Through the closed waiting room door, Pastor Zeke’s voice thundered like a jet engine, rising to a shout now to exhort the sinners to repent, glory glory glory. Dwayne imagined he’d be throwing up his arms and shaking his hands like tambourines. There’d be sweat stains under the arms of the suit by now. Pastor Zeke worked hard for his flock.

Dwayne paced over to look at a faded copy of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus looked more like a man with a moonshine hangover than a three-day corpse. Dwayne knew what a three-day corpse looked like, because his Uncle Fisher Stevens had found one floating in the crick back of the house when he was fifteen. Three-days dead in Louisiana water, chewed by turtles and crawfish.

Awful hot in the church today. Dwayne mopped at the back of his neck with a wadded-up handkerchief; through the closed door he heard the organ break into a wheezing chorus of “Washed In The Blood.” The only other baptismal candidate, little Alton Neames, bounced in his chair like he had to go pee.

The waiting room door swung open, and Pastor Zeke Clayburn stuck his head in and grinned with white square store-bought teeth, mostly at Missy Collier, who grinned right back.

“God bless, folks, we’re ready. You ready, Alton? You ready to stand up for Jesus?”

Alton looked ready to raise his hand for the bath-room, but he hopped off his chair and took Pastor Zeke’s hand. Dwayne stepped aside to let Missy go ahead, and took his place last in line. He followed her swinging white robe up three red-carpeted steps to the baptismal tank.

When he looked out into the church, Dwayne went weak. He’d never figured it would happen, but he was scared, scared to death to be standing up in front of all these folks. He knew ’em all—heck, he’d grown up with most of ’em—but suddenly they were a bunch of faces, and not very friendly faces, at that.

Pastor Zeke seemed to be about seven feet tall when he stripped off his powder blue suit coat and tie. He took a white handerkchief out of his pocket, kicked off his shoes, and stepped down in the baptismal tank, right down in the water up to his waist. His hair looked old-testament white, his eyes blue as swords. He gestured to little Alton to join him in the tank, and while the organ continued to play another chorus or two, Alton shook his head and hopped from one foot to another until Pastor Zeke managed to get him to take the first step, then one more.