Free The Black Mass of Brother Springer by Charles Willeford

here. For the others—" he shrugged, "I cannot speak. You will have to prove yourself to them. I am in the throes of a deep personal problem."
           He hesitated and I opened my mouth to say something, but he held up his hand. "No, Reverend, I won't burden you at this time, but after you are settled, and when I get to know you better, I will seek your counsel. Although you are undoubtedly a bonafide minister of our church, and I am speaking frankly, you are a white man, and there is an element of distrust deep within me of all white men. Our church has as one of its basic premises to love one another, white or black, but I will have difficulty in overcoming—" Dr. Jensen's face was twisted and distorted and he could not look me in the eyes. "I hope I have not offended you, Reverend. I try to be a good man and a true Christian, and I feel that I can speak frankly to you."
           "You can, Dr. Jensen," I said. "I am willing to serve the members of my parish twenty-four hours a day. I will be here tonight and every night. When you feel ready to unburden yourself, I will help you with the strength that has been given me by the Lord. And I will pray for you."
           "Thank you, Reverend Springer. Again, I am glad that you are here to help lead us out of the wilderness."
           We shook hands. I followed the dentist to the door, and as he cautiously dismounted from the porch, I called after him, "Go with God."
           Alone in the house I opened all of the windows to let the humid air infiltrate the house. There was a gentle breeze, and the draft between the open window in the bedroom and the open window in the study was cool on my face. I undressed hurriedly, anxious to be rid of the stifling covert suit, and in my underwear, I explored my new quarters thoroughly. There was a slight slope to the floor; the frame building was set on brick columns three feet above the ground, but it was a gentle slant and I felt that I could learn to live with it. A huge roll-top desk in the study with a swivel chair would be excellent for my work as a writer, and there was a leatherette couch along the wall for horizontal contemplation.
           A small bookcase contained two yards of back number National Geographic magazines, several bibles, a Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, and seven songbooks containing hymns. There was no thesaurus, and I would have to buy one when I received my first twenty dollars Sunday night. Every professional writer needs a thesaurus.
           The barbecue sauce that had been so thickly soaked through the ribs I had eaten for dinner had been very hot, and I kept tasting the sauce in my throat and nose. I fixed a pitcher of ice water, turned out all of the lights, and returned to the desk to study.
           As I slowly drank the ice water, a swallow at a time out of the pitcher's spout, I thought vaguely about my wife, and wondered how she was making out. Perhaps I could send her ten dollars Sunday? No, she could hardly be helped by such a small amount. Maybe, after a few days, or weeks, she would telephone her mother for bus fare back to Columbus. I hoped so; I felt sorry for her all alone in Miami. But I could hardly bring Virginia to Jax, not after the nice home I had provided for her at Ocean Pine Terraces...
           I sighed, and took another long swallow of the ice water. There were more important matters to think about than Virginia.
     
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    No. 37. "I wait for the Lord...and in His words I do hope." Psalm 130:5. Good for 1 hour, sometimes 2. Follow with "What hast thou done?" Genesis 4:10 to fill in till time.
     
           The above was Sermon No. 37 in a small black notebook I found in the rolltop desk the next morning after a night of fitful sleep. There were fifty similarly worded sermons in the little book, and on the last page of the sermon listings there was the cryptic note, "Start at the beginning." I assumed that after