“Made in His image—that’s what they said at Sunday school, but it was a lie. Jesus was the Son of God, and Mary was his mother, and neither one of them had Raymond’s skin; or his eyes, which burned like coal. “It ain’t necessarily that way, Raymond,” his grandmother had said when he told her this truth. “You been looking at the wrong pictures.” She got up off her chair and put aside the quilt she’d been patching forever because she got distracted by her game shows. She walked into the kitchen an...d crossed the linoleum floor, even the part that scared Raymond because it rose like a bubble of gas or maybe a ghost was trapped beneath it, and dug through a drawer. Finally she found what she was looking for. “See, child?” she said, holding out a framed illustration that looked as if it had been ripped from a book. In it, a man was being crucified—a black man with an Afro—and up above, floating in the vicinity of the sun, was the fading face of another figure, His brown skin standing out in relief from His snowy beard.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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