When Solomon Sings (21 page)
Read When Solomon Sings Online
Authors: Kendra Norman-Bellamy
Neil sighed. “Stop saying that. You're not about to die.”
“No ... not today, and not tomorrow either, but I wanna go before it gets bad. I admit that I been puttin' on some of the time, but I have more bad days now than I used to, so I got a feelin' that the time will come more sooner than later. I ain't scared. Whenever the good Lord is ready, I'm ready too. And when I go, I want you to sing at the funeral.”
“Oh come on, Deac. Let's not talk about this right now.”
“Shh! Listen at me, boy.” Homer's hand was back on top of Neil's. “I ain't plannin' to go nowhere yet, but I want you to know some things just in case God sees fit to take me whether I'm plannin' to go or not.” Neil's back slumped against the headboard as he allowed Homer to continue. “I know wit' all that's in me that you anointed. In the Bible, God had prophets who He anointed to speak and a man would live, or they could speak and a man would lie down and die. I believe He done gave you that same anointing in your voice. You don't use it enough, Deacon.
“You seen how all those young folks came to the Lord the other Sunday while you was up there singing?” Neil nodded. He remembered, but he didn't think Deacon Burgess would. That must have been one of his acting days. “When I leave here, I want you to sing; you hear?” Homer had a look on his face that said he meant business. “I want you to sing like you givin' me the best send-off to heaven that there ever was. I ain't gonna tell you what to sing, 'cause God might give you a brand new song, one you made up just for that day.”
Neil didn't know about all that. It had been awhile since he'd actually written any original lyrics. It hadn't been anything he'd been inspired to do ... not since Dwayne died.
“Don't you shortchange God none.” Homer said it like he was in Neil's head and had heard his thoughts. “I told you long time ago that you ain't even scratched the surface of what God's gonna do wit' that voice of yours. He gon' give you some new songs, and them songs gonna do some amazin' things. The one you sing at my funeral might make me wanna rise up out that box and cut one last step before going to glory for good.”
Homer laughed, but Neil didn't see the humor. “Deacâ”
“I ain't heard you promise me my song yet.”
Neil conceded because he knew he had no choice. “Promise.”
“Something else you need to know is that I got a life insurance policy. It ain't a whole heap, but they'll be plenty left after my burial is paid for. When I go, I want you to have the leftovers.”
That made Neil sit up straight, and then lean forward. “But what about your children?”
“What chil'ren?”
Neil searched Homer's face to see if Alzheimer's was sneaking up on him. “
Your
children, Deacon Burgess. You still have living childrenâfive of them, all sonsâand they would expect you to give them,
not me
, your money during that time.”
Your
children, Deacon Burgess. You still have living childrenâfive of them, all sonsâand they would expect you to give them,
not me
, your money during that time.”
“And they got a livin' daddy. It ain't but one of me, and I expected them,
not you
, to be the ones here wit' me during this time.” He picked up his glasses from the nightstand and put them on his face before dramatically looking around the room for added effect. “I don't see a single one of âem sittin' in this here room wit' me. Do you?”
not you
, to be the ones here wit' me during this time.” He picked up his glasses from the nightstand and put them on his face before dramatically looking around the room for added effect. “I don't see a single one of âem sittin' in this here room wit' me. Do you?”
Neil thought the question was rhetorical, but when Homer looked at him and said nothing further, it was apparent that he wanted an answer. “No, sir. Not today, butâ”
“You seen any of 'em come by and visit me yesterday?”
“No, sir.”
“What about the day âfo' that?”
“No, sir.” This could go on forever, and Neil's answer wouldn't change. As he thought about it, he realized that he hadn't seen any of Homer's sons since the old man had to be put in the hospital almost year ago. And it seemed that the only reason they'd gotten together then was to break the news to Homer that they had made the decision to place him in a nursing facility.
“Well, all right then.” Deacon Burgess took off his glasses and placed them back where he'd gotten them. “Like I said, I want you to have it, and just so my hardheaded boys don't give you no legal trouble, I already got it in my will, and my lawyer got a recorded message of me talking that he'll play at that time, too. It won't be no mistaking that I was in my right mind when I changed the will. The money is all yours. Just give me an honorable burying, pay tithe to the church off what's left, and then do what you want with the rest.”
