The Bastard Hand Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked at me when he said that and grinned, then picked up a black book from his podium. He said, “Our guest speaker is running a little late this evening, so I’ll just go ahead and get us rolling. Let us pray.”
    Everyone stood instinctively and bowed their heads. I followed suit, and Reverend Page said, “Our Lord in Heaven. Please hear us as we gather here tonight in Your name, and keep us safe. We are sinners, Dear Lord, mere sinners, but we beg you to take mercy on our souls, and we ask that You bestow Your blessings on us—”
    It went on like that for a while and finally Page said, “Amen,” and the word went around the church. I was about to sit down when Page said, “Please remain standing. Pick up your hymnals and turn to page one-thirty-eight.”
    The rustling of clothes, a few coughs, as everyone followed his instructions. The old woman handed me a hymnal that had been sitting on the bench next to her. The girl at the piano rattled a few keys, and then the choir led the entire church in “Just A Closer Walk With Thee”.
    We were just getting to the end of the song when I spotted Reverend Childe sneaking onto the stage from the right. He walked slowly, his head down, and his lips moved to the lyrics of the hymn as he approached the podium. Page saw him, nodded with a smile as he sang.
    The choir wrapped up the number with a rock ’n’ roll flourish, then everyone started to sit back down.
    Page and Childe conferred with each other for a few seconds as everyone got settled, then Page nodded, clapped Reverend Childe on the shoulder, and turned back to the congregation. He said, “This is a special night, indeed. I can just feel it in my bones, someone’s gonna get saved tonight!”
    “Amen!”
    “Amen!”
    “Praise God!”
    “The Right Reverend Phinneas Childe has come to speak with us tonight, Brothers and Sisters! Please make him feel welcome!”
    Sporadic applause, but the profusion of amens and praise Gods made up for it. Reverend Childe approached the podium, gripping his Bible to his chest, and nodded appreciatively to the congregation.
    The Reverend’s first words sent my stomach plummeting to the floor and made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
    Grinning widely, he waved his arms in the air and shouted in a TV announcer voice, “Helloooooo, niggers!”
    And then there was silence. Dead silence.
    It seemed to stretch on forever, that sharp and empty quiet that reared up in the church. But nothing needed to be said. I could feel it, coming from every square inch of the place—first a sort of hurt bafflement, then a general anger that shaped itself quickly into hard rage. Behind Childe, Page’s mouth fell open and he stared in amazement at the back of Childe’s head.
    I found myself slipping down in the pew until my head barely peeked over the top of the backrest.
    Then someone in the back of the church stood up and yelled, “What is the meaning of this?”
    That seemed to get everyone going again. Suddenly voices were raised all over the room, angry shouts, threatening words, and more than a few not-very-Christian suggestions. The entire congregation began surging forward as one, fists shaking in the air and violence looming.
    Reverend Childe raised his hands and shouted to be heard above the outraged din. “Please, please! Listen to me, Brothers and Sisters!”
    Next to me, the old lady screamed, “You got the nerve, you lily-white bag of bones! We ain’t your brothers and sisters!”
    More cries of agreement. Someone said, “Get him out of here!” and the men and women of Haley Baptist stampeded toward the podium. Reverend Page stepped in front of them, crying, “People, please calm yourselves!”
    “Calm nothing, Reverend!” an old man said. “Who does he think he is, coming into our church and insulting us? He’s got the devil in him, and I say we beat it out of him!”
    A rumble of bloodthirsty righteousness followed, very Old Testament, all blood and anger and