Chapter 22 Chapter Twenty Two

Jackson was driving a big and old Cadillac hearse, speeding along Park Avenue. He didn't know where to go, so he could only hold the steering wheel tightly with both hands and drive all the way forward.His bulging eyes were fixed on the narrow brick sidewalk, and his eyes, like an apple peeling knife, swept over the winding carports as if he were driving under them. On one side of the road, the iron pillars of the scaffolding flew backwards quickly, like a sentry guarded day and night.In the gray pre-dawn light, the sidewalk looked like a long, eerie, spinning, changing kaleidoscope. A supercharger in the back of the car, with a deep, steady rumble.The open back door swayed wildly on the rough road, and the corpse's head was rocking back and forth in the bouncing box, constantly hitting the open back door.

Jackson was speeding through a red light at eighty-five miles an hour on 116th Street.He didn't see the red light.A taxi driver who was dozing off suddenly saw a black thing speeding past in front of him, and thought he saw a ghost in the shape of a car. The Harlem Market under the viaduct stretches from 115th Street to 101st Street.Wagons laden with meat, vegetables, fruit, fish, canned goods, dried beans, cotton products, and clothes moved freely up and down the narrow lanes between pillars and sidewalks.Porters, hawkers, truck drivers and laborers are busy unloading goods and erecting pens for livestock in preparation for Saturday's market.

Even on congested roads, Jackson didn't slow down the wrecking car.Behind him was a patrol car with its siren whistling and lights flashing. "Attention!..." A big black man exclaimed.The panicked people jumped up and ran away.One truck driver frantically swerved the other way, and the other truck wobbled from side to side, trying to avoid the hearse. By the time Jackson noticed the crowded market ahead, it was too late to stop.Whatever happened, all he could do was steer the hearse as hard as he could through the market place, like threading a thick thread through a thin needle.

He swerves sharply to the right to avoid the truck and crashes into crates of eggs, broken shells and yolks splattering all over the window. The wheels on the right side of the hearse raced up the curb, struggling to dodge crates full of vegetables, fleeing crowds and cabbages, spinach, crushed potatoes and bananas in front of shops.Onions, constantly flying into the air, like firework shells fired from a cannon. "A runaway hearse! A runaway hearse!..." Passers-by on the side of the road screamed. The hearse slammed into crates full of icefish strewn across the sidewalk, tilted and skidded, scraped the side of the refrigerated truck, and changed direction quickly.A third of the body emerged from the back door, a bloody head hanging from a severed throat, watching the devastation beyond with its pale, unblinking eyes.

Jackson felt he heard shouts in at least seven languages.The hearse, which hit and bounced off the refrigerated truck, slammed into a beef stand on the other side of the street so violently that a delivery man jumped out onto the street and began staggering down the street. Jackson insisted on driving the hearse and quickly passed through the market. The black workers on the side of the road shouted excitedly: "My God, this is so sudden!  …" "Hey, did you see what just happened?" "Did you say he stole something?" "Dude, sure, otherwise why would those policemen chase him?"

"What will he do with the stolen things?" "Sell it, man, sell it," said the workman, waving his arms and legs. "You can sell anything in Harlem." By the time it pulled out of 100th Street, the body of the hearse was covered in eggs, vegetable grime, and blood.Raw meat, fish scales, and fruits were still attached to the sunken fenders, and the rear door was still swinging open and closed.Jackson had thrown off patrol cars as they had to slow down inside the market. Jackson felt like he was having a nightmare. He was in deep panic and couldn't extricate himself. He lost the ability to think and had nowhere to go. He didn't even know what he was doing now.He could only keep driving, he had forgotten why he was running, and just kept running blindly.He wanted to just sit behind the wheel and escape to the edge of the world in the hearse.

Jackson was driving through the Puerto Rico section of Harlem at ninety miles an hour when an elderly Puerto Rican woman passed out in terror when she saw a hearse speeding past with the back door open. As the hearse approached the Ninety-fifth Street intersection, a patrol car traveling north on Park Avenue recognized the hearse coming from the south and turned left.Jackson saw it too, and made a sharp right turn quickly.The back door swung wide open, and the body slowly slid out, hitting the sidewalk one after another as if thrown into the sea, and finally rolled to the side of the road.

