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Last year in the spring The North Carolina Arts Council awarded to THE
REBEL a grant of $2,500.00 to encourage the creative arts in eastern North
Carolina. At this time, we would like to thank the Council for their interest
in promoting the arts in our region and for their support of our efforts to
bring to the people of this area a different kind of artistic experience, some
think, called a literary magazine. .
When we received the grant money, we thought about ways to spend it, to
get the most mileage out of the funds. We knew that we wanted to do
something to include a larger number of people, talented people, in the
creative experience; and we knew we wanted to do something educational.
We decided on an Eastern North Carolina Arts Festival, with promotional
efforts directed at the high schools in the surrounding area and at East
Carolina University. We decided to have workshops On poetry, short fiction,
the elements of a literary magazine, newspaper and magazine photography
and lay-out, commercial design and the design elements in drawing and
sketching. We also decided to have a competition in the areas of
photo-essay, short fiction, poetry, and drawing and sketching.
The following pages, and this magazine, is one of the end- products of the
festival. We say it is one of the end-products, because it is only a small
measure of what went on. The real valuable things that went on were carried
away from the festival in the minds and hearts of the people who
participated.
morning workshop in poetry
Vernon Ward teads off
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SHORT FICTION
First Place
Second Place
POETRY
First Place
Second Place
Honorable Mention
DRAWING AND SKETCHING
First Place
First Place
Second Place
Honorable Mention
PHOTO"ESSAY
First Place
Second Place
Honorable Mention
Honorable Mention
~o~One should never give up
wishing. | believe there is no
fulfillment, but there are wishes
that last a long time, all oneTs
life, so that anyhow one could
not wait for their fullfillment.�
(from Rilke)
Edward Abramson (page 2)
William L. Armistead
Lindsay Bowen (page 8)
Meg Sencindiver (page 7)
Robert Sanders
Scott Tabor (page 5)
Denise Gelpi (page 2)
David Ross (page 9)
Sally McRarie
Kelly Adams (cover, and page 6)
Josie Houstonx
Karen Colvard
Don Shirley
Other winning entries will be printed in The Rebel
in the future.
Doris Betts, North Carolina Author, addresses festivalTs awards Luncheon.
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Sister Jones and the Prophet
By
Edward A. Abramson
Martha Washington Jones limped slowly down the pot
holed dirt street toward the church, her wrinkled brow
furrowed more than usual. It was dusk, and the white
painted-blistered houses of the Negro quarter stood stark
against the sky that had been heat-blasted but three hours
before. The houses stood planted in the dirt, always
seeming ready to tumble into piles of slats. She
remembered them looking that way since her childhood.
White haired prophet goinTto be there tonight, she
thought crossing the street. Maybe OlivaTll be healed.
Maybe she won't be sick no more...
oWhat you mean you had to sell it?TT
A woman's voice from the window on her right knifed
into her thoughts.
oCouldnTt you get enough fum him to pay for that
carbur... whatever it was? Purty soon you'll have the whole
house empty just to keep that car goinT.�T
oNow look here,�T a manTs voice answered. That carTs
the best thing we got. So long as weTse got it on the road,
weTse got some...�
The voice faded as Martha trudged on down the street
thinking of little Oliva at home in bed, a victim of the same
poverty that had plagued her own youth.
Only granT~chile left, she thought. She got to get well.
She just got to get well. The grooves in her forehead and
around her eyes seemed to deepen, and wetness appeared
on the lower lid.
Up ahead the square tower of the church reached up
above the houses, pushing an incongruously small cross at
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the gray blank ness of the sky. There were numerous old
cars lining the street in front of the church, and two newly
paonted white busses, the brush strokes showing clearly,
were crowding their bulk into the narrow dirt road. A small
group of women were gathered outside the church talking
agitatedly. They looked up as they became aware of the old
womanTs approach.
ooLo there Sister Jones,� and elderly black matron
said. ~~Good you could come tonight. This is goinT to be one
fine meetinT.�T
The woman leaned forward, the brim of her tattered
black silk hat occasionally touching MarthaTs forehead.
oWhite haired prophet cominT tonight. Oh | tell you
Sister Jones, | just know ITse goinT to be saved tonight.TT
Martha looked down at her black shoes laced up above
her ankles. She tried to get some of the mud off them by
stamping lightly, but it did no good.
oHowTs Oliva?� the woman went on. oI heerd she was
taken with the coughs for a long time.TT
oSheTs still purty bad,T Martha said slowly through
pink gums. Granger and Mary, they took her to that fancy
doctor in town. He said to get some medcine soon 4a§
possTble. They give me the money to go to the store now
and get it.��
She looked down guiltily.
