Free John Crow's Devil by Marlon James

not think it strange. When he let go she could taste his salt on her lips.
    “Y—I—we—ye—”
    “Wasn’t exactly a shining moment, y’know, Lucinda. Driving a man of God out of the church. That was one cup that I prayed would pass. Look at me. Even a fallen man of God is still a man of God, y’know, Lucinda. He’s still my brother. If we were all so perfect why would we need the Son of God? Lucinda, maybe Bligh needs Him more now than ever and instead of driving him out we should be greeting him with a holy kiss. I mean, doesn’t Second Corinthians say that after we expel the immoral brother we must welcome him back or risk the Devil’s will be done?”
    “I don’t, I don’t understand.”
    “Shhh. Don’t work your head about it too much. The Lord has forgiven me and as His faithful servant, I have forgiven Pastor Bligh. You know where he is?”
    “Yes, Apostle.”
    “Send him a message for me. Tell him that Apostle York says that he can come back.”

SCHISM
    B y five o’clock, fat amber clouds had shaded trees orange, a shock before nightfall. Dampness and drip gave the weekday the stamp of Sunday. Evening rain made a day forget herself, but never her purpose. Rain did the same for people, frightening them to cover or freeing them to expose, but never allowing them to forget their purpose. This damn blasted rain was holding her back. And yet this could not wait until tomorrow. Nothing he said could ever wait. Lucinda was to tell the Widow Greenfield that the Pastor would be allowed back into church, but only to worship. She must be told tonight. Delay was disease. The only cure for procrastination was purpose. She covered her head with newspaper and ran down to the end of Brillo Road.
    As she came up to the crossroads, Lucinda saw the Widow’s house, its sole front window flickering with dim light. But as she stepped and splashed in the road’s center, a multitude of black wings, a hundred or a thousand, burst out in a thunderous flutter. She was blind in the darkness, but when the wings flapped, the air shook. Demon-sized crows. Man-sized demons. They shrieked and spun with the wind. Lucinda screamed and heard her voice vanish in the vortex. She would be sucked up in the swirling darkness. Lucinda shut her eyes tight and hummed a hymn. She opened them slowly to see them gone and the rain weakened to a drizzle. She ran to the house.
    “Mrs. Greenfield? Mrs. Greenfield?” She listened for a flutter. Her last knock swung through empty space. The Widow had opened the door. “Mrs. Greenfield.”
    “Kiss me raas. What you doin here?”
    “Mrs. Greenfield, I—”
    “You goin stay outside and get wet up or you comin inside?”
    “Me never did plan to, but—”
    “Suit yourself.”
    “Mrs. Greenfield—”
    “Make me ask you something,” the Widow interrupted in that tone the Rum Preacher knew. “You see any Mr. Greenfield here?”
    “Well … ah … no.”
    “Then why the backfoot you calling me Mrs. Greenfield? You forget say me know you long time? Long before you get high and mighty like God love you special.”
    “Our Father love everybody special.”
    “Yes, but everybody know Him have a real special love for you.”
    “Anyway, me never come here fi talk bout me.”
    “Eehi? Then what you come for? Come make we go lap frock tail and labrish, cause me no know what you could want from the Widow woman.”
    “Is not me why him dead, y’know.”
    For nearly a minute the Widow stood at her doorway, starched and beaten. Lucinda’s eyes swept the ground as she listened for a sudden flutter. The Widow’s hands trembled. She felt them coming, memories banished years ago of her husband’s crushed face hidden in a closed casket. Memories that came back because of this bitch, her enemy ever since adolescence gave the Widow bigger breasts and beefier buttocks. The Widow came into an even greater hatred of her, something renewed for the day.
    “At least him don’t have to hide from you no