Marigold inspected the flyer again. The drawing of the tent showed a large crowd gathered inside. “That looks like a lot of people.”

“Oh sure,” said the short man. “This state is just ripe and ready for Jesus.”

“Jeeee-zuss,” said the tall man in a whisper.

The short man said, “Folks is coming from all over to see the New Work.”

“Will I get to see healings?” she asked. “Real healings?”

The men looked at each other. “If the Lord wills. You’ll see everythin’ there ever was to see.”

“Revival is fixin’ to hit Alabama.”

“Glory,” said the short man.

Sixty-Six
Change of Heart

Joseph and Coot slept in hammocks near the giant bay. The sound of water lapping against the sand was enough to make Coot remember an entire lifetime. It was a beautiful night. It was humid and chilly, even though it was summer. The air was so damp, it made Coot’s cold clothes stick to him, and he could see his breath in the night air. He could see why Blake had missed this place so much. It was a kind of heaven.

Joseph was awake in the hammock beside him, smoking a cigar.

“Can I try one of those fancy smokes?” Coot asked.

Joseph lobbed a paper box of cigars at him. Coot removed one and smelled it. He didn’t care for the aroma. He lit one end and puffed on the other, but nothing happened.

“I must be doing something wrong,” said Coot.

Joseph laughed but did not rise from his hammock. “You dummy, you gotta bite off one end first.”

Coot bit one end, then spit it on the ground. It made him remember Blake and the stubs he used to chew. Coot lit the cigar until the tip radiated orange in the darkness. He took one puff and almost gagged. “This thing tastes awful,” he said.

Joseph nearly passed a kidney stone from laughter. “An acquired taste, son.”

“I don’t wanna acquire it.”

“Well, don’t waste it. Give it to me. I’ll smoke two.”

Coot handed him the lit cigar. Joseph placed it in the other side of his mouth and grinned. “You are a different boy,” said Joseph, removing both cigars at once, blowing smoke. “First time I met you, I said to myself, ‘This fella’s special.’ I can read people, you know. But I’m not as good inside as you.”

“I ain’t good.”

“You’re too good for your own good.” Joseph coughed. “I wish I were half as pure as you.”

“That cough doesn’t sound so good, Joe,” said Coot. “Don’t you think we oughta get it looked at?”

“We sure gave them holy rollers what-for tonight, didn’t we, boy? Made me feel fifty years younger.”