The patrol car swerved, trying to avoid running over it, and the out-of-control police car spun like a top on the wet road, bounced off the raised edge of the road, knocked over a letter box, and smashed a beauty salon glass windows. Jackson drove down Ninety-fifth Street toward Fifth Avenue.He didn't realize he had left Harlem until he saw Central Park surrounded by stone walls.He sinks in a world of helplessness, with no place to go, no place to hide his woman's gold ore, and no place to hide himself. Jackson was running at seventy miles an hour, and there was a stone wall directly in front of him.He was full of thoughts, and suddenly thought of a poem by St. Gunn:

All I can do now is pray. He drove the broken hearse so fast that on a sharp north turn on Fifth Avenue, the box was thrown off the coffin bier, bounced in the hearse, and tumbled into the street.When it fell, the bottom of the box hit the ground, it was smashed to pieces, and it was completely open. Jackson was so absorbed in his prayers that he didn't even notice that the box had dropped.He went down Fifth Avenue to 110th Street, crossed Seventh Avenue, went north along 139th Street, and stopped in front of the parsonage's house. Along the way, he passed three patrol cars.The police took a quick glance at the battered, stained, meat-and-egg-stained hearse, and let it go because there were no large boxes left in the dilapidated wreck. and dead bodies.Poor Jackson didn't even notice, the patrolling police were strangely lenient.

Jackson parked the car in front of the pastor's house, got out of the car and walked to the back of the car. When he was about to lock the door, he suddenly found that the hearse was empty.This unacceptable situation was presented directly in front of him, and he was not even given a chance to pray for blessings.His girl is gone, and now the gold ore is missing too.His brother died and the body disappeared again.He could only ask God for forgiveness and had to hold back tears. The butler went to wake Reverend Gaines, who was having a huge religious dream. "Brother Jackson is downstairs in the study. He said he wanted to see you on something important."

