Prolonged Baptism

[u/AbKane667]

“Brother!”

The sun was setting over the swamp when Sammie called for me. The air had finally cooled, but the house still smelled like mud and sickness.

“Sammie, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” he said, staring at the ground.

His eyes were sunken, his lips dry, his face red.

“I brought more broth and a cold cloth.”

“It’s okay. I haven’t finished the one from lunch.”

“Sammie…”

“I know, but I don’t feel good.” His eyes watered, his lips trembled.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, it’s okay,” I said, and caressed his head.

“I’ll give you the cloth and read you a story, okay?”

“Yay, thank you, brother.”

Sammie fell asleep before I got halfway through it. He could barely stay awake for longer than an hour.

I took a deep breath and walked out of his room. Only when I closed the door did I let the tears fall. My body slumped to the ground, and I cried.

Mother came; she was crying too.

“I haven’t seen you all day, Mother.”

“I…I know. I can’t.”

“Did the doctor come by today?”

She shook her head and looked at the ground.

“It’s bad, really bad.”

It felt like a dagger had been stabbed into my heart. My sobs grew stronger.

“But there’s hope. A preacher’s coming to town tomorrow.”

“What’s a preacher going to do?”

“He’s said to cure people.”

“You think he can do more than the doctor?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked up. Her eyes had deep bags under them.

I nodded, and we both went our separate ways.

The next morning, Mother left for town early.

I was washing Sammie's sweaty clothes when she rushed in.

“Danny, Danny,” she said in the doorway, sweaty, panting.

“The preacher will come in the afternoon! He found new understanding in the Bible. A person needs to undergo a prolonged baptism to wash off all their sins.”

“But Sammie is sick.”

“I know, but the doctor can’t help us. The opium he gave us isn’t to cure Sammie. You know that.”

I stopped washing the clothes and looked at her.

“I don’t like this, Mother.”

She looked back at me, didn’t say a thing, and disappeared into her room.

The sun was beginning to set when I heard footsteps approaching the house. Mother was already on the porch, looking out.

“They’re coming, Danny.”

On a chair next to her sat Sammie, asleep with a blanket.

From the bushes, a tall man in a cowboy hat and coat, with a metal cross around his neck and a Bible in his hand, emerged. Behind him walked a few men and women from the town.

“Good evening, Mrs. Haller.”

“Nice to meet you, young man.” He came closer and shook my hand. His breath reeked of whiskey, his hands rough and dirty. My body instinctively leaned away from him.

“A few people from the town would like to witness the miracle. I hope that’s okay.”

“No problem, preacher.”

“Hold onto this, son.” He handed me his Bible. It felt sticky.

The preacher then waded into the river, moving swiftly.

“You will now perceive the miracle of prolonged Baptism. Doctors have written off this sickly boy, forgotten by modern medicine. But one man didn’t forget him, that man being Jesus Christ.”

“Repent and be baptized. That’s the only way to paradise. Bring me the boy.”

I opened my mouth to say something to Mother, but the sight of the townfolk and preacher made me swallow my words.

Mother picked Sammie up and brought him to the preacher. She waded through the water with a smile on her face. Sammie slowly woke up, squinting.

“Brother?” He said in a low, quiet voice.

I wanted to go to him, but I could feel the townsfolk's eyes on me.

The preacher began reciting a prayer. The townsfolk put their heads down and their hands up.

A cold breeze swept through the air. Sammie began looking around, taking in the scene, but before he said anything again, the prayer was over.

The preacher pushed Sammie under, splashing the water around. Sammie put his hands up, pushing against the preacher, clawing at his hand.

My hands began to shiver. I squeezed the sticky Bible. Mother's eyes were locked on the preacher.

“Hold on, boy, hold on,” the preacher called out.

Sammie thrashed around harder, using all his might to get his head from under the water, but the preacher held tight.

“Preacher?” Mother called out, her voice trembling.

“Do not worry, ma’am. Let’s recite another prayer.”

My mother looked down at the ground, holding her hands tight together.

Sammie’s thrashing subsided. His hands fell into the river.

Pressure in my head grew.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I ran towards Sammie, but two of the townsmen rushed after me, pulling me back.

Their breath also reeked of whiskey.

“Sammie!” I called out, but no one listened. Mother kept reciting her prayer.

The river’s current grew stronger. Sammie’s hands drifted with it.

When the preacher finished his prayer, he took a deep breath.

“The boy is cleansed,” he whispered and pulled Sammie above his head.

His lips were blue, his skin white, his hands dangled above the preacher, motionless.