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"
I
been
thinkin
’
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
been
in
the
hills
,
thinkin
’
,
almost
you
might
say
like
Jesus
went
into
the
wilderness
to
think
His
way
out
of
a
mess
of
troubles
.
"
"
Pu
-
raise
Gawd
!
"
Granma
said
,
and
the
preacher
glanced
over
at
her
in
surprise
.
"
Seems
like
Jesus
got
all
messed
up
with
troubles
,
and
He
couldn
’
t
figure
nothin
’
out
,
an
’
He
got
to
feelin
’
what
the
hell
good
is
it
all
,
an
’
what
’
s
the
use
fightin
’
an
’
figurin
’
.
Got
tired
,
got
good
an
’
tired
,
an
’
His
sperit
all
wore
out
.
Jus
’
about
come
to
the
conclusion
,
the
hell
with
it
.
An
’
so
He
went
off
into
the
wilderness
.
"
"
A
-
men
,
"
Granma
bleated
.
So
many
years
she
had
timed
her
responses
to
the
pauses
.
And
it
was
so
many
years
since
she
had
listened
to
or
wondered
at
the
words
used
.
"
I
ain
’
t
sayin
’
I
’
m
like
Jesus
,
"
the
preacher
went
on
.
"
But
I
got
tired
like
Him
,
an
’
I
got
mixed
up
like
Him
,
an
’
I
went
into
the
wilderness
like
Him
,
without
no
campin
’
stuff
.
Nighttime
I
’
d
lay
on
my
back
an
’
look
up
at
the
stars
;
morning
I
’
d
set
an
’
watch
the
sun
come
up
;
midday
I
’
d
look
out
from
a
hill
at
the
rollin
’
dry
country
;
evenin
’
I
’
d
foller
the
sun
down
.
Sometimes
I
’
d
pray
like
I
always
done
.
On
’
y
I
couldn
’
figure
what
I
was
prayin
’
to
or
for
.
There
was
the
hills
,
an
’
there
was
me
,
an
’
we
wasn
’
t
separate
no
more
.
We
was
one
thing
.
An
’
that
one
thing
was
holy
.
"
"
Hallelujah
,
"
said
Granma
,
and
she
rocked
a
little
,
back
and
forth
,
trying
to
catch
hold
of
an
ecstasy
.
"
An
’
I
got
thinkin
’
,
on
’
y
it
wasn
’
t
thinkin
,
it
was
deeper
down
than
thinkin
’
.
I
got
thinkin
’
how
we
was
holy
when
we
was
one
thing
,
an
’
mankin
’
was
holy
when
it
was
one
thing
.
An
’
it
on
’
y
got
unholy
when
one
mis
’
able
little
fella
got
the
bit
in
his
teeth
an
’
run
off
his
own
way
,
kickin
’
an
’
draggin
’
an
’
fightin
’
.
Fella
like
that
bust
the
holiness
.
But
when
they
’
re
all
workin
’
together
,
not
one
fella
for
another
fella
,
but
one
fella
kind
of
harnessed
to
the
whole
shebangthat
’
s
right
,
that
’
s
holy
.
An
’
then
I
got
thinkin
’
I
don
’
t
even
know
what
I
mean
by
holy
.
"
He
paused
,
but
the
bowed
heads
stayed
down
,
for
they
had
been
trained
like
dogs
to
rise
at
the
"
amen
"
signal
.
"
I
can
’
t
say
no
grace
like
I
use
’
ta
say
.
I
’
m
glad
of
the
holiness
of
breakfast
.
I
’
m
glad
there
’
s
love
here
.
That
’
s
all
.
"
The
heads
stayed
down
.
The
preacher
looked
around
.
"
I
’
ve
got
your
breakfast
cold
,
"
he
said
;
and
then
he
remembered
.
"
Amen
,
"
he
said
,
and
all
the
heads
rose
up
.
"
A
-
men
,
"
said
Granma
,
and
she
fell
to
her
breakfast
,
and
broke
down
the
soggy
biscuits
with
her
hard
old
toothless
gums
.
Tom
ate
quickly
,
and
Pa
crammed
his
mouth
.
There
was
no
talk
until
the
food
was
gone
,
the
coffee
drunk
;
only
the
crunch
of
chewed
food
and
the
slup
of
coffee
cooled
in
transit
to
the
tongue
.
Ma
watched
the
preacher
as
he
ate
,
and
her
eyes
were
questioning
,
probing
and
understanding
.
She
watched
him
as
though
he
were
suddenly
a
spirit
,
not
human
any
more
,
a
voice
out
of
the
ground
.
The
men
finished
and
put
down
their
plates
,
and
drained
the
last
of
their
coffee
;
and
then
the
men
went
out
,
Pa
and
the
preacher
and
Noah
and
Grampa
and
Tom
,
and
they
walked
over
to
the
truck
,
avoiding
the
litter
of
furniture
,
the
wooden
bedsteads
,
the
windmill
machinery
,
the
old
plow
.
They
walked
to
the
truck
and
stood
beside
it
.
They
touched
the
new
pine
side
-
boards
.
