The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [73]
Hella and Mosca found themselves standing now almost in the middle of the crowd, a pile of people bunched up behind them. On their left was a young man dressed in a blue, washed-out shirt and heavy working trousers. He carried in his arms a pretty girl of six or seven whose eyes were curiously blank and whose sleeve on the side facing them was pinned to her flowered frock. On their right was an old worker puffing a stubby pipe. The young man was shouting with the others, “Where is your permit, where is your permission from Military Government?” Then he turned to Mosca and the old worker and said, “We're bawled out by everybody now that we've lost, even by swine like this.” Mosca, in civilian clothes, smiled at Hella, amused that he had passed as German.
Now the preacher pointed his arm slowly toward the sky and said in a great solemn voice, “I have permission from our Creator.” The sun, red with its last, dying fire bathed the upraised arm with crimson light. The sun began to sink below the earth, and gray in the soft summer twilight, springing up on the horizon like a great ragged circle of spears, the ruins of the city rose like magic before their eyes. The preacher bowed his head in thanksgiving. He raised his head to the sky. He embraced them all with a sweep of his arms. “Come back to Jesus Christ,” he shouted. “Come back to Jesus. Leave your sins behind. Leave the drinking. Leave the fornication. Renounce the gambling, the pride for worldly success. Believe in Jesus and be saved. Believe in Jesus and be saved. You have been punished for your sins. The punishment is before your eyes. Repent before it is too late. Sin no more.”
The deafening voice stopped for breath. The crowd was stunned, rolled back by the great volume of sound from that little man. He returned to a normal shout.
“Each one of you, think of the lives you led before the war, are you not to believe that the suffering, the ruin you see is God's punishment for the sins you committed then? “And now the young girls fornicate with enemy soldiers, the young men beg for cigarettes. Puff Puff.” He blew out imaginary smoke with maniacal hatred. “On our Sabbath people go to the country to steal or bargain for food. The house of the Lord is empty. We invite destruction. Repent, I say again. Repent. Repent,” The words began to run together, hysterically. “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ Believe in the Lord the one and only God Believe in the One Lord Believe in Christ.
He paused and then in a threatening and scolding voice shouted at them. Harshly. Accusingly. “You are all sinners, you are all condemned to everlasting hell. I see some of you smile. You pity yourselves. Why should God make us suffer so? You ask that?”
Someone in the crowd shouted mockingly, “It wasn't God, it was the Ami bombers.” The crowd laughed.
Hie man on the bench waited for them to be still and then peering through the failing light, savagely, vindiciively, he pointed to a woman wearing black. “You, woman, do you laugh at God? Where is your husband; your children?” He pointed to the young man beside Mosca. “Look,” he said to the crowd and they all turned and followed that pointing finger. “There is another scoffer, one of the young men, the hope of Germany. For Ms sins his child is mutilated and he laughs at the wrath of God. Wait, scoffer, in your child's face I see another punishment. Wait. Look at your child and wait.” With spite and malice he pointed out other members of the crowd.
The young man with the child set her down and said to Hella, “Please look after her.” Then they could see him push through to where the preacher stood on his bench, break through to the open space. With one violent blow he struck the little preacher to the ground. He knelt on the preacher's chest, grabbed a handful of hair and slammed the bird-shaped head against the cement walk. Then he rose.
The crowd disappeared. The young man picked