The Duppy by Anthony C. Winkler

roll on the ground and babble and claim that God is talking in tongues through them, is never God; it’s duppy encyclopedia salesmen from America, who like to hang around revival tent poles for a joke and babble through the so-called possessed.
    “What d’you mean, ‘It wasn’t that simple’? Under your stewardship, didn’t Diplodocus, Pteranodon, Tyrannosaurus Rex, and all the other dinosaurs become extinct?” the professor asked while barbing me with an accusing stare.
    Again a lofty and breezy pause followed by the same soft voice, I suppose so.
    “Murderer!” yelled one of the students, his face turning red with fury.
    I reached over to box the boy’s nasty mouth but the constable held me back. “Mr. Baps, don’t be so hot-tempered.”
    “We’re anthropology students from Harvard,” the professor explained. “How do you expect us to feel?”
    “I don’t care a damn where you come from,” I raged in his face, “and I don’t care what you feel. Dis is God Almighty you dealing with. Show some respect.”
    “Respect for someone who wiped out a whole animal species?” muttered one of the students darkly.
    The argument raged back and forth in the clearing. I stood my ground and swore that anytime my eye saw a foreigner stoning my God on the soil of Jamaica, all hell would pop, for I would smite jaw and nose and face without mercy, adding that I didn’t understand why Almighty God didn’t just use His everlasting powers and turn the whole lot of them into fish bait.
    At this remark, the youths exploded in uproarious laughter and staggered away down the trail, periodically collapsing against each other with uncontrollable mirth as if they had never before heard a bigger joke. The constable trailed sheepishly after them, mumbling apologetically over his shoulder that American youth were known universally to be unruly.
    After they had gone I asked God if He was all right, and He answered, Yes. I asked Him if His feelings were hurt by the disrespect shown and He said, Not really.
    The conversation languished for a bit as I stared hard at the thick leaves of the tree and tried to spot God.
    “Well,” I said lamely, “I was on me way to debate a philosopher I tied to a tree. So I suppose I better go.”
    I paused, gave the tree another searching look, and was about to head down the trail when I impulsively asked God if He would like to come with me and visit the tied-up philosopher.
    “Dat is,” I added, not wanting to seem as if I were pushing myself up on Him, “if he’s still tied and if you not too busy.”
    He said, No, He was not at all busy, and He would like to come and see for Himself which philosopher I had tied up and find out why.
    Then God flew out of the tree and hovered in the clearing not three feet from where I, Taddeus Baps, stood, stupefied and overjoyed at meeting face to face with my Maker.

Chapter 11
    God looks like a peenywally.
    He is a tiny bubble of the purest starlight, and when He first darted out of the crown of the tree and hovered near my face, I might have mistaken him for a flickering peenywally—what some people call a firefly or lightning bug—except that His glitter was so blinding. It was a shock at first, to see that God was-so small, for my upbringing had led me to expect a big and-powerful Somebody with meat on the bone and plenty muscle.
    “God, is dat you?” I asked, nervous and uncertain, knowing that I was not good enough in heart and mind to come face to face with the Almighty, for my love of moneymaking and craving for earthly pum-pum had led me over the years to double deal and connive, but that’s another story and will not be disclosed in these pages on the advice of barrister.
    It is enough for me to say that I knew myself to be an unrepentant sinner and unworthy to be in the presence of the Almighty.
    He said, How do you do, Baps?
    I replied that I was well—thank you—adding that I very much liked the runnings of heaven, and He replied that He