Читать книгу Billy Don't - William OSB Baker - Страница 7

People were standing, waving their arms and churning their bodies to the rhythm of the chanting plea for divine forgiveness. In unison the throng swayed to and fro, following the robed leader standing on a crude wooden platform at the front of the low ceiling, unfinished basement room, serving as a house of God.

"Forgive, forgive," shouted the robed leader with his arms held high and head thrown back. "Amen, Amen," echoed the congregation. The cycle was repeated, over and over again. The intensity of the swaying throng increased. Screams for God's recognition and forgiveness reverberated through the crowded room.

The room was hot, sweltering hot. Sweating bodies fouled the air. The pleading voices reached frenzied pitches of sacrificial self-giving to the religious calling of the leader. Several people moved forward to the front of the crude platform and kneeled with arms raised to the robed preacher. Slowly the frenzied throng returned to the chant, "forgive, forgive," and a few sat down. The leader lowered his arms, bowed his head in silent prayer, and by standing still, brought the congregation to the end of their wild and loud Godly demonstration.

The preacher then moved to the first of the kneeling church members and asked, "What have you brought for the Lord's House?" A monetary donation was announced and placed in the plate held by the preacher. "The Lord forgives you. You are faithful to the House of the Lord." He moved to the next worshipper and extracted his contribution in return for a word of forgiveness. And so it went until all the kneeling persons who had continued to gather round him had received their message of recognition.

The remainder of the congregation formed in a line to pass the preacher's station, where they placed an offering in the metal plate held high above their heads by the religious leader.

"Here Billy, put this in God's hands." Mrs. Blair handed him a dime for the collection plate. He took his place in the line, reached for the plate and released his contribution. "God forgives you, son."

Billy felt nothing, only small and scared. Mrs. Blair took Billy's hand. They climbed the stairs out of the foul air leaving behind the place where people came to give their money to God. Billy knew about money. Without money he was unable to buy candy or to go to the Saturday matinee. A dime was important, and he had given it away. For what he wondered? Why did God need money? Did it help him to see how black his soul was? Billy was confused.

Constantly he was being told his soul would turn black because of the bad things he did. Mrs. Blair described it as a living process in which each of his acts was evaluated by God, and determined to be good or bad. If bad, the degree of badness was recorded as a representative black mark on his soul. When he died God would look at his soul, and if it was more white than black he would be allowed into heaven. The other route was to the Devil and the fires of his dungeons. Why did God need money?

The remembrance of being loved moved into Billy's mind, he recalled the words. "Mums, do you love me?" "Yes, Billy, I love you, your father loves you, and God loves you too."

On the street car on their way home from the evening's evangelical meeting, Billy reminded Mrs. Blair that tomorrow was the day he was to visit his Grandmother Munroe, who was now living in West Oakland. This time he would not be riding in the Rickenbacker automobile. He would be taking the street car, and since his "Mums" was not welcome at the Blair's house, he'd be taking the street car alone.

The morning was a long time in coming. Billy was up early. He gave special attention to washing his ears and combing his wavy hair before donning clean jeans and a fresh shirt. He made his bed without having to be told, and greeted the awakening household members with a cheerful, "Good morning, I'm going to my Grandmother Munroe's house."

After breakfast Mrs. Blair handed him a paper bag which contained his change of clothes, a token for the street car, and a note to the conductor in case Billy forgot the verbal directions given him. He said his good-byes to the family members sitting at the breakfast table and walked down the sloping hill of Lyon Avenue to 38th Street, all the time reciting the instructions he was to give the car conductor.

His happiness of the day had been lessened by the morning's news which the Blair's had discussed at breakfast. Standing on the corner, he looked back across the street to where the policeman had lived. He had been a big man and a friend to Billy. Now he was dead. Shot by a burglar. Billy looked at the porch where the policeman had sat to read his paper and remembered how he would come down the steps to talk with Billy, and give his wagon a starting push back up the hill, always cautioning Billy to stay out of the street. Sometimes they would sit on the porch steps, drinking a lemonade, served by the policeman's wife, talking about Billy and his sister and brother or the policeman's younger life. Billy felt the sorrow of the morning's news and wondered about the dead policeman's soul. Was it black? Did God look at it? Is he in Heaven?