Neil was about to say something, but Homer spoke up again. “And this here house, I'm leavin' that to you, too, but I want you to give it to Teena. She gave up her place to move in here to take care of me, and I think she really likes my house. I wanna be sure she still got a nice, stable place to stay when I'm gone. In the will, the house is left to you. It don't say nothin' âbout you givin' it to Teena, so I need you to promise me you'll see to it that she gets it at no cost. I paid this house off years ago. It ain't costing me nothing to live here. It won't cost you nothing when it's passed on to you, and I don't want it to cost her nothing to get it from you. You hear?”
Neil nodded. “Sure, Deac.” He needed to lighten the mood. “But what if she marries that drummer at the church? Is it gonna be okay for him to stay here too?”
Homer took a moment to ponder before saying, “Ol' sorry rascal. He ought to have a house of his own to move his wife in. It ought not to be the other way. But if it comes down to it, then yeah, he can stay here too, I reckon. I want that girl to be happy.” He looked at Neil and pointed an arthritic finger. “But not 'til I'm gone.”
Neil couldn't help but chuckle. “Right. No happiness for Ms. Teena 'til you're gone.”
Homer nodded. “Thank you, son. Now I just got one mo' thing that I want you to promise me you'll do, but I want this one done in my lifetime.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to marry that pretty gal of yours. Before I leave here, I wanna see you get married, and I wanna dance wit' yo' bride at the wedding. Promise?”
Neil nodded, and he meant it. He wasn't changing his mind anymore. His planned proposal was just days away, and Homer Burgess would be dancing sooner than he thought. “I promise.”
Homer smiled like he was satisfied. “Good. âCause if that first husband of hers is up there”âhe pointed upwardâ“one of the first things I wanna be able to do when I get there is find the man who been givin' you all this grief from the grave and tell him you down here doin' the
bow-chicka-wow-wow
wit' his wife.”
bow-chicka-wow-wow
wit' his wife.”
TWENTY
“Her brain activity has ceased, Reverend.”
CJ's mother used to say that bad news sounded worse when it was heard at night. It was nearing eight oâclock on Saturday evening, but Dr. Hale could have said those same words at eight o'clock in the morning, and CJ couldn't imagine the time of day making them sound any better. He had clearly heard the doctor's pronouncement, but his ears were desperately trying to redefine the words and make them mean something different. Something less devastating. Something that didn't tell him that his life was over. If it weren't for the strong arm of CJ's father in the ministry, which was wrapped solidly around his waist, CJ was sure his buckling knees would have sent him tumbling to the floor.
The Hawaiian-born physician obviously recognized CJ's instability, because he made haste to grab a chair and pull it behind him. CJ's bishop, the Reverend B.T. Tides, helped guide him to a seated position. “We talked about this several times, Reverend Loather. Remember?” An island accent was only barely detectible in the doctor's kind voice.
CJ nodded the word that his mouth couldn't speak. Of course he remembered, but there was just no preparing for this. No amount of forewarning could take away the massive sting of the words that told him that no natural life was left in Theresa's body. The only reason her chest was rising and falling now was because a pump was feeding her oxygen. Oxygen that was doing her no good. Her brain was dead. She was dead.
“We aren't trying to rush you to make any decisions, Reverend,” Dr. Hale said, “but when your wife was first admitted, you asked for my honesty in every step of this process, and that is what I'm giving. We did all that we could do for her, but even the best of modern medicine sometimes fails. Our concern is now for you, and the truth of the matter is, the only reason to keep these machines running is to make you feel better. It's no longer for her.” Dr. Hale's voice was saturated with compassion. “I'm sorry, sir.”
CJ was so numb he felt paralyzed. When he remained unable to form the words of an intelligent reply, Reverend Tides stepped forward and spoke. “Thank you for your candor, Doctor.” Reverend Tides was known for his slow, almost rhythmic dialect. It was that tone that many black theologians seemed to master. That Martin Luther King connotation that made listeners sit up and take notice. “We'll need to consult privately as well as contact the rest of the family before any final decisions are made.”
“I understand.” Dr. Hale accepted Reverend Tides's handshake, and then after one last concerned glance at CJ, he left the room.
