On the riverbank, the throng of Revivalists sang, stretching the notes to breaking point with their trademark drawl. Their off-key voices and beats of the drums decimated the stillness of the Sunday morning.

One by one, Pastor Bembridge dipped the converts. After the emersions, they were spirited away, literally, to a tent, where they put on their new white robes and turbans, 'symbols of change and spiritual transformation'.

Stuck in the mud at the riverside were six six-foot-tall wood crosses, one for each of the already-baptised candidates. In the river, affixed to the bed, was Cassandra Daley's cross. She was the last to be cleansed.

As Pastor Bembridge held Cassandra's small forehead while he prayed for her, the Revivalists soared with: "Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, and oh how wi a go walk wid God on that great day. On that great day, oh my Lord, and oh how wi a go walk wid God on that great day!" Cassandra's eyes were closed in meditation, and she shook. The solemnity of the moment had overwhelmed her.

The prayer was now over, but the drums and the voices were in a frenzy, louder and faster another saint was about to enter Beulah Land. Pastor Bembridge cradled Cassandra's back with his left hand. Just after he said, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost thou shalt be baptised," and was about to dip Cassandra, the onlookers screamed as a small woman appeared from the grass about the river and hurled a huge stone at Cassandra's cross.

The uprooted cross spun three times and made its way downstream. In their horror, Cassandra and Pastor Bembridge rushed from the river towards the shocked gathering. The drums were now silent.

'Ole heathen!'

From the other bank, Claris Wagerhood, a Revivalist from the neighbouring district of Sweet Devine, and Pastor Bembridge's nemesis, stood shouting, "Ole heathen! Bout yuh a baptise the ole crosses! She shall rot in Hell!"

Cassandra Daley and Claris Wagerhood were childhood friends. They lived in the same community and were classmates. Cassandra was black-skinned, and Claris brown. One day, several decades ago, they had an argument over a guinea mango. They became estranged and sat in opposite sections of their grade-six classroom.

The tension was strong between the young girls, and every opportunity they got to show off and insult the other they made use of. Cassandra seemed to have the upper hand, since she was bright and knew 'big words'. Yet, the moment when Claris passed Cassandra in a guinea mango tree, one early morning, with her red bloomers showing, was the turning point.

Just as Cassandra entered the classroom, later that morning, Claris jumped up and blurted, "This morning I saw a rat bat in a red bloomers stealing mango and that rat bat was Cassandra Daley!" The class roared, and upon realising that the table was turned, Claris Wagerhood fell upon the ground and laughed uproariously with the rest of the class.

In her embarrassment, Cassandra dashed to her seat and gushed. Even when their teacher was conducting devotion she was beside herself. The crying continued right through break time, with the teacher trying hard to ignore the distressed Cassandra. Claris was content, happy.

crying non-stop

Cassandra whimpered and whimpered after the break. But, Miss Chambers could not take it anymore and stormed down to where she sat. Claris was now in ecstasy. Cassandra was about to get a beating.

"What is it child? You've been annoying me all day," Miss Chambers declared with a scowl. "A said what is it!?"

"Miss, she call mi rat bat, Miss!" Cassandra whined.

"Who?"

"Claris, Miss!"

Claris' mouth and eyes were now open wide. Miss Chambers turned towards her. "Get up there!" she shouted to Claris, pointing to the front of the class.

"But Miss ..."

"Into the corner!" was the stern order.

It took Claris a million years to reach, but Miss Chambers had all the time in the world.

There, in the corner, she placed a pile of books on to Claris' head. For the rest of the afternoon, Claris stood in the corner, with her arms at her side and the books on her head. Tears streamed down her face, and once when she looked at the class, she saw Cassandra sticking out her little pink tongue. From that moment her hatred for Cassandra was sealed.

Now, when wind of her arch-rival baptising her arch-enemy blew into her ears, Claris decided that it was never going to happen. She and Cassandra Daley were not going to rub shoulders in Heaven.

mocking

After Claris gave Pastor Bembridge, Cassandra and the other Revivalists a tongue-lashing, they formed a circle and prayed. Claris stood above them, mocking and cussing. When they finally strolled away from the riverside, Claris went in search of Cassandra's cross. She found it atop a pile of sticks and washed-away branches. Back home, she chopped the cross into several small pieces, to make a fire with them.

In her long, red, white and blue tunic, she stooped over the pile. She poured some kerosene on to it and then lit it. The flames burst on to Claris and caught her dress, setting it ablaze. She sprang up and shouted, "Woee, woee, the heathens are upon me, woee, woee! Let me not be their laughing stock!" And she headed for the river calling for God's intervention. The fire was burning her dress fast, searing her skin, despite her supplications.

She was now at the river and out of breath. From the same spot from where she threw the stone at Cassandra's cross, Claris jumped. She hit the water just as the fire was about to reach her bosom. As Claris Wagerwood went under, the image of Cassandra Daley sticking out her little pink tongue came right back to her, and it was more painful than the heat from the fire of Cassandra's splintered cross.