~Well you pray for her tonight, anT | bet she be okay
~fore tomorrow.�
Martha looked up quickly now, the short gray wisps
of hair moving with an independent life of their own as she
shook her head vigorously up and down.
oYes...yes | know. | believe that. ThatTs why | come-
That's why | come ~fore goinTto the store.�T
The sound of a piano and drums in the church caused
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the group to totter toward the door. As Martha made her
way down the aisle to a pew in front so she could be sure of
being near the Prophet, calls of ~oLo Sister Jones� and
oGlad you could come, Sister Jones� surrounded her on
either side. She smiled slightly and nodded at those many
familiar faces and finally stopped next to the second row of
benches on her right. Because of her age, the younger
women often deferred to her, and a middle aged woman
moved in to give her an aisle seat.
As she looked about, Martha saw a good number of
People who she did not know. People came from forty
miles away to hear the Prophet. This revival had been in
Progress for three days, with meetings held every night, and
it was to run for three more days before moving on to
another town. Because of OlivaTs illness, Martha had not
attended any of the meetings, but had sat home with her
granddaughter putting mustard plasters on her chest and
feeding her clove tea to try to stop the deep cough. But
nothing had worked, and Martha had realized, even if the
children had not, that she would have to go to a higher
source.
She reached into a osecret compartment� in her
tattered brown purse to see if the four dollars were still
there. Yes... there they were, she thought as her knarled
fingers felt the four distinct crumpled balls. This was the
last money in the house till pay day. She would have to be
Careful. She looked around again and answered a oTLo
Sister JonesT with a strained smile as she quickly closed the
Purse and clutched it in her lap.
On the stage she saw the chief of police, who was the
Pastor of the congregation and had arranged for the revival
to take place there. On account of a Klan threat, he had
Come to the church with three officers during a revival
three years before and had been converted. When the old
Preacher had died, the congregation had asked him to take
Charge. He was the only white man in the state to be the
head of an all black church, and only his position as chief,
Which miraculously he had been able to hang on to despite
BS nunity pressures, had kept him free of threats from the
Ocal Klan. Now, he was sitting on the platform in the
" of two Negro deacons waving his right arm leading
he singing of ~Precious Lord.T
As the strains of the hymn filled the church Martha
" that it was already almost completely filled, the
en con sisting primarily of fortyish plus women
oy a number of six-tyish plus men. There were perhaps
ta People under thirty, except for the small children that
Ng tightly to their mothers and gazed about with large
UNsure eyes.
= Martha straightened her old hat, a black silk bowl that
". her gray hair and had plastic flowers on the right
catia of the women wore hats of this type, some had
a = instead of flowers. some held tambourines, others
ca small arcs of hot air against their shining black faces
=. Paper fans that had a picture of Jesus on one side and
Seba eanlaota for oCrichTs Auto PartsTT on the other.
aby a especially noticed the condition of the older people,
ag uman scarecrows with arms the thickness of an auto
= aust pipe and protruding veins that gave the impression
Pencils having been pushed through the skin.
CCasionally a wrinkled squash of a face would gaze back at
her and bear two sets of gums in recognition. Lacking hair,
the old men gave an even more corpse-like appearance. But
she did not find fault with these things --she saw much the
same when she looked into a mirror or at a picture of her
dead husband.
As the hymn ended voices could be heard from the
back of the church: ~~HeTs hereTT: craning necks, still fans,
upturned faces. She turned and saw the Prophet. He was
walking down the aisle toward the dias. Perhaps fifty years
old, he wore a belted trenchcoat with the collar turned up,
black trousers with a knife sharp crease , and black shoes
polished to a mirror finish. Deep blue eyes shone out above
a hook nose set in the center of a smooth, intelligent, white
face, which was surrounded by a full head of snow white
hair. As he walked down the aisle, he smiled at various
people who he recognized from other towns, other
churches. He walked up to the dias, took off his coat,
whispered something in the police chiefTs ear, and sat down.
Knowing that the congregation had all come to see the
Prophet, the chief did not take charge of the service
himself.
oNow I'd like to introduce the Prophet,�T he said
standing behind the lectern. ooY~all know him; y~all know
that our Lord speaks through him. ITve done some checking
on this man, and be lieve me heTs a real man of God. So
listen close.�T
He sat down and the Prophet got up on the dias.
Martha watched him with hawk eyes, though every time
someone coughed her thoughts reverted to Oliva lying in
bed, her chest wracked with coughs.
oHello friends,� he said with an ingratiating smile.
oIt's nice to see so many familiar faces in the crowd.�
He pointed to a few people in the crowd to show that
he recognized them. Those chosen for this special
recognition sat a bit taller and remained slightly aloof
basking in the stares that they knew were being leveled at
them.
oLet's begin with ~I Cried and He Delivered Me,T he
said glancing back at the piano player. A chord was struck,
and over two hundred voices sang out. | cried and He
delivered me, Lord | cried and He delivered me, Lord |
cried and He delivered me, He delivered my poor soul.