“Charles.” The door had barely closed behind the doctor's exit when Reverend Tides called CJ's name. The bishop was one of only a few people in CJ's closest circle who still opted to address him by his proper given name.
The summon had been heard, but CJ's body felt so weak that he didn't even have the strength to lift his head, let alone answer. In his peripheral vision, he saw Reverend Tides grab the only other chair in the room and place it right beside his.
“I know this is a devastating time for you, Charles, but I don't need you to sink into a place of darkness. How your church and your in-laws take any news about Theresa's well-being will largely depend on what they see from you. And regardless of what happens, you must remain lucid for the sake of your child; even if God decides to take Theresa home.”
“
If
He decides to take her?” CJ's tongue had broken free. “What do you mean,
if?”
Tears welled in his eyes and wasted no time lining his cheeks. “You heard what the doctor said. She's already gone.”
If
He decides to take her?” CJ's tongue had broken free. “What do you mean,
if?”
Tears welled in his eyes and wasted no time lining his cheeks. “You heard what the doctor said. She's already gone.”
“Yes, I heard the doctor, and if you think Theresa is ready to give up the fight, and if you yourself are ready as well, I'll do the same, and we'll accept the doctor's report.”
CJ wiped away the excessive water that obstructed his vision and looked at Reverend Tides. There wasn't a preacher on earth, his late father included, whose prayers CJ had ever had more confidence in than those of Reverend B.T. Tides. This was the same man who, after missing for months, an entire cityâan entire
countryâ
had given up for dead just a few years ago, yet prayers had helped him be found alive. This was the same man whose youngest son had stopped breathing during a Sunday morning service, and when the bishop stretched his body on top of his son's and prayed, like the prophet Elisha did to the dead boy in the Bible, God gave Reverend Tides's son back his life.
countryâ
had given up for dead just a few years ago, yet prayers had helped him be found alive. This was the same man whose youngest son had stopped breathing during a Sunday morning service, and when the bishop stretched his body on top of his son's and prayed, like the prophet Elisha did to the dead boy in the Bible, God gave Reverend Tides's son back his life.
CJ wasn't 100 percent certain, but he was almost sure that he'd just detected residual hope in the bishop's voice. But still ... “It's not about whether I'm ready to give up. I'd hold out for a lifetime if I thought it might bring Resa back. But it's not up to me. Dr. Hale just saidâ”
“But it's not up to Dr. Hale either.” Reverend Tides placed a comforting arm around CJ's shoulder. “I'm not trying to give you false hope, Charles. Theresa may very well be gone. It's a very real possibility that all we're looking at is the shell she once occupied. There may be no reason to keep her on the machines, and her brain might no longer be functioning. I heard every single word the doctor said, but now I'm listening for the voice of God. The doctor said it's all over, and I'm not saying it isn't. All I'm saying is that God hasn't given me the release to leave this room yet, and until He does, I'm prepared to stay right here and keep praying.”
With new tears streaming down his cheeks, CJ reached for Theresa's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He'd give anything, even his own life, to feel her squeeze back, but she didn't. Her hand was limp and cold ... just as any dead person's hand would be.
“What do you want me to do, son?”
CJ looked at Reverend Tides, and then slowly set his eyes on Theresa's swollen face. She looked so pale and pasty that his heart broke all over again. He knew his wife wouldn't want to be kept on machines like this. To keep her on it, just like Dr. Hale had all but said, would just be a selfish move on his part. CJ felt his bishop's arm tighten around his shoulders, and he knew the man was waiting for his reply, but the heavy gasps caused by his increased tears were choking back any words that he could say. He thought he'd gone through the hardest thing in life when he buried both his parents within months of each other, but he was wrong. Just the
thought
of burying Theresa was more tormenting than had been the actual act of burying his parents. In the midst of his continuing sobs, CJ felt Reverend Tides's hand press against the top of his head, and although he heard no words, he knew his bishop was praying, and right now, he needed all the prayers he could get.
thought
of burying Theresa was more tormenting than had been the actual act of burying his parents. In the midst of his continuing sobs, CJ felt Reverend Tides's hand press against the top of his head, and although he heard no words, he knew his bishop was praying, and right now, he needed all the prayers he could get.
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