The Feet of God

68 - AMERICAN GOTHIC

Edith continued smiling, “Like I said, friend, they’re for church.  And you’re welcome to join us for services.”

Virgil’s eyes hardened in the rear view mirror.  “When the spirit speaks and the anointing is upon us we pass the serpents person to person and no bad thing happens.  We are people of the spirit.  We don’t have no truck with empty ritual, like them liberal sinners.  It’s straight out of the Good Book.”

“You do snake handle’n?”

Edith beamed, “Every Sabbath and Wednesday night service, and for a whole week in the summer during revival, we affirm our faith.”

“Amen,” Virgil bowed his head.

“Amen,” Edith solemnly declared.

I noticed Virgil had the left-turn indicator on for about the past two miles, and his hand wasn’t too steady on the wheel as the van deviated in its lane.  Suddenly Edith seemed alarmed and she covered her eyes.  We veered over the shoulder of the road then up and over an embankment of scrub bushes.

Thankfully, Virgil was alert to the fact we was moving fast down a steep slope to a water-filled ravine, and he moved spry and quick enough to yank that steering wheel hard.  The van skidded and bounced and almost tipped.  Edith shrieked.  I might’a screamed.  Gravel and dirt was fly’n everywhere, then we slammed four worn tires back onto the paved road.  For three heartbeats the van was silent, except for a commotion from the box in the back, when the more familiar sound of a siren gaining on us caused us all to look at the road behind.  Yup, a cop was on our tail.

Again Virgil glared into the rear view mirror, “No good deed goes unpunished it seems.”  He pulled the van over and stopped for law enforcement.  As he killed the engine everything went quiet, even the goddamned snakes settled down.  I slid the leather briefcase between my legs, and I watched the cop get off his motorcycle and come our way.

The cop tapped on the driver’s side window.  I could see he was wearing reflective aviator glasses, just like a movie cop.  Virgil dutifully rolled down the window.

“Brother Virgil,” the cop saluted him.

“Brother Vern,” Virgil smiled back in recognition.

“Good morning, Sister Edith,” the cop tipped his helmet and removed his sunglasses.  “On your way to church, are ya?” he inquired.

“Now Brother Vern, where else on Earth would the little lady and I be driving to on a God-blessed Sunday morning like this?”

The cop’s attention turned to me.  “Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, and Amen to that.  I couldn’t help but notice that you swerved a bit back there.  Is everything all right?”  He looked at Virgil again, then back at me.  “Are you okay, Brother Virgil?”

Virgil laughed.  “I’m sorry about that, Brother Vern.  Edith and I picked up this pilgrim along the way and we’ve invited him to services this morning and, well, like most worldly folk, he’s not been exposed to the spirit and he became concerned about the vipers.  I was reassuring him, and probably took my eyes off the road for a moment.”

The cop turned to me all suspicious-like.  “Where you comin’ from, hoss?”

“Bakersfield,” I answered.  My calves felt up the briefcase loaded with money and the armed automatic.

“Headed where?”

“Florida, most likely.”  I started to sweat, and craved to be alone and far away with a pitcher of ice-cold beer.

Brother Vern and Brother Virgil commiserated in a conspiratorial tone about the decline of true belief in America, and they whispered about pointy-headed artsy-fartsy intellectuals, secular humanists and the sons of Ham, when I come to a spiritual realization and reached out in silent prayer of my own:  Please deliver me from these crazy people, O please!

That’s when deliverance unexpectedly arrived.  A white Buick limo came from outta nowhere, and a dark-tinted window slowly rolled down.