A short, squat woman in front of Martha in the front
row got up and began beating a tambourine against
the heel of her hand. As verse was added to verse,
people about the church stood and began clapping
their hands to the quickening rhythm; the man on the
drums beat to the convulsive cadences that filled the
room.
Now people began to stamp their feet. An
extremely black woman wearing a white dress was out
in the aisle doing a jig while slapping her right hand
against her haunch. Martha was standing now also,
drumming on the pew in front of her and moving up
and down like an aged pile driver, the yellow and red
plastic flowers dancing up and down on her hat as she
sang and jumped to the spasmodic beat now made up
of the Prophet's shouts, the pianoTs occasionally heard
chords, the hangling tambourines, the beating drums,
the clapping of dozens of pairs of hands, and the
stamping of hundreds of feet.
o| cried and He delivered me...� The falsetto wail
of the women.s voices quivered against the yellowish
white walls. oI cried and He delivered me...T The
Prophet leaned back, his hoary hair flowing out from
his head and covering his ears. ~| cried and He
delivered me..." Martha closed her eyes and shouted
to the hea vens. ~~He delivered my poor soul.� The
ProphetTs hand came down hard on the lectern and his
powerful voice cut through the last strains of the
hymn.
oI've been traveling all over the great state of
North Carolina spreading the gospel...�T
His voice was firm and controlled, but began to
get louder as he spoke.
oAnd let me tell you that this is the greatest
revival year ITve ever seen! say Amen.�
ooAmen,TT came from the whole congregation.
oWhy folks are just burning for the Lord all over,
and | tell you that it.s a sign. ItTs a sign that He has
some great work that HeTs going to do. Praise the
Lord!�
oPraise the Lord,�T Martha said.
oHallelujah,� came from the congregation.
He stepped down from the dias and walked into
centeraisle. He held a small microphone close to his lips.
oWhy over west of here we had two hun...no...three
hundred brothers and sisters filling the church to
bursting...�
oSweet Jesus,�T o~Hallelu.T� The cries pierced the lulls
from all parts of the throng.
oAnd they believe in the Lord; they believe in Jesus,�
he shouted.
oHmm, hmm.�
oJesus!"T sprung from MarthaTs lips.
oThey know HeTs coming back...�T
oThat's right.�
oAnd they know He'll heal them of all their pain...�
Thank you Jesus,T came the cry.
oIf they believe in Him...�T
oPraise God.�
oAnd He'll heal you of your pain too...�
oHallelujah.�
oIf you believe.�� And he put his open left hand up to
his ear.
From hundreds of throats: oI believeT; ~TIl believe in
Jesus.�
See the Prophet walking down the aisle, jacket open,
tiny beads of sweat on his forehead reflecting the light. See
his up raised arms and the people around him standing and
swaying in the pews. See the paper fans forgotten, lying on
the worn wooden floor, sometimes oTCrichTs Auto Parts,�T
sometimes Jesus receiving the imprint of a foot.
o| am God's prophet...! just do what He says...God is
in me...1 can feel Him...HeTs here in this place tonight!�T
oHelp me Jesus,TT Martha shouted, her eyes closed in
fervent absorption.
oIf you believe that, say Amer.�T
oAmer,� resounded off the yellowing walls.
He was silent for a moment while he stood wide eyed,
staring at the ceiling as if waiting for something.
~~Testimony!� he cried triumphantly. He wants
someone to testify to His grace. Who will show forth the
mercy of the Lord?
MarthaTs cracked voice pierced through the din.
o| will testify,� she said rocking back and forth,
holding on to the back of the pew in front of her. oI will
testify to the LordTs grace...�
oAmen.�
oHallelu.�T
oTell us sister,� said the Prophet. ~~Tell us what Jesus
has done for you.�
Her voice was ardent, and she swayed forward and
back in her reverie.
o| prayed to Him two months ago ~bout a pain in my
joints, and the pain it done go away...�
oGlory to the Lord.�
oYes...it done go away, when | been rubbinT this
drugstore stuff on it three days and that donTt do no
good...�
oJesus...�
oBut | just ask Jesus and He fix it...�
oHmm, hmm.�
oHe fix it ~cause | believe in Him...�
oThank you Jesus.�T
~cause | prays to Him every day...�
oAmen.�
ooAnT now I'se prayinT to Him for help agin...�
oYou go on and tell Him Sister,T said the Prophet.
oHe'll help you.�
oThat's right.�
oHe will!T
The Prophet continued his exhorting; the
congregation pressed to have this afflicted member purged
of her grief.
oIt's my only granTchile,�T she said rocking in oblivion,
the words pouring out. ~~She done have the coughs for a
long, long time now...�
oThat's bad.�
oHelp her Jesus.�
oShe done coughinT andT coughinT anT nothinT make
her stop...�
oJesus will,� the Prophet said. oHe'll fix her ill-- He'll
fix her. Everybody pray for our little sisterTs grandchild
now,� he said rushing back on the dias and fluttering his
hands like a dragon flyTs wings over his head. ~~Hallelujah!
