“It wasn’t no preacher’s prayer.”
“It was a good prayer. I want you should say one for me.”
“I don’ know what to say.”
She closed her eyes for a minute and then opened them again. “Then say one to yourself. Don’t use no words to it. That’d be awright.”
“I got no God,” he said.
“You got a God. Don’t make no difference if you don’ know what he looks like.” The preacher bowed his head. She watched him apprehensively. And when he raised his head again she looked relieved. “That’s good,” she said. “That’s what I needed. Somebody close enoughto pray.”
He shook his head as though to awaken himself. “I don’ understan’ this here,” he said.
And she replied, “Yes—you know, don’t you?”
“I know,” he said, “I know, but I don’t understan’. Maybe you’ll res’ a few days an’ then come on.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side. “I’m jus’ pain covered with skin. I know what it is, but I won’t tell him. He’d be too sad. He wouldn’ know what to do anyways. Maybe in the night, when he’s a-sleepin’—when he waked up, it won’t be so bad.”