Humanbeing

 

 

                    Humanbeing

 

          What a horrible humanbeing Met is! I can't imagine anyone being more annoying. The sound of her whining voice is like sandpaper rubbed on the rim of a broken water glass. It's a perfect match for her pinched white face and her red-rimmed eyes. It's not just the grating sound of her voice but the inflammatory things she says: The world is coming to an end; the last days are here! Repent, you sinners! The day of Judgement is coming! Soon the last trump will blow and the Lord will come for his children. Then will judgement be rained on all humankind!

          I mean, who does she think she is, the Over Minister of Culture and Spirituality? She's just a drab talkie who lives in the apartment next to mine. Only she's not a talkie anymore, not since she got religion. She lost her job with the Ministry after that, you can be sure.

          I've got nothing against religious people, mind you. I say, live and let live. If a humanbeing wants to be religious, what's it to me? But this hectoring and bellowing about God and judgement at good citizens is beyond the pale. I think she has a brain disease.

          She used to be a fairly good neighbour. She never said a peep to anyone. Just punched in her time clock at the Ministry, worked her shift, ate at the foodie and minded her own business. Never a husband, never children, a woman without anyone else in her life. Pitiful.

          I don't know what I would do without my Harry. Gives my world a bit of predictability, he does. You know it's Friday because Harry'll come in and say, "What about the drinkie tonight?" I'll put on my best glitter girdle and we'll dance until dawn. It's true we don't have any kids, but it seems like nobody does these days. They say it's something in the water.

          Met judges me. Well, Met judges everybody because that is what her God does. He sits on his cloud and roars out condemnation. Met says so. He sends plagues and pesti-something (I forget the word) because of all our sins. When Met says the word "sin" she says it with kind of a relish, like something sweet and sour that you really shouldn't enjoy like salted chocolate or cognac with lemon peel.

          I asked her what God has against sin. I mean, why make something so enjoyable, like sex or getting drunk and then say not to do it? She looked at me like I was the crazy one. She said that sin was an acid burning at the human heart. Then she looks at me like I'm sinner number one.

          It's true that I'm a cushie, so I suppose you could say that sin is my trade. You know what they say about us: open door, open wallet, open legs... Of course they last one is entirely up to me. Harry says the money's good but it's always my choice. It just never feels like it...

          There I go feeling sorry for myself. I'm a party girl and must never frown. Sometimes, I look at my face in the mirror and look for my first wrinkle or age spot. Then I give my head a shake and go shopping for shoes or a new purse. In no time, I feel giddy and full of spice again.

          I first knew Met at school when we were both just past puberty. We took a training class that had a crossover of pre-talkies and almost-cushies. I think it was called "Presentation" or something like that. My old Gran said it was like the charm school that her own Gran went to before the war. They taught us how to talk with confidence and grace. I don't know how Met passed.

          She was an odd fish even then. Always by herself, never joining in the fun. Timid and awkward. Dreadful hair, always sticking up all over like nobody had ever told her about conditioner rinse or showed her the working end of a brush. How we mocked her. She seemed to live in a world of her own, always with her nose in a book.

------------------

          It was another drab, dreary day in New London. Rain and filthy fog rolled in over the water. No doubt the Frogs dumping their pollutants into the air so we suffer. They never change. Nothing ever does. I could see Met outside my window. She had hauled a box into the middle of the street and was yelling at all passersby.

          I decided that enough was enough. I opened my window to yell back at her when suddenly she was nowhere to be seen.

          I don't mean she wasn't there when I got to the window; I mean, I was looking at her when she vanished. She was on her box, her mouth open and suddenly she looks up, raises her hands and then, nothing. No more Met.

-----------

          I sat down at the table in the kitchen and made myself something strong and caffeinated. What the hell had just happened? The phone rang, it was Harry. I told him about Met and he laughed. I think he thought I was drunk at ten in the a.m. He told me I was a right laugh and rang off. I had to get to the bottom of it all. It was time to pay a visit to the Sanctified Temple of Latter Day Rain.

          The Temple was Met's church. Officially, the Temple was frowned on because it wasn't the State Church, but the Ministry no longer wholesale arrests Deviant churches like they once did. Not like right after the May Day Riots ten years ago. They just levy additional taxes, refuse them government sanction and occasionally arrest a few of their Dev pastors. Every so often, they'll send in the Cultural Police and break up a meeting, if they think it's too Dev. I think the Dev's prefer it that way. A bit of holy indignation goes a long way with such. Of course, most of them went underground.

          The Temple was a simple brownstone building in the fringe of town. I rapped on the door and waited. