The Matriarch by Sharon; Hawes

her mug into a giant hand and takes a swallow. “There are several preachers in our church. Each can stand and speak about whatever’s on his mind. The evil in the world or the good. There’s no set doctrine. We just let it all hang out, and when we’re through, we’re at peace. Simple, huh?”
    Maybe it’s the home-cooked meal. Or Charlotte’s kiss. Or maybe it’s the simple act of returning to the place I once knew as home, but I feel good. At peace. A simple feeling, yet so difficult to achieve. It’s foreign to me. But I like it, and I hope it will continue.
    “Evil in the world,” Charlotte says. “You mean like the devil? Does your church believe in the devil?”
    Dott hugs her coffee mug to her chest. “People argue, you know, about the devil, about the existence of evil.”
    She pauses, and I hope this topic will turn out to be riveting, because I’m so lulled by food I have trouble focusing on her words. She moves her chair back and rises. She walks to the stove and turns to face us—Charlotte, the dozing Frank, and me. This woman must be well over two hundred pounds, I think as I study her. Those pounds of solid female flesh, bursting with robust good health. Dott’s tee shirt reveals an ample bosom and well-muscled arms. Her tight shorts cling to thick tanned thighs, and she wears high-topped leather hiking boots. She makes a hell of an impression just by standing up.

    Frank is dozing, but not really. Sometime ago, he discovered one of the handy ruses of the elderly—the fake nap. Unlike the presence of a hearing problem, where he would have to put up with harsh shouts, Frank simply closes his eyes and relaxes his body. He finds this to be wonderfully refreshing and acceptable—a mere timeout, so to speak. Sometimes he does indeed drop off for a short nap, but usually he just indulges in restful eavesdropping.
    “Shall I tell you of my education in evil?” Dott asks. Frank hears everyone shift about in their chairs as they settle in to hear Dott’s story.
    “I was young, almost fourteen, when I saw a man grow horns. They came bursting out of his forehead just like in a cartoon. I was standing in line to see a movie, and he cut into the line in front of my friend Rebecca and me.
    “You’re cutting in!” I said to him, and he turned to stare at us. That’s when he grew the horns. And his eyes changed. They shrunk down to small mean eyes, kind of savage-like.”
    “He was looking at you?” Frank hears Cassidy ask.
    Sweet baby Jesus! Is the boy buying this garbage?
    “No, at Rebecca.”
    “What on earth …” Charlotte says softly.
    “That’s my point,” Dott cries. “He wasn’t
of this
earth. The man had become evil right before my eyes!”
    Her voice is dramatic and forceful, and Frank reminds himself that this woman is a tent-house preacher and not to be taken seriously. How did she become a self-ordained, whacko-preacher and a homosexual one at that? A story there, Frank is thinking, but he doesn’t care to hear it.
    “So, what did you do?” Charlotte asks.
    Dott sighs, and Frank hears her clomp over to the table and sit back down. “I was just a girl, you know? Here was a demon standing right in front of me. I thought I had lost my mind for sure. I looked over at Rebecca who was staring down into her Coke; I wasn’t sure she had seen the bad guy arrive. I took another peek then, and the demon was gone. The man was glaring at me, but he was just a man.
    “I decided I couldn’t really have seen what I thought I had. It was simply not possible. I did my best then to forget the whole thing.”
    And high time too, Frank is thinking. Talk about imagination!
    “About three months later, Becca and I got to talking, and I told her what I thought I’d seen. She told me she had seen it, too. She swore to me she saw that man grow horns and turn into a demon right in front of us! Becca said she didn’t say anything at the time because she thought she was losing her mind.”
    “So,