The Sacrifice Read online

  But it was beautiful speech! Uttering such words she felt that she might turn into a tropical bird with rich royal-blue feathers, cream-colored neck plumes, astonishing sea-green tail. Her speech was musical, mysterious. She could spread her wings, and fly.

  That morning, early she’d been bathed by Sisters. Her hair had been stiff-plaited and affixed to her head with hairpins. Slowly then and with elaborate care she’d been clothed in white undergarments and in a white nylon skirt to her ankles and a long-sleeved white nylon tunic that fitted her slender body loosely. Over the plaited hair, a white nylon head covering like a nun’s.

  White is the color of purity, virginity. White was Aasia Muhammad’s color.

  “‘Great is the happiness of the daughter of the Prophet . . .’”

  Among females of the Faith, there were “daughters”—“sisters”—“brides”—“wives.” At fifteen, Sybilla Frye would be a “daughter.”

  Eagerly and anxiously she’d taken lessons in the Faith. Numerous times she’d practiced the ritual of conversion. With her Sister-instructress she had practiced the act of submission—first, on her knees, and her head bowed, and then sinking forward slowly in submission until she lay prostrate on her chest, belly, legs and her arms flung out above her head on the altar floor.

  This is the posture of utter acquiescence, she’d been instructed. No one is so vulnerable to Allah as at this moment, prostrating herself on the Earth.

  And Allah looks with love upon those who prostrate themselves in this way which is the way of the child.

  Ednetta who’d accompanied Sybilla to her lessons had been astonished to see her sassy, rude, vexatious daughter so obedient. Sybilla had taken a mischievous pleasure in surprising Mama.

  Too bad, there was (yet) no Temple of the Kingdom of Islam in Pascayne. This conversion ceremony, specially arranged by the Black Prince for Sybilla, took place in the Newark Temple, in a neighborhood not unlike Red Rock near the river.

  It was mid-February: a low bleak sky like dirty pavement. The Passaic River turgid and lead-colored. In her beautiful white clothes with a coat flung over her shoulders Sybilla had been cold, shivering almost convulsively. She’d wiped at her eyes, and at her nose. Ednetta had pressed tissues upon her, that Sybilla wadded and pushed up inside her sleeves; how awful it would be, mortifying!—if as Sybilla advanced to the altar on the arm of an elder Sister, in her beautiful clothes, one of the wadded tissues would fall out of her sleeve.

  Damn but Sybilla’s eyes continued to water, uncontrollably. Since that bad beating, her left eye seemed particularly weak.

  In another year or two, “Aasia Muhammad” could be betrothed. Her Sister-instructress in the Kingdom had told her that in the African countries of Morocco, Nigeria, Libya, Kenya, girls of fifteen, even fourteen, or thirteen, were frequently betrothed. To remain a girl, a child, was not desirable in the Kingdom, when one could become a “bride” of the Prophet, and a “wife” to a designated husband.

  “‘Aasia Muhammad.’ Daughter of the Prophet you will rise . . .”

  Aasia Muhammad! She had never heard so beautiful a name.

  No longer was she “Sybilla Frye”—already the name sounded coarse and common to her ears.

  Already that old, outgrown life had become repellent to her. A life of squalor, ignorance, shame, sin . . .

  Things she’d done. Things she’d allowed to be done to her.

  Years ago, in sixth grade. So young.

  Older boys had given her beer in cans. She’d shared their beer. They’d given her joints to smoke, or to try to smoke. What they’d claimed to be crack she’d sniffed up into her nostrils so tender they’d bled. And the guys laughing at her.

  Taking money from men hanging at the edge of Hicks Park. Taking money for Sybilla Frye to go with these men into the (nasty-smelly) men’s lavatory or out behind the storage shed.

  They’d give her small change to keep. Called her Dog-face which was cruel and unfair because everybody knew, Sybilla Frye was one of the sexy-attractive girls.

  Except for the gap between her front teeth, and that damn eye so they’d call her Cross-eye. Which wasn’t true, either.

  Jaycee hadn’t been the first. Jaycee’d been the one broke her heart.

  He’d fired a gun at another boy. Jaycee always insisted, the boy he’d shot had been shooting at him.

  It was something God must’ve decided, that Anis hadn’t murdered her for disobeying him. Showing her ass like a slut in the hot summer, and her little titties in a T-strap shirt, had riled him worse than she’d known, but going out to Mountainview with Shirley, he hadn’t even found out about it for certain, only just heard some damn rumor, he’d lost control. Sybilla tried to call him Daddy like he’d wanted but came out wrong, he’d thought she was sassing him, and maybe sometimes she was, it happened like that in school sometimes too, you rolled your eyes or made a smirk-face and a teacher saw you, and you hadn’t even meant it. Anis Schutt had murdered his first wife but not everybody knew he’d (maybe) murdered another woman, too, whose body had never been found but was believed to be dumped in the river off the Pitcairn Bridge.

  And maybe Mama knew? For sure, Aunt Cheryl knew. And Martine knew. You had to feel pity for Mama, not a bad-looking woman for her age but so sad and desperate to keep her man. And everybody knew, Anis Schutt used ’Netta Frye for his convenience like some old wife the husband doesn’t glance at or give a damn for long as she cooks for him, cleans his clothes for him and crap like that. So trusting she’d given Anis some of the Reverend’s money, with a promise of more. Sybilla had known, Anis had hated Ednetta for that money, shame-money he’d called it, but he’d taken it from her just the same.

  Anis Schutt wasn’t in this Temple this morning. Anis Schutt had nothing to do with Sybilla converting to the Kingdom of Islam and for all Sybilla knew, Ednetta was keeping it a secret from him.

  All this issue with Reverend Mudrick and them, the “Crusade”—all the publicity, and people talking—Anis just kept away.

  Now, Reverend Mudrick was in a hospital here in Newark. For some time it had not been known if he would live or die but—so far as Sybilla had been told—he had survived the racist attack.

  Whoever had tried to kill him had aimed for the heart. Poor man had had surgeries to repair the heart damage, Sybilla felt queasy just to think of.

  It was a fact, she hadn’t liked the Reverend. Hadn’t liked him to touch her, or breathe on her his breath that smelled like garlic or whiskey or meat. But she had revered him as so many did. And she had feared him.

  Soon after the stabbing, the Black Prince had entered their lives through intermediaries in Pascayne.

  It was very flattering to Ednetta, and to Sybilla—that Leopaldo Quarrquan of the Kingdom of Islam had wished to see them.

  Unlike Marus Mudrick, Leopaldo Quarrquan was head of an entire religion. Marus Mudrick was a guest preacher in AME churches, but was not the head of any church; it was explained to the Fryes, the Black Prince was equivalent to the Pope who is head of the Roman Catholic faith which is worldwide. As the Pope was head of a religion for white people worldwide, the Black Prince was head of a religion for black people worldwide.

  The Black Prince described himself as a soldier of Allah—a “warrior.” The Kingdom of Islam was both an ancient religion of “near-prehistoric” time (A.D. 700, East Africa) and a “revolutionary” new religion founded in 1979 by Leopaldo Quarrquan.

  It was believed that the Black Prince was the reincarnation of the Kingdom’s earliest leader, whose name, roughly translated into English, was Leopaldo Quarrquan (900 B.C.–846 B.C.). You were in the Black Prince’s presence only briefly before you realized that here was an extraordinary individual, very like one who has been transported from an ancient time to the present time and is bemused by what he sees. As the Black Prince was a warrior, so he was surrounded by a staff of (male, young) aides, with shaved heads; but they kept at a little distance, so that, in public, the Black Prince appeared alone as i
f in solitude. The Black Prince never raised his voice but spoke softly—you had to listen to hear him. Not like the AME preachers who shouted, cajoled, even wept from the pulpit, like actors on TV.

  The rumor was, the Black Prince was armed at all times, as there were “bounties” on his head issued by his enemies both white and black.

  First time they’d seen the Black Prince, the Fryes had been in awe of the man. His way of moving was kingly—his face was like something sculpted out of stained wood—his eyes heavy-lidded, “African.” His head and his jaws were clean-shaven. His age was somewhere between forty and fifty, though he appeared much younger. It was said that in another lifetime, as a young man in his twenties, he’d been convicted of murder. He’d served a sentence for manslaughter in a Maryland maximum-security prison, seventeen years. In the prison he’d converted to the Nation of Islam; shortly after being released from prison, having served his maximum sentence, he quarreled with the leaders of the Nation of Islam and founded his own, more “militant” and “revolutionary” Kingdom of Islam.

  In prison, he had renamed himself. His old, “white” name had been cast off and his new, “black African” name was Leopaldo Quarrquan. Each morning he rose at dawn, though earlier during the dark months: never later than 6:00 A.M. His diet was rigorous. He ate sparingly, fruits, vegetables, and grain. He abhorred the very thought of pork or any unclean food like shellfish. He abhorred all drugs including most medications, for which the faithful had to apply for permission to take. He never drank alcohol, nor even carbonated soda, which were forbidden the faithful. He did not believe in ice cubes to cool any drink. He lived an ascetic life, often at prayer. He threw himself full length on the floor, on his prayer rug, utterly supplicant in prayer. He prayed with such fervor, he threw himself into a trance and none dared approach him at such a holy time. He was an ordained warrior of Allah claiming that, in a vision, the Prophet himself had put into his hand a sword blessed by Allah. The Black Prince could never marry for he abhorred the “animal life.” He was not a private citizen, a civilian. He did not pay any state or federal taxes for he had no income. It was a violation of the principles of the Kingdom of Islam to cooperate in any way with any secular government. And so, to avoid arrest and persecution by the IRS, it was arranged that an aide would fill out Leopaldo Quarrquan’s income tax forms and file them. Money received by the Kingdom of Islam was almost entirely donations, tithed by the faithful; occasionally, there were singular, large donations from black celebrities, athletes and businessmen. Even secular blacks contributed to the Kingdom of Islam, in those urban areas in which the Kingdom exerted power and influence, where small businesses might depend upon the intervention of the Kingdom’s staff.

  There was an alternative, controversial vision of the Black Prince in which it was acknowledged that he had married as a young man, and had put aside his wife as a female unworthy of a warrior of Allah. Later, the Black Prince had married one of the “brides” of the Prophet, a pure young woman with whom he did not cohabit; she had borne him several children but only the sons were brought to him on a regular basis. The Black Prince wore a white silk robe with a sash, a white silk tunic, white trousers beneath. His heavy-lidded eyes were large, intelligent, grave, and bemused as with the folly of humankind through the centuries.

  Meeting Sybilla, the Black Prince had said in his powerful subdued voice: “I have been sent to you, ‘Sybilla Frye,’ to save your soul from the white devil’s Hell in which it has languished. Through the love of the Prophet I will bring you to your true home in the Kingdom of Islam from which you have been exiled these many centuries.”

  Ednetta would say afterward It was as if the Prince had touched S’b’lla’s heart. Just reached inside her rib cage and touched her beating heart, the change that came over her.

  This had been at a time when rumors circulated in Red Rock that Reverend Mudrick had been murdered.

  In all the news media it was being declared that Marus Mudrick had been executed by a racist white, possibly a member of the New Jersey Ku Klux Klan, after one of his rallies in support of the Crusade for Justice for Sybilla Frye. Then, the news was modified to state that the Reverend had not died but was in critical condition, in Newark Presbyterian Hospital. Bulletins were issued from the Reverend’s bedside in Intensive Care by his distraught brother Byron.

  There were prayer vigils at the Camden Avenue AME Church, and at other churches in Red Rock and Newark. The Fryes did not attend these vigils, as they did not visit the Reverend in the hospital, for their presence would have caused too much of a distraction.

  In his pulpit Reverend Denis wept angrily: Brother Marus is a martyr to the cause of justice for black people everywhere. He is our Martin Luther King Jr. But he will not die in vain. He will not die.

  Yet, days and weeks passed, and Reverend Mudrick remained in the hospital, having endured several cardiac surgeries. And there were said to be other, ancillary medical problems, complicating the Reverend’s recovery.

  “Aasia Muhammad, Blessed of Allah, daughter of the Prophet and vessel of hope you will rise, and speak after me . . .”

  The Black Prince spoke in an incantatory voice, in English; then, in a deeper and more guttural voice, in the mysterious “speech of Allah”—Ednetta had no idea if this was a true language, like Arabic, or an invented language known only to Leopaldo Quarrquan.

