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The Arrival
Kashif Andrew Graham
And we were Puritans. Sparkling, sparkling. You look in shock at your vestige, and
discover that you look like Henry the Eighth. Well, maybe not that royal. After you finish being
bedazzeled at your clothing, you hear a loud gonging bell and know that it's time for gathering.
You leave the rocky path you are on--that's you and your wife, and Amelia--and you head over to
the solid, newly built church. You step into the church, and your foot creaks on the wooden
floor--it's empty. You're the first ones there. The second gong goes off and you realize that there
must be a little man up there. He comes down--of course--dressed in dark brown sackcloth. You
go to laugh, but then remember that this is 17th century Puritan New England, and a stunt like
that could get you shipped out to the land where they never grow old. Or the land of eternal
sunrise--whichever you like.
"Blessings and peace from the Father above" the sackclothed greets you quietly. He's
very amiable--you can tell right away that he was once a Spanish Cloister--only he doesn't speak
Spanish. And you realize that that is a whole long history that you'd rather not get into, so you
smile and extend your hand. You pause for a moment realizing that you have no name, unlike all
the other times. Your mouth moves, but no sound comes out, and--you aren't sure if it's a gust of
salty air or the pollen-filled atmosphere, but you cough and sneeze at nearly the same time. This
elicits a strange look from the little man, but also gives you time to figure out your name. Your
wife beats you to it.
"Maria Hutchinson. And this? This is Benjamin Josiah Hutchinson". You make a hard
swallow, knowing that women aren't allowed to speak in Puritan New England, and especially
not in church. You glance over at your wife, hoping that she'll get your "shut-up-before-you-getus-all-trouble" look, but she drives right ahead. You hear Amelia clear her throat, waiting to be
acknowledged. "And this little doll...is Amelia Cornelia Hutchinson". You flinch a little, knowing
that Cornelia is way too 19th century to be believable, since you've studied English at Oxford
and still have that silly timeline assignment stuck in your head. But the cloister doesn't even
notice--or if he does, he deserves an Oscar, because you don't even notice.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Amelia Cornelia". You jump a little because his voice is
totally a TV voice, and what in the Puritan world is that doing in 17th century New England. And
then as people appear for the gathering, you realize that he is the one that does the Bible
readings, and you laugh, remembering Dickens' Mr. Wopsle.
The calling to attention of the organ shocks you and your wife, and you whisper to her
that you thought they never ever had music in the Puritan church. You reach in your back pocket
for your iPhone, because you so must Facebook this, when you realize that you have neither a
back pocket nor an iPhone, because this is 17th century England and you those things just don't
exist. And you also quietly remember how you never thought you could live without those
things--which causes you to remember a sermon you once heard. And you laugh.
You quietly slip into the nearest hardwood bench--literally because they don't want you
falling asleep--and sit on the outside, after allowing Maria and Amelia in. You are quite surprised
to see that the benches have no backs. You guys get odd looks as you take your seats, and wonder
why. You definitely look like them. Check. You haven't spoken aloud in front of the people, only
the Cloister. Check. You didn't play the fool and let Amelia chew Bubblicious and pop it in the

