Read Online Bone Music by Alan Rodgers - Free Book Online

lying there, Blind Willie. It ain’t the time for you to go to no reward.”
    The gravediggers sidled away from Wheatstraw; one of them mumbled something about a burial he needed to attend to.
    The corpse lay silent, still as stone.
    “Get on with you, Blind Willie! Ain’t no use you try to lie there. The angel Death already come for you, took you home, and brought you back. She left you here on earth where you belong.”
    Blind Willie didn’t answer.
    One of the gravediggers cleared his throat. “He’s dead, Mister. Can’t you see?”
    Peetie Wheatstraw looked up. “You think I don’t know? I know a dead man when I see one.” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ Almighty, what do you think I am?”
    The grave digger gave no more answer than the carcass had.
    “You got to understand,” Peetie Wheatstraw said. “This isn’t any ordinary body. Blind Willie — he’s a Hoodoo Doctor. Being dead ain’t no problem for a hoodoo man.”
    And suddenly the corpse sat bolt upright in its casket.
    “Damn you!” Blind Willie shouted. “Damn your hide to Hell, Peetie Wheatstraw!”
    Peetie Wheatstraw laughed so hard he like to fall into the open grave. Two of the gravediggers turned and ran for their lives; the third would’ve run with them if he hadn’t been too scared to move.
    Blind Willie scowled; he mumbled curses so quiet that only the Devil heard them — but those curses were so foul that the Devil took delight to hear Blind Willie speak them.
    “Your time has come and gone, Blind Willie. But the world still needs you, and you’re here. You better get used to the idea.”
    Blind Willie wouldn’t hear it. “Go away,” he said. “You want to talk to me, I’ll see you at the rapture.”
    That got Peetie Wheatstraw started laughing all over again.
    “It ain’t a going to work, Blind Willie. The blues have got you, and they’ve made you to a Doctor.”
    “I never sang no blues,” Blind Willie said. “I sang to serve the Lord.”
    Peetie Wheatstraw rolled his eyes. “We all serve the Lord,” he said. “God makes us who we are.”
    “You’re wrong,” Blind Willie said. “I seen the light, and I seen the darkness. I seen the halls of hell and I seen what folks who dwell there. God never made a place like that for anyone He loves.”
    Now suddenly Wheatstraw grew serious and sober, and when he spoke he spoke so quietly that even Blind Willie — dead and alive with the hoodoo that consumed him despite every good intention — so quietly that Blind Willie hardly heard him. “God loves us all so dear He makes us free to grow as great as we can dare.”
    “Free to be wrong, you mean. Free to sin!”
    “Damn right.”
    “You better get yourself religion, boy,” Blind Willie said. “You better learn to serve the Lord.”
    Wheatstraw didn’t answer right away, and when he did answer he answered at right angles to the point. “Get up, Blind Willie. That grave no longer can contain you.”
    Blind Willie didn’t answer that at all. He sat perched still as stone in his coffin, staring at the horizon for the longest time.
    And then he began to pray.
    On toward late afternoon a cold wind came down off the plains, and now the boneyard took a chill as deep as death. After a while Peetie Wheatstraw put his arm around the gravedigger who was still too terrified to move, and led him back to town.

Spanish Harlem
    The Present
    Everything should’ve been great after Lisa came back. It should have been fine and wonderful and true; it should have been a renewal that gave them life where life had slipped away. But it didn’t work that way, because life never works that way: Lisa woke to her new life as angry as a jaybird frightening a pigeon.
    It was hard to see at first, because she was still in her heart a good little girl who spoke politely and minded what her mother told her — but underneath the goodness and the deference the girl had a temper.
    A bad, bad temper.
    Emma first saw it the morning after