"Jackson?..." Reverend Gaines rubbed his sleepy eyes and shouted excitedly, "Is it really our brother Jackson?" "Yes, sir," said the patient Negro woman, "our Jackson." "God keep us away from those weirdos," Reverend Gaines muttered to himself. He stood up, tucked his black satin jacket into his loose purple silk trousers, and went downstairs to the study. "Brother Jackson, when God's sheep are peacefully sleeping in the pasture, what made you suddenly come to God's shepherd's room at this inappropriate time?" Pastor Gaines asked sharply. "I have sinned, Reverend Gaines," Jackson said, bowing his head. Pastor Gaines' face was serious, as if someone had blasphemed the gods in front of him. "Crime!... Oh, Almighty God!..." Pastor Gaines crossed himself, "Brother Jackson, is this the reason why you wake me up at this time of night? Who No crime? I stood in a flowing white robe on the banks of the Jordan and saw thousands of people, turned into sinners." Jackson stared at him: "In this house?" "In a dream, Brother Jackson, in a dream," the pastor explained, forcing a small smile. "Oh, I'm sorry to wake you up, but it's too urgent." "It's okay, Brother Jackson, sit down." Pastor Gaines said, sat down on his own, and poured a glass of rum from a glass wine bottle on the mahogany desk, "It's just to wake me up. Spiritual elderflower tea wine, would you like a cup too?" "No, sir, thank you!..." Jackson refused. He sat on the other side of the desk, facing Reverend Gaines. "My sanity is clear enough." "Are you in trouble again? It's the same trouble as last time, about women, isn't it?" "No, sir, this time it's even worse. It's about money." Jackson said with a dark face, "I tried to make the money look like I didn't steal it, and it involved my woman. This time I met Big trouble." "Did your woman leave you? Because you didn't steal the money? Or because you stole the money?" "No, sir, that's not it." Jackson shook his head and sighed in frustration. "She's gone, but she doesn't want to leave me." Reverend Gaines has taken a stimulant, his passion for solving the family's secret problems. "Let's get down on our knees and pray for her safe return." Jackson knelt in front of the pastor: "Yes, sir, but I want to confess first." "Frankly!..." Reverend Gaines had already started to kneel, and after hearing these two words, he suddenly stood upright like a jack-in-the-wool, "Did you kill that woman, Brother Jackson?" "No, sir, it's not like that." Jackson shook his head excitedly. Reverend Gaines let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. "But, I lost her big chest full of gold ore." "What?..." Pastor Gaines raised his eyebrows, "Her big box is full of gold ore? You mean, she has a big box full of gold ore, and she has never Told me, or her pastor? Brother Jackson, you'd better come clean and tell it all." "Yes, that's exactly what I was going to say." Jackson said that he was cheated of money in the "explosion trick" and had to steal five hundred dollars from Mr. Clay to bribe the policeman, who turned out to be a fake.Afterwards, he even wanted to win back the money through gambling.Reverend Gaines' eyes filled with sympathy when he heard this. "God is merciful, Brother Jackson! . . . " he comforted. "If Mr. Clay had been half merciful, he could have handled that money well. I'll give him a call about that. But , a chest full of gold ore, and what happened to it?" When Jackson described the box and mentioned that the gang had abducted his woman in order to obtain property, Reverend Gaines' eyes widened with curiosity. "You mean, the big green suitcase in the small room where you and her lived contained gold ore?" the pastor asked excitedly. "Yes, sir. Pure gold ore. But it doesn't belong to Imabella, it belongs to her husband, and she must give it back. That's why I went to my brother, Goldie, to help me find them." When Jackson described Goldie, Reverend Gaines' eyes filled with curiosity again. "What do you mean, is that Sister Gabriel a man, or your twin brother? He cheated us poor and gullible people with tickets to heaven?" "Yes, sir, many believed him. The only reason I went to him was because he was a liar, and I needed the help of a liar." When Jackson talked about what happened that night, Pastor Gaines' eyes widened even more exaggeratedly, and his face was full of horror.Reverend Gaines, mouth gaping, eyes bulging, leaned against the edge of his chair as Jackson spoke of his escape from the police at the 125th Street station. When Jackson finished telling the story, Reverend Gaines was still puzzled by how he managed to escape from the police. "Is it because of your brother?" Reverend Gaines asked. "Is it because they found out he was dressed as a nun?" "No, sir, it's not like that, it's because he's dead." "What, dead!..." Reverend Gaines jumped up, as if stung by a wasp, "Oh, my God!..." "When I went upstairs to find Imabella, Hank and Jodi slit his throat," Jackson said helplessly. "My God, brother, why didn't he call for help? Didn't you hear him cry?" "No, sir. I sat down to rest, and in less than a minute I fell asleep." "Good God, man! . . . You fell asleep while searching for your woman who was in great danger. And you left a great deal of her property unprotected in the street. That street, the most dangerous in Harlem, is guarded only by your brother—I'll tell you: a wicked sinner is no better than a murderer." Reverend Gaines thought of what had happened. His smooth black skin turned gray, "They cut his throat and stuffed his body into a hearse?" Jackson wiped the sweat from his eyes and face, nodded and admitted, "Oh... yes, sir. But, I didn't fall asleep on purpose, and I didn't want to sleep there." "What did you do with the hearse, and drive it into the Harlem River?" "No, sir, it's parked in front of your house." "Just outside! . . . outside my house?" Reverend Gaines put aside his dignity, jumped up, swayed quickly across the room, peeked out the front window, and saw the battered hearse parked on the side of the road in the gray dawn. When he turned his face again and looked at Jackson, he looked as if he was twenty years older, and his original arrogance and self-confidence were all gone.He shuffled and walked slowly back to the chair. The silk robe woven with gold and silver embossed flowers was suddenly opened, and the purple silk slacks began to slide down, but he was still unconscious. "Brother Jackson, are you going to stay here?" Reverend Gaines asked in horror, "Then you told me that the hearse containing your brother's body and your woman's box full of gold ore stopped at my door?" "No, sir. They weren't in the car. I lost them, maybe somewhere, but I don't know where." "Did they fall off the hearse? In the street?" "It must be on the street, I haven't driven anywhere else." "Why did you come here, Brother Jackson? Why did you come to me?" Reverend Gaines yelled excitedly. "I want to kneel by your side, Reverend Gaines, and give myself to God." "What!..." Reverend Gaines exclaimed, as if Jackson was blaspheming again, "Take you to God? . . . Christ Jesus, man, what are you doing to God? . . . You have to go to the police and turn yourself in , God can't help you wash away this sin."