Take Me to Church

- one

"Sister, you have quite the nerve to be walkin' 'round here."

"Brother, I ain't ever heard of somebody needing nerve to go out and buy some groceries."

I ain't ever seen a man go so red with anger—or at all, as Mama had it—as preacher man did when Rivka threw those words at him. He must 'a never been tried before in his life, but wasn't about to stop there. No, no; not when he had an audience for this.

"Oh, I see the nerve in it," he barreled on, "I see you walkin' 'bout and spreadin' your evil about you. Why! Look there; you damn near kidnapped that poor girl as she was coming off the bus!"

He turned a righteous finger over in my direction, green eyes wide and frantic as he looked my way. I didn't see a reason to accuse the woman in front of him; she done no more than catch me as I slipped on a step. I reckon I woulda cracked my head open if it weren't for her. But preacher man wasn't having that notion. He wanted something vile, tryin' rile her up like there weren't no tomorrow.

"Ha! Now I'm a kidnapper!" Rivka let out a bitter laugh, short and barking. "Yesterday, I was a cradle robber. Today, a kidnapper! You's a funny man, Marsellas; I'll give you that."

Now Marsellas laughed. A flick of his head, as if he were some kind of nodding horse, and he proceeded to turn back to his makeshift congregation. His off-white suit with his purple shirt and equally off-white tie made him look comical, but I was an outsider in this. I could spot the admiration in the eyes of people in the crowd and I summed up they must have been used to it.

He puffed out his chest, surveying them a moment longer before shooting another righteous finger in the direct of Rivka, her response to it only the raise of a slim brow and an expectant expression.

"This woman—this witch (Lord! Don't strike down your servant for utterin' such a villainous word!)—intends to lay hands on our youth! Watch her paint herself the saint when she ain't no more than the Devil's harlot."

There was a collective gasp as the audience appraised Rivka, the aforementioned "Devil's harlot". I thought the crowd woulda turned into an angry mob, but instead they were shocked by her indifference. Her lips, red and full, turned up in a smile for a moment. With a simple flick of her wrist, she brushed back dark brown strands of hair out her eyes. There wasn't any sort of protest from the tall woman, just the same stare.

This only seemed to spur Marsellas on, running emerald ringed fingers through his marvelously slicked back hair. Another puff of his chest, an idle stroke of the clipped beard on his face and then he was off again.

"She don't even deny it! She gon' wring this poor girl of her soul and lead her to the depths of Hell! Satan works in this woman! I say!"

It was then that the preacher man placed a hand on my arm, as if to pull me towards the crowd. He gave me a nod something sweet, encouraging was his gaze. Then he did pull me, directing me forward under the small awning under the shop. I didn't much want to meet his eyes so I looked on over at Rivka's previous destination.

She'd asked me if I was fixin' to take a walk with her, and I said yes. So walked on we did when preacher man found us. Now, underneath the peeling green and flaking white of the small grocer's, he held me hostage. But I was somethin' confused; why'd he think so badly of Rivka? All that I'd known of her was nice things, but all he had to say were insults and jibes. I was about ready to have my foot meet his shoe—looked like snake skin, must have been expensive—when he made another proclamation.

"Why, she even plays with the weather! I know it's hot in July, and I know I sweat something fierce when the sun gets overhead, but it's been getting cold," he rumbled, his words dying down softly. The congregation had to lean in to hear what he was saying, which I reckon was exactly what he wanted. It meant he had their undivided attention.

"Now, I know the Lord gave us seasons and this ain't the season for it to be cold! It's sum'er! We ain't in the mid'le o' winter! So, why—I ask y'all smart folk standin' round here—why's it so cold 'round here? Why we gotta warn our kids 'bout the cold and to bring a coat? I'll tell y'all why—this woman done hexed this county to be colder than her soul!"

To put emphasis on his point, he slammed his fist—which had been shaking in the air over his head while he still held on to me with one hand—down on a barrel. We all must o' missed it, because the black cat that had been Rivka's little companion 'til I showed up sprang right on off the barrel. Hair standin' on end and tail going up to be near vertical with the barrel, the poor tom hissed up a storm.

In several quick bounds, he was perched on Rivka's shoulder. Still hissing, he swiped a paw—showin' off his sharp set of claws for all to see in retaliation. But then he did somethin' that stopped everybody in their tracks (not like they was goin' anywhere to begin with); the damn cat spoke.

"I know your fake snake skin shoe wearin' ass ain't talkin' 'bout her like that. You better watch yo'self, homes."

Clear as the sky up above, his voice rang out. Ain't nobody ever seen a talking cat, it seemed, 'cause everybody was stuck in place. 'Cept Rivka, who gave him a quick tap on the nose and firm instructions to hush up. But this gave preacher man Marsellas somethin' to hold on to.

"She even communes with demons," he roared, throwing me behind him.

He continued on with a dull host of words against her, all while she remained cool and collected. But the congregation was riled up, kicking up a fuss and calling for her to get on out. Go back to where she came from. Where did she come from? The woman had pretty much just manifested out of thin air in front of me at the bus stop, waiting to catch me.

And now she just stood there like it was no bother. No bother at all to be fussed at, pecked at, hollered at. Like it all meant nothin' to her. She looked so bored with the angry mob that I thought she'd fall asleep standing.

She watched them for a moment longer, then pursed her lips. I was figuring she would be ready to say something about it all, but she didn't. 'Fact, she just turned and made her way to walk off. Confused, I almost watched her leave me behind.

"Wait," I called out, my voice somehow reaching over the crowd, "How'd he do that?"

She stopped to look back at me, and the cat's ears perked up. The sleek thing placed a bright-eyed gaze—too many colors in those two little eyes, if you ask me—but said nothing. Looked like it didn't wanna talk for me just then.

"Do what?"

She just outright denied it. Pretty hard to do with a crowd of folks who would swear up and down that the cat spoke and that she was an advocate of the devil. But then she smiled and I knew I had to find out what that smile hid. So I slid out from the grasp of  Marsellas and hobbled along with my backpack after the dark haired woman.

//and there you have it. the first chapter; finally. this will be updated on Sundays. so what do you think is gonna happen next? will the cat speak again or, y'know, stay silent--which I doubt because he never shuts up. if you see something wrong, please let me know. comments and votes are appreciated and may or may not be rewarded with one line previews of the next chapter. cheers, rem.