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very fingertips；moved outward and back against his hips； his sightless eyes looked upward； and he began to dance。
Then his hands close into fists； and his head snapped downward； his sweat loosening the greasethat slicked down his hair； and the rhythm of all the others quickened to match Elisha’s rhythm； histhighs moved terribly against the cloth of his suit； his heels beat on the floor； and his fists movedbeside his body as though he were beating his own drum。 And so； for a while； in the centre of thedancers； head down； fists beating； on； on； unbearably； until it seemed the walls of the church wouldfall for very sound； and then； in a moment； with a cry； head up； arms high in the air； sweat pouringfrom his forehead； and all his body dancing as though it would never stop。 Sometimes he did notstop until he fell—until he dropped like some animal felled by a hammer—moaning； on his face。
And then a great moaning filled the church。
There was sin among them。 One Sunday； when regular service was over； Father James haduncovered sin in the congregation of the righteous。 He had uncovered Elisha and Ella Mae。 Theyhad been ‘walking disorderly’； they were in danger of straying from the truth。 And as Father Jamesspoke of the sin that he knew they had not mitted yet； of the unripe fig plucked too early fromthe tree—to set the children’s teeth on edge—John felt himself grow dizzy in his seat and couldnot look at Elisha where he stood； beside Ella Mae； before the altar。 Elisha hung his head as FatherJames spoke； and the congregation murmured。 And Ella Mae was not so beautiful now as she waswhen she was singing and testifying； but looked like a sullen； ordinary girl。 Her full lips were looseand her eyes were black—with shame； or rage； or both。 Her grandmother； who had raised her； satwatching quietly； with folded hands。 She of the pillars of the church； a powerful evangelistandverywidelyknown。Shesaidnothi（was） ngin（one） Ella Mae’s defense； for she must have felt；as the congregation felt； that Father James was only exercising his clear and painful duty； he wasresponsible； after all； for Elisha； as Praying Mother Washington was responsible for Ella Mae。 It was not an easy thing； said Father James； to be the pastor of a flock。 It might look easy to just situp there in the pulpit night after night； year in； year out； but let them remember the awfulresponsibility placed on his shoulders by almighty God—let them remember that God would askan accounting of him one day for every soul in his flock。 Let them remember this when theythough he was hard； let them remember that the Word was hard； that the way of holiness was ahard way。 There was no room in God’s army for the coward heart； no crown awaiting him who putmother； or father； sister； or brother； sweetheart； or friend above God’s will。 Let the church cryamen to this！ And they cried： ‘Amen！ Amen！’
The Lord had led him； said Father James； looking down on the boy and girl before him； togive them a public warning before it was too late。 For he knew them to be sincere young people；dedicate to the service of the Lord—it was only that； since they were young； they did not know thepitfall Satan laid for the unwary。 He knew that sin was not in their minds—not yet； yet sin was inthe flesh； and should they continue with their walking out alone together； their secrets andlaughter； and touching of hands； they would surely sin a sin beyond all forgiveness。 And Johnwondered what Elisha was thinking—Elisha ； who was tall and handsome； who played basket…ball；and who had been saved at the age of eleven in the improbable fields down south。 Had he sinned？
Had he been tempted？ And the girl beside him； whose white robes now seemed the merest；thinnest covering for the nakedness of breasts and insistent thighs—what was her face like whenshe was alone with Elisha； with no singing； when they were not surrounded by the saints？ He wasafraid to think of it； yet he could think of nothing else； and the fever of which they stood accusedbegan also to rage him。
After this Sunday Elisha and Ella Mae no longer met each other each day after school； nolonger spent Saturday afternoons wandering through Central Park； or lying on the beach。 All thatwas over for them。 If they came together again it would be in wedlock。 They would have childrenand raise them in the church。
This was what was meant by a holy life； this was what the way of the cross demanded。 Itwas somehow on that Sunday； a Sunday shortly before his birthday； that John first realized thatthis was the life awaiting him—realized it consciously； as something no longer far off； butimminent； ing closer day by day。
John’s birthday fell on a Sunday in March； in 1935。 He awoke on this birthday morning with thefeeling that there was menace in the air around him—that something irrevocable had occurred inhim。 He stared at a yellow stain on the ceiling just above his head。 Roy was still smothered in thebedclothes； and his breath came and went with a small； whistling sound。 There was no other soundanywhere； no one in the house was up。 The neighbors’ radios were all silent； and his mother hadn’tyet risen to fix his father’s breakfast。 John wondered at his panic； then wondered about the time；and then （while the yellow stain on the ceiling slowly transformed itself into a woman’snakedness） he remembered that it was his fourteenth birthday and that he had sinned。
His first thought； nevertheless； was： ‘Will anyone remember？’ For it had happened； once ortwice； that his birthday had passed entirely unnoticed； and no one had said ‘Happy Birthday；Johnny；’ or given him anything—not even his mother。
Roy stirred again and John pushed him away； listening to the silence。 On other mornings heawoke hearing his mother singing in the kitchen； hearing his father in the bedroom behind himgrunting and muttering prayers to himself as he put on his clothes； hearing； perhaps； the chatter ofSarah and the squalling of Ruth； and the radios； the clatter of pots and pans； and the voices of allthe folk nearby。 This morning not even the cry of a bedspring disturbed the silence； and Johnseemed； therefore； to be listening to his own unspeaking do