The approaching street car came to a stop. Billy climbed aboard, instructed the conductor as to his destination, and dropped the token into the box with the glass window on the conductor's side through which he could see if the correct fare had been deposited. "You'll have to transfer at 14th street," commented the conductor, handing Billy a long strip of flimsy paper with punches in it. "Sit right here and I'll tell you when to get off." The conductor pulled down a single seat to the side of his stool seat and held it down until Billy was well seated.

At each stop as people stood to leave or to pay their fare, they could not help but notice the sign above Billy's head: "RESERVED FOR INSPECTORS". The passengers smiled at Bill or mentioned his presence to the conductor. "Better be careful today. You are being inspected." Billy knew they were joking with him, but it made him feel important, and he liked it.

"This is where you transfer, young man. Come with me. I'll put you on the right car."

"Okay." Billy, slid off the high seat, and it being spring loaded, snapped up into place with a loud bang. Billy jumped, then blushed. The conductor, smiling, took him by the hand and led him to a row of street cars waiting their turn to be dispatched. They passed several cars before the conductor called into a car standing with its doors open. "Hi there, Gus. This young fellow needs to be let off on 30th street. His Grandmother is meeting him there." A short, friendly exchange took place between the two men before the one helping Billy bent down, picked him up under the arm-pits, and set him inside the doorway. "There you go. Maybe I'll see ya on your way back. Old Gus here'll take good care of ya. Bye."

Billy said good-bye, then sat in the front seat across from the conductor, looking out the front of the car and watching the street signs as they grew larger in number. "There she is, "exclaimed Billy upon seeing his "Mums" standing on the corner of 30th Street.

"Okay, Sonny. Be careful getting off. Have a good time." The doors folded open and the step dropped down into place. "Bye," said Billy.

The doors closed behind him. "Clang, clang, clang." The dull ringing of the street car's incessant bell announced its departure.

"Hi, Mums." Billy called out aloud before his feet hit the pavement, then made a dash to where she stood and threw his arms about her waist in a spontaneous display of his love.

"Hey, easy there. You almost knocked your Mums down." She bent over, lovingly holding him close to her, then kissed him on the top of his head.

"Gee, I'm sorry." He squeezed her hard.

"Oh, don't you be sorry. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be knocked down by." She kissed him on the cheek and took hold of his hand. The loneliness for her grandson was displayed by the onrushing love they shared, Together, hand in hand, they walked down the street toward the center of the first block where Grandmother Munroe was now living. This was the second time Billy had been allowed to visit since her move to Oakland. "Did you have trouble transferring? I was really quite worried?"

"No. The conductor took me to the other street car. He was nice." Billy continued. "And, ya know, he knew the policeman that got killed. Did you know he was killed?" While Mums had stood waiting on the corner, she had heard a newspaper boy shouting the Post Enquirer Extra edition headlines,

"Policeman killed by burglar. Get your paper. Hey, read all about it. Policeman killed by burglar." At the time she had thought how it seemed that newspapers would make an extra edition of anything, if it would sell papers. The newspaper boys were forever in the streets shouting, "Extra, extra, this thing or that," enticing people to spend their hard-earned money for an over exaggerated story. Perhaps, she had reasoned, the killing of a policeman deserved an extra edition. Now, with Billy announcing he knew of the incident, she felt glad to have also been aware. "Yes. I heard the newsboy shouting the headlines. It is a terrible thing. His poor wife and children must. ...." Billy interrupted.

"He didn't have any children Mums."

"Oh, did the conductor tell you that?"

"No, Mums. I knew him." Billy's mood seemed to change. He lowered his head, but continued to talk. "He used to push my wagon, and he told me he didn't have any children."

