could hardly call that Christian. But what he had felt for her, she decided, that brand of love was generous, kind, brave, warm. He had saved her and her brother (her son) Harrison with his warmth.
And here it was again, coming from the most unexpected of sources. Here was a boy, a man, a young man, who was generous, kind, brave, and warm just like Buford. They were about the same height too: 5’9”. They had the penetrating gaze of Sidney Poitier. They shared that beautiful ebony complexion. Out in the living room, Jim Reeves sang “Four Walls.” And Sister Morrisohn lost it.
She beat her chest and cried, Oh, Buford, what am I doing with this little boy? She collapsed on the kitchen floor. She washed the tiles with her tears.
In a little while, the last of the country songs stacked on the record player had played, and there was only the annoying clicking of the needle against the stereo housing. She got up, capped the wine, and put it away. She went into the living room and turned off the record player.
In her bedroom, she stretched out on her lonely bed, where she immediately fell asleep. She dreamt of Elwyn’s penis. How slender it was in her dream, so much less threatening than the sturdy lance he wielded in real life. How warm it made her feel, even in a dream.
She awoke at precisely 5:01, just enough time to prepare herself for night service at 6:00. At night service, Pastor preached a sermon on divine healing, which she found dull, but she said her perfunctory Amens and Yes Lords along with the rest of them. Then Pastor turned it over to the minister of music, Brother Elwyn, who would lead the testimony meeting that would end the night’s service.
Excitement soared through every fiber of her being as her man moved to the piano. She was so proud of him. He was so handsome. She sat up straighter in her seat, which was in the second pew between Mother Naylor and Sister Spann as usual. She approved of Brother Elwyn’s choice of testimony chant for tonight, “I Need Thee Every Hour.” She sang with especial enthusiasm whenever the chorus came, I NEED THEE, O, I NEED THEE, EVERY HOUR I NEED THEE, because she really did need him every hour, but Brother Elwyn kept his eyes lowered. Perhaps he was not sending her a message with his marvelous playing.
When it came to be her turn to testify, Sister Morrisohn arose and said, I thank the Lord for being here. I thank the Lord for being saved and sanctified. I thank Him for giving me the strength to go on after Brother Morrisohn passed. Saints, you don’t know how hard it has been. But the Lord just keeps on providing and providing and providing and providing and providing and providing!
She ended with a shout. A short, robust bark of a shout.
There were cries of “Amen” and “Praise the Lord” from the others. But Brother Elwyn just kept on playing, with his eyes focused hard on his fingers, as though he hadn’t heard.
As she sat down with a satisfied smile on her face, she knew she was being naughty. She shouldn’t have shouted like that, but she was trying to send him a message by shouting like she did during orgasm because that’s how he made her feel every time she was with him. She just wanted to rip off her clothes and fly to him. He was so tight and so fresh and so full of juice. His skin was smooth as a baby’s bottom, his stomach was flat, his arms and legs were lean and strong—he was a lean, strong, fresh-tasting black boy—he looked good enough to eat. She wanted to eat her fill of him, but she knew that was impossible. She could never get enough of him no matter how much he gave her. No matter how much she took—even if he came over more than three times a week she could never suck it all out of him. He had so much. It was spilling over. She wanted to lick his clean, black skin. She wanted to bite him. She wanted to crunch him between her teeth like an apple. There had to be a way to eat him all up.
She shook her head. Three days a week. Not enough, Lord. Not enough.
He kept on playing.
Again she shouted her orgasm shout, which went unnoticed by the congregation among their holiness shouts, Amens, and Hallelujahs. But she kept her eyes on Elwyn.
There it was! A flinch. He had heard her. And he was definitely blushing.
HERE ENDETH THE TESTAMENT OF INNOCENCE
II. TESTAMENT OF INNOCENCE LOST
Book of Genesis 3:6
And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.
1.
Dear Elwyn,
Now that I’m married, I can forgive you. I see things differently now. I
forgive you, my dear friend, my dear brother in the Lord.
Yours, Peachie McGowan
2.
From Elwyn James Parker to the Lord, then torn up into tiny little bits and discarded:
Make me not to want it. Make me to look at it and laugh. Take it away from me. Hide it from me in the cleft of a rock. Cover it from mine eyes. Harden my heart against it. Give me the victory over it. Make me pure again. How can I enter Your house in my vileness and shame? How can she? She is the devil. “Such is the way of an adulterous woman; she eateth, and wipeth her mouth, and saith, I have done no wickedness.” Proverbs 30:20. Take her away from me. Hide her from mine eyes, O Lord. Amen.
3.
I forgive you, Elwyn. Marriage has doused the fire of my anger and given me time to reflect. I now have a clearer perspective on things. I forgive you, Elwyn, as well as Sister Cooper and Sister Morrisohn, for the part you played in ruining my wedding.
Sister Cooper turned the Faithful against me. She’s your grandmother and I mean no disrespect. She’s the one who started calling me “skinny nothing.” Someone that you know real well told me that she even called me “an harlot” in missionary meeting. She is just so much more perfect than me. Lucky her. With perspective, I see that she and her generation were able to live a perfect Christian life because they lived in an easier time. Work and then school and then church. They did not have TV. They were allowed to marry at 14 and 15 without a stigma. They were expected to marry young. I mean no disrespect, but Sister Cooper should ask herself why she got married so late. Was she too ugly? Or was she a miserable cow like she is now? Christians shouldn’t be miserable. In other words, don’t mess up my wedding just because you got married like twenty years later than everyone around you. No offense, Elwyn, but is she jealous because I’m light-skinned? Someone told me that she is very skin conscious. I’m not giving you any names, but you can trust my sources (you know who my mother-in-law is). I don’t have a problem with skin. I would have been just as happy marrying a dark-skinned man like you. If I had been in love with you, I mean. I’m not saying I didn’t like you at one time, but Barry is the man for me. You just have to learn to deal with it.
And Sister Morrisohn. Let me tell you about Sister Morrisohn. She has the nerve to pull rank on anybody? Do you know the woman was in jail? Do you know she stole Brother Morrisohn from his wife? I hear they used to do it right in the bedroom while Sister Glovine was there hanging on for her last days. She’s a sex maniac. That’s why Beverly Morrisohn hates her and is going to take her to court to win that fancy house she lives in. You’ll see. And she’ll win too. Sister Morrisohn is a jailbird. She’s well-dressed-up now with Brother Morrisohn’s money, but she’s still a tramp. I hear she’s a heavy drinker too. I have good sources. They’re people you know. She had the nerve—she and her Missionary Society sisters—to meet me and my mother at the bridal shop. She played up to my mother saying, “Oh, I was not a virgin either when I married Buford. If you’re not a virgin, you can’t wear white. Here’s a nice blue one. Blue is nice.” We already