  “Get Jeffry.”

  “He’s in the latrine.”

  “You ain’t doing nothing, Toussaint.”

  “I only got a quarter.”

  “That’s enough. Move over and let him sit down, Benoit.”

  Toussaint sat down on the floor in front of the trunk and changed his quarter for five nickels.

  “Start dealing,” Benoit said.

  “We need another guy. You want to play?”

  “I’m broke,” Avery said.

  “I’ll give you two-bits on your first tobacco ration.”

  They made room for Avery. Billy Jo dropped two dimes and a nickel on the blanket.

  “They pass out the tobacco on Monday. Bring me yours as soon as you get it,” he said.

  “Let’s start playing,” Benoit said.

  “Five-card draw, no ante, jacks to open.” Billy Jo dealt the cards around. The men looked at their cards in the light of the two candles melted to each end of the trunk.

  “I can’t open,” the man on Billy Jo’s left said.

  “Me neither.”

  “Open for a nickel,” Toussaint said.

  “I’m out.”

  “Out.”

  Two more coins thumped on the blanket.

  “Give me three,” Toussaint said.

  “One,” Benoit said. His pig-eyes studied his hand thoughtfully.

  “Two for the dealer,” Billy Jo said.

  “Your bet.”

  “Ten cents,” Toussaint said.