Mums wasn't quite sure what to do with the conversation. She was inquisitive and wanted to hear more of Billy's knowledge about the policeman, yet she had become aware of Billy's deepening mood and thought it best to change the subject. She was about to speak when Billy began to explain how he would ride his wagon down the sidewalk and the policeman would come down from his porch to talk to him and give him a starting push back up the hill.

Billy did not like telling the story. It hurt. He wanted to cry. He let go of his Mum's hand and ran toward the gate where Mums was living. Mums raced after him. Reaching him, she knelt and folded Billy into her arms. He cried. His body heaved in great emotional surges, the tears streaming down his face. He buried his head against Mum's breasts, clinging to her in desperation.

"There, there." She consoled him, feeling the emotional convulsions which were raking his young body. "You've lost a friend. It is not easy to lose a friend nor to understand God's taking of him. You must always remember the kindness of your friend, Billy. Always remember the love he had for you. I am sure he loved you just as God does and as I do." She held him close, stroking his head and sharing in his deep felt grief. "Come into the house. We can talk about it there."

Billy tried to choke back the tears and the welled-up feelings struggling to escape from him. He took his grandmother's hand, and together they entered the house.

"God is mean, Mums." Billy spoke in a choked-up voice barely audible through the uncontrolled sniffling and sobbing.

"Yes, darling, sometimes God is mean. But I believe we tend to make Him that way. God wants us to be good people, to live by His word and to reward us with life hereafter. I am sure your friend is in God's hands."

"You think he went to Heaven?" Billy asked his question through sniffles and the wiping away of tears.

"Yes, I am sure he did."

"Mrs. Blair says I'll go to the Devil." He cried harder. His body contracted in spasms of uncontrolled grief and passions of fear. Death and Hell had come into Billy's life. Billy stayed two days with his Mums. They played games, went to the park and together they drove the highway from Oakland to Carmel and back, crossing all the bridges, and remembering their names.

They talked about God, the policeman, and why God chose to take the policeman. Billy loved his Mums and often told her so. She loved her grandson and often told him so. They talked of his father and how his father loved Billy. Billy enjoyed the days with his Mums.

Now, it was time for Billy to leave. "I hate Mrs. Blair, Mums." His words were truthfully spoken. A matter-of-fact statement made by an innocent child. Mums mentally staggered with the boldness and sincerity of Billy's pronouncement. She wanted to cast away the comment, to pretend it wasn't said, to reach through the cloak of hatred which was enveloping her loving grandson and dispel forever all visions and reflections of Mrs. Blair. She knew harm would come to him if he was to remain at the Blair's, but what could she do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, other than to pray for God's guidance, and protection.

"Why, oh why," she asked herself, "must a child suffer for the wrongs of his parents?" She brought Billy close to her, then said, "You must not hate, Billy. Mrs. Blair is doing what she believes is right. She is a religious person, Billy. We all see God in different ways, and because one person believes differently than another is no reason to hate them. She reached down, placing her hand gently under his chin and raising his face to hers. "I want you to remember these words, Billy." Then ever so tenderly, with love she felt for her troubled grandson, she said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

"What's it mean?"

"It means you should treat people the way you want them to treat you."

Billy replied, "Mrs. Blair doesn't do that."

"It may be that she doesn't, but you must try to. So will you promise that?"

"Yes, Mums. I promise."

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the corner to wait for the street car which would take Billy back to where neither of them wanted him to go. Mums waved for the approaching street car to stop. Billy climbed onto the stopped car, still holding his Mums' hand. She stood in the street. Billy turned, squared his shoulders and released his grandmother's hand. "I love you, Mums. Bye."

"I love you too, Billy. You are a good boy, sweetheart. Remember that."

The doors closed. The street car moved away. Mums turned to walk back to her house. Her eyes were filled with tears. Her heart was sad. Billy wanted to be a good boy.