The preacher sighed. ‘I’ll go anyways,’ he said. ‘Somepin’s happening. I went up an’ I looked, an’ the houses is all empty, an’ this whole country is empty. I can’t stay here no more. I got to go where the folks is goin’. I’ll work in the fiel’s, an’ maybe I’ll be happy.’
‘An’ you ain’t gonna preach?’ Tom asked.
‘I ain’t gonna preach.’
‘An’ you ain’t gonna baptize?’ Ma asked.
‘I ain’t gonna baptize. I’m gonna work in the fiel’s, in the green fiel’s, an’ I’m gonna be near to folks. I ain’t gonna try to teach ’em nothin’. I’m gonna try to learn. Gonna learn why the folks walks in the grass, gonna hear ’em talk, gonna hear ’em sing. Gonna listen to kids eatin’ mush. Gonna hear husban’ an’ wife a-poundin’ the mattress in the night. Gonna eat with ’em an’ learn.’ His eyes were wet and shining ‘Gonna lay in the grass, open an’ honest with anybody that’ll have me. Gonna cuss an’ swear an’ hear the poetry of folks talkin’. All that’s holy, all that’s what I didn’ understan’. All them things is the good things.’
Ma said: ‘A-men.’