A Rage in Harlem Read Online Free

what else, trying to make out like you is somebody else when you telephone here, figuring I ain’t gonna know your voice much as I done heard it asking me to leave you pay me the next week. Bringing that yallah woman into my house and breakingit up, good as I done been to you.”
    “I ain’t trying to hide my voice. I’m just in a little trouble, that’s all.”
    “You tellin’ me! You is in more trouble than you knows.”
    “I’m going to pay you for the stove.”
    “If you don’t I’m goin’ to put you underneath the jail.”
    “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m going to pay you first thing tomorrow.”
    “I go to work tomorrow.”
    “I’ll pay you first thing when you come home from work.”
    “If you ain’t in jail by then. What’d you steal from Mr. Clay?”
    “I ain’t stole nothing from nobody. What I wanted to ask was if Imabelle comes home you tell her to get in touch with Hank –”
    “If she comes here tonight, her or you either, and don’t bring a hundred and fifty-seven dollars and ninety-five cents to pay for my stove, she ain’t goin’ to have no chance to get in touch with nobody, unless it be the judge she goin’ to meet tomorrow morning.”
    “You call yourself a Christian,” Jackson said angrily. “Here we are in trouble and –”
    “Who’s any worse Christian than you!” she shouted. “A thief and a liar! Living in sin! Busting my stove! Robbin’ the dead! The Lawd don’t even know you, I tell you that!”
    She banged down the receiver so hard it stung Jackson’s ears.
    He left the booth, wiping the sweat from his round, shiny black face and head.
    “Calls herself a Christian,” he muttered to himself. “Couldn’t be more of a devil if she had two horns.”
    He stood on the corner bareheaded, cooling his brain. There was nothing left now but to pray. He hailed a taxi, rode back to his minister’s house on 139th Street in Sugar Hill.
    Reverend Gaines was a big black man with a mighty voice, deeply religious. He believed in a fire-and-brimstone hell and had no sympathy for sinners whom he couldn’t convert. If they didn’t want to reform, accept the Lord, join the church, and live righteously, then burn them in hell. No two ways about it. A man couldn’t be a Christian on Sunday and sin six days a week. Such a man must take God for a fool.
    He was writing his sermon when Jackson arrived. But he put it aside for a good church-member.
    “Welcome, Brother Jackson. What brings you to the house of the shepherd of the Lord?”
    “I’m in trouble, Reverend.”
    Reverend Gaines fingered the satin lapel of his blue flannel smoking-jacket. The diamond on his third finger sparkled in the light.
    “Woman?” he asked softly.
    “No, sir. My woman’s true. We’re going to get married as soon as she gets her divorce.”
    “Don’t wait too long, Brother. Adultery is a mortal sin.”
    “We can’t do anything until she finds her husband.”
    “Money?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Have you stolen some money, Brother Jackson?”
    “Not exactly. I just need some money bad. Or it’s going to look as if I stole some.”
    “Ah, yes, I understand,” Reverend Gaines said. “Let us pray, Jackson.”
    “Yes, sir, that’s what I want.”
    They knelt side by side on the carpeted floor. Reverend Gaines did the praying.
    “Lord, help this brother to overcome his difficulties.”
    “Amen,” Jackson said.
    “Help him to get the money he needs by honest means.”
    “Amen.”
    “Help his woman find her husband so she can get her divorce and live righteously.”
    “Amen.”
    “Bless all the poor sinners in Harlem who find themselves having these many difficulties with women and money.”
    “Amen.”
    Reverend Gaines’s housekeeper knocked at the door and stuck her head inside.
    “Dinner is ready, Reverend,” she said. “Mrs. Gaines has already sat down.”
    Reverend Gaines said, “Amen.”
    All Jackson could do was echo, “Amen.”
    “The Lord helps those who