HeTll help her.�
From the back of the room a voice rose up. Jesus on
the mainline Tell Him what you want, oh...
Jesus on the mainline Tell Him what you want, oh...
The congregation picked it up: piano, drums,
tambourines, hands, feet, and fans adding to the beat.
Jesus on the mainline Tell Him what you want, oh...
If you need a doctor Tell Him what you want, oh...
And Martha sank, sank into the swirling sounds that
swept around her and her grief. For her--they were for
her and Lliva. All these people and the prophet: the
prophet--for her and... Jesus! Help... He'll help...must
help...must...must...mus
She rushed down the street toward home, her high
shoes impeding her desire to fly above the caked dirt.
Despite her age, she felt full of the fire of youth. Oliva
would be well now, she thought. ~Course she well
now--Tcourse.
oWhy | bet when you go home tonight she'll be
just fine,� the Prophet had said as she had flattened
Out the four dollars and placed them in the ~miracle
envelope.�
Then he had walked on down the aisle handing
Out more en velopes.
oOnly fifty tonight,� he had said. ~When theyTre
gone there wonTt be anymore. Make sure you get
yours; if something happens to one of your loved ones
because you didnTt put at least three dollars in an
envelope, you'll have nobody to blame but yourself.
It's money for the Lord--money for the Lord. CTmon
now. I'll cut it off as quickly as | started it. Here you
are sister," he had said when he handed one to
Martha. And she had made sure. She hadn't given just
the lowest amount--she had made sure.
She saw it up ahead in the darkness: the house
with the two broken front steps. As she approached
the door and listened, she rejoiced in her heart: there
Was no coughing. For the first time in she couldn't
remember when...no coughing!
oOh thank you Jesus,� she said. ~oThank you.�
She threw open the torn screen door, pushed
Open the creaky wooden door, and stood still as
death. Her ears pricked up like a dogTs. There was no
Coughin. Only the rhythmic sound of MaryTs weeping
from OlivaTs bedroom surrounded her like a tomb.
AS Se) a
Song of Triumph
How beautifully pure
(Of such kind as written here)
That rhymes not from line to line,
But within itself finds harmony--
A blending of the senses,
Of the words,
And of the mind;
Asa porcelain mosaic,
Structured solely of white tile,
Save for one,
Alone and black,
But strategically placed;
Asa lily on a thorn bush,
Ora man who has found peace.
MY NIGHT WAS OVER"LONG He was a laugher that often cried,
Consciousness crept... He was an unwilling compromise 7
It seemed | was waiting, Undulating between freedom and a vacuum of despair.
Waiting in a vast stymied moment of misery. in vain he groped,
Waiting--going not--waiting.
Life struggles toward death
Darkness greets the dawn
My night was over-long.
While waiting | dreamed...
Dreamed | was a man
Dreaming about a man
Dreaming about a lady.
Once | saw theT~form�
Inspired by its own brilliance,
My heart grew heavy.
The man that | dreamed | was,
Was a dreamer, lost in his dream.
He had lost himself
And could not be saved,
But called not for help.
He had called before
Only to see the sugar image of help
Melt in the first spring rain.
He made me cry--or did | sing?
One canTt be sure about dreams.
Though | heard the oword�T
Crying of its truthfulness,
Static killed my joy.
The man in the dream
Of the man | dreamed | was,
Was a man without purpose
A man without cause.
In vain he strained,
In vain he suffered,
For the combination that refused to combine
That much | saw.
Or could | be wrong?
One canTt be sure about dreams.
Which truth will | hear,
Confusion enters my soul,
Who will hear my prayer?
The lady in the dream
Of the man in the dream
Of the man | dreamed | was,
Was a singer,
Singing FREEDOM'S song,
A song of orgiastic HAPPINESS
A song of naturized ONENESS,
A song of FREE AGENTNESS
T
In a world of FOLLOWSHIP and FIT"IN"NESS.
She was her song.
She loved her song
(That's all she loved)
Knowing not her self-induced love
Sang praises to nothing.
| almost believed her...
Or maybe | did,
One canTt be sure about dreams.
A candle flickered-
Challenging the stifling darkness,
Giving for life, its death.
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