“May I bring him in now?” Deacon Johnson asked.
“Sure, Izzy.” Weeb was done with his haircut. He gave the barber a hundred dollars and told him to go home. Weeb checked himself in the mirror and splashed on some Old Spice. Then he went to the closet and selected a pale raspberry suit, one of his favorites. He was stepping into the shiny flared trousers when Deacon Johnson returned with die designated sinner.
“Well, you’re certainly a big fella,” Weeb said.
“I must be,” said the man.
“Deacon Johnson tells me you’re blind.”
“Not completely.”
“Well, no, of course not,” Reverend Weeb said. “No child of God is completely blind, not in the spiritual sense. His eyes are your eyes.”
“That’s damn good to know.”
“What’s your name, sinner?”
“They call me Skink.”
“What’s that, Scandinavian or something? Skink.” Weeb frowned. “Would you mind, Mr. Skink, if today you took a biblical name? Say, Jeremiah?”
“Sure.”
“That’s excellent.” Reverend Weeb was worried about the man’s braided hair, and he pantomimed his concern to Deacon Johnson.
“The hair stays,” Skink said.
“It’s not that bad,” Deacon Johnson interjected. “Actually, he looks a little like one of the Oak Ridge Boys.”
Charlie Weeb conceded the point. He said, “Mr. Skink, I guess they told you how this works. We’ve got a dress rehearsal in about twenty minutes, but I want to warn you: the real thing is much different, much more… emotional. You ever been to a televised tent healing before?”
“Nope.”
“People cry, scream, drool, tremble, fall down on the floor. It’s a joyous, joyous moment. And the better you are, the more joyous it is.”
“What I want to know,” Skink said, “is do I really get healed?”
Reverend Weeb smiled avuncularly and flicked the lint off his raspberry lapels. “Mr. Skink, there are two kinds of healings. One is a physical revelation, the other is spiritual. No one but the Lord himself can foretell what will happen this afternoon—probably a genuine miracle—but at the very least, I promise your eyes will be healed in the spiritual sense.”
“That won’t help me pass the driver’s test, will it?”
Charlie Weeb coughed lightly. “Did Deacon Johnson mention that we pay in cash?”
At five sharp, the special live edition of Jesus in Tour Living Room flashed via satellite across the far reaches of the Outdoor Christian Network. Radiant and cool, the Reverend Charles Weeb appeared behind his pink plaster pulpit and welcomed America to the scenic and friendly new community of Lunker Lakes, Florida.
“We are particularly delighted to be joined by hundreds of Christian brothers and sisters who flew all the way down here to share this exciting day with us. Thank you all for your love, your prayers, and your down payments… as you’ve seen for yourself, Florida is still a paradise, a place of peacefulness, of inner reflection, of celebrating God’s glorious work by celebrating nature… ”
Camera number one swung skyward.
“And see there, as I speak,” said Reverend Weeb, “eagles soar over this beautiful new Elysium!”
The high-soaring birds were not eagles, but common brown turkey vultures. The cameraman was under strict instructions to avoid close-ups.
Camera number two panned to the audience—starchy, contented, attentive faces, except for one man in the front row, who was not applauding. He wore an ill-fitting sharkskin suit, a frayed straw hat, and black sunglasses. He did not look like a happy Christian soldier; more like Charles Manson on steroids. Camera two did not linger on his face for long.
Charlie Weeb didn’t call on him for twenty minutes. By that time the audience throbbed in a damp and weepy frenzy. As Weeb had predicted, fat women were fainting left and right. Grown men were bawling like babies.
At a nod from Reverend Weeb, two young deacons in dove-white suits led the blind man to the stage.
“You poor wretched sinner,” Weeb said. “What is your name?”
“Jeremiah Skink.”
“Ah, Jeremiah!”
The audience roared.
“Jeremiah, do you believe in miracles?”
“Yes, Brother Weeb,” Skink said. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you believe the Lord is here at Lunker Lakes today?”
“I believe he’s here with you,” Skink said, reciting the lines, which had been cut drastically due to problems at rehearsal.