  Amid the rows of seats reserved for women and girls on the left side of the Temple Ednetta sat alert and uneasy; like these daughters, sisters, brides, and wives of the Prophet she wore a head scarf to cover her hair. Their clothing was long, loose, and light-colored, while Ednetta wore dark, somber clothing in recognition of the perilous condition of Reverend Mudrick, so abruptly wrenched from their lives.

  Ednetta had tried to discourage Sybilla from so quickly converting to the Kingdom of Islam, after the violence to Reverend Mudrick.

  She’d appealed to the girl, to have faith in the Reverend, that he would return to health, and again lead the Crusade; but Sybilla had been frightened, and flattered by the attentions of the Black Prince, who reminded her (she said) of Mike Tyson, not in his appearance but in his manner which was kingly, gentle and kind. Calling her Sybilla, and speaking of the languishing of her soul.

  Byron Mudrick could not lead the Crusade as his brother had done, that was certain. Since the stabbing, the attorney had scarcely contacted Ednetta; he’d been terrified by the attack on Marus, and feared for his own life. Worse, he’d told Ednetta it was “inevitable” that they would all receive subpoenas to appear before a Passaic County grand jury, soon to be convened by the district attorney, to investigate the charges filed by Sybilla Frye.

  So long as Sybilla had refused to speak with authorities, the Crusade had operated, so to speak, beyond the law; as soon as Sybilla had “positively” identified both Jerold Zahn and Julio Ramos, under the direction of Marus Mudrick, the district attorney’s office had initiated its investigation. Byron had lamented to Ednetta that it had been a “dangerous, reckless and vindictive act” of Marus’s to specifically name Julio Ramos as one of Sybilla’s rapists; they would all be sued for hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not millions, and he, Byron Mudrick, would lose his license to practice law. If only Marus had consulted with him, before calling news conferences! Ednetta had wanted to press her hands over her ears. She’d wanted to cry to Byron Mudrick that his brother Marus was a martyr to the Crusade who’d risked his life for justice for Sybilla while he, Byron, was a coward who didn’t have any faith in any of them. My daughter name those men ’cause they the rapists, that why, Mr. Mudrick! She a black Joan of Arc. Marus know that.

  Still, Ednetta was anxious now she’d be served a subpoena, and made to testify in a courthouse. You had to swear on a Bible to tell the truth and if you lied it was perjury, which was a crime in itself apart from any other crime. And if you lied on the Bible, Jesus would be betrayed. She’d heard of people struck down dead who’d swore on a Bible and lied and God had punished them
as they deserved. There was just no way out except as Byron Mudrick said refusing to answer the subpoena, fleeing the State of New Jersey before they could be arrested which was no option for him, as an attorney. Stuck like Tar Baby was Byron’s sad joke on himself.

  But the new development in the Fryes’ life was the Kingdom of Islam. No one had anticipated that.

  Now Sybilla was a convert to the Kingdom, and re-baptized “Aasia Muhammad”—maybe the law wouldn’t pursue her? Maybe they would see she’d been just an ignorant young girl, failing in school and in trouble with her family, but now a good Muslim girl, and not prosecute her? The Black Prince had been confident that the “notoriety” of the Crusade would not follow Sybilla into her new life, and Ednetta wanted to believe this.

  But Ednetta Frye was the girl’s mother, and her legal guardian, even if Sybilla had converted to Islam. (This had been explained to her.) So long as she remained living in Pascayne, New Jersey, or anywhere in New Jersey, she could be served a summons at any time.

  The Black Prince was intending to continue the Crusade for Sybilla Frye, but in his own way. He had access to “dimensions of wealth and power” far beyond the reach of Marus Mudrick, of whom he spoke with a sneering sort of pity.

  He’d informed Ednetta of his plans for “Aasia Muhammad” without asking permission from her. He wasn’t polite and deferential to her as Reverend Mudrick had been, at the start at least.

  Ednetta thought it was because the Kingdom of Islam was a warrior religion and not a religion of peace like Christianity. Kingdom of Islam faithful did not believe in “turning the other cheek” as Jesus had taught—this was “weakness.” Kingdom of Islam, surrounded by enemies both white and black, believed in striking the first blow; that was the history of the Kingdom, from its earliest, “pre-historic” era.

  If you were declared an enemy of the faith by the Black Prince, it was a directive from the Prophet that you should be executed, and no one except the Black Prince could intercede.