Pope's face. Check. You ponder as a very well-rested man takes the stage, and realize exactly
what happened. Maria spoke. When you were sitting down, Maria had quietly told Amelia to fix
her dress. Clearly, this wasn't done quietly enough.
As you sit there, your brain travels back to all of your English Lit courses. While this reel
is playing in your mind, you recall a painting from your textbook in which there was some
preaching woman with her arms in a strange position, sort of forming a bird's mouth. Her name
is blurry to you. If you could only remember her name.
"Now shall we all rise" you hear the well-rested say and the creaking floors sound as
though they will give way. He closes his eyes and begins to pray in plain English:
"Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy name,
Thy Kingdom come,
Thy will be do--BUM! BUM! BUM! "Hallelujah! Glory be to God! Hallelujah!" And for a moment, you
have no idea what is going on. But you know what you feel--a coolness surrounding you. You
know this feeling, but you haven't felt it in a long time. Someone's arrived. You hear a slight
uproar, as if a strange animal is coming through the marketplace you know the city has.
"Is that Anne again?" says that white bonnet in front of you. And you wonder if this
interruption is a frequent occurrence. But you know you felt something. And you know you can
still feel it, and what is this
"HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!" Sharp. Quick. Loud. From another direction.
You hear an onslaught of "Ah's!" as though a shrieking beast has been let loose. And you
look over the bonnets and the wetly-combed hair and you see a small Black woman. You find
yourself wondering how she got in here. You figure she's a slave, and you wait for them to drag
her out. No one moves. But while you wait for someone to move, you wonder if this cementaround-your-feet feeling is common to everyone else.
And then comes something that you cannot understand. You certainly aren't Puritan, and
you aren't any of the other places you've been either, but you've never heard this before. This
voice is actually--where is that coming from?--speaking in a language that you cannot
understand. Is it an African tongue? Is it Chinese? You see everyone move away--as though the
breath of God blew them away like dust from a pearl--revealing a little shriveled old woman, red
in the face. You can now see that she has fallen back on the floor, due to the backless benches.
She doesn't even know what happened to her. Her face is still cherry as two men reach down to
help her up. As soon as they touch her raised arms, they quiver. They backwards. They slump.
You see the woman raise herself up, looking at her electrified hands. She turns them palm
and back. Palm and back. She's quite amazed. So amazed that she jumps forward from the bench
with a mischievous grin and claps her two hands on the cheeks of a bonnet that was leaned
forward in admiration. The bonnet begins shaking--jumping. You somehow get this sense that the
bonnet releases herself to whatever is taking her over---this thing that is so familiar to you. The
bonnet begins stammering, like she's cold. You feel that it's as though someone has lowered the
thermostat. But then you realize that there is no thermostat. And that its the middle of May.
The bonnet stammers her way back onto two men behind her. As soon as they touch her,
they are down. You see the well-rested on the stage looking quite unrested. You realize that he's
not quite sure what is going on, but doesn't quite have the heart to interrupt. You also realize that
it isn't the proceedings that he is afraid of, but a dark behind him. You see the dark rise up behind
him--he totally knew this was coming. You see the dark tap him on his shoulder--it's my time

now. The well-rested moves to the side and the darkness steps forward. You watch as he scans
the happenings--one by one, people falling out, quivering as though under some strange
plaguity--and he clenches his jaw.
From under the speaking instrument, you see him pull out a small...gavel--wooden. You
wonder for a moment if he's really gonna bang that thing on the speaking instrument. But you
don't have to wonder for long because---BANG! BANG!
"Order! Stop them! Stop this madness!"
But the occurrence continued to occur. And the power was almost everywhere. From the
right side of the room it was spreading left.
"There is to be order!"
You hear the deft reply: "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom!"
Darkness is so fed up, that you see him storm down from the stage in a rage. You watch
as he steps one foot past the railing, when a veiled woman steps in. And all of a sudden you think
you hear rap music. The action is still going on about the church, when you see the veiled
woman point her nailed finger up to the face of the dark one. You see her lips moving, wide
words. You can barely make out "When Gawd" and you squint to see "is moving". And then, she
pounds him in the chest with an open hand.
You see him plant his right foot forward. I ain't moving.
And then you think you hear the base guitar strike three chords. You feel that this is
"stance music", since both light and darkness have taken their stance. And he tries to step his left
one more forwa---BAM! He's on the ground. BAM! She knocked him down. BAM! She ain't
touch him. And you wonder all of a sudden when the Ebonics came into the picture. But you
think it all fits, so you keep on watching.
You watch as he gets his shameful self up. He's backed against a wall, quite frightened
now. You realize it isn't only her he's scared of. It's the big guy. She points her veiled finger at
him and then the wide portal behind, "OUT!"
He slides by her--back painting the wall. And then you see him run. His long black robe
tripping, whipping between his calves. He holds on to his Bible with one hand and his
pentangular hat with the other as he is expelled down the rocky path.
You see the veiled turn and proceed with business. You see her clapping her hands on chests,
on foreheads, on shoulders, with the wrinkled assisting her on the cold side, warming them up.
You marvel as one by one people submit themselves to the laying on of hands and come under
this power.
You watch as the veiled touches a young bonnet and she goes under. You pay close
attention as she slumps to the ground with her flowing white skirt carnationing about her. Beat.
Beat. Beat. You watch as the white Phoenix rises. You think you can smell the ashes beneath her
filling the room. You wonder for a moment why those ashes smell like cinnamon pretzels, getting
sweeter and sweeter and what's this ringing in your ears and ouch. As you pass back to this
world, you realize that the first bonnet who walked into the building shouting was Anne
Hutchinson. The colors in the room are covered by a white film. And at last, the veiled looks at
you from across the room, right into your eyes. And you white out.
---------------------You feel the firmness of the floor beneath you. The thin carpeting rubs newly against
your fingers. You've never come back in this position.

Your wife swoops down from the bench the instant you open your eyes. "Was it that bad?
Where were we?"
Her agave nectar eyes are filled with intrigue and eagerness. The elevator doors close
right next to where you are, wafting the mall smells of lingering cigarette smoke and cinnamon
pretzel bites.
"Honey, we've gotta go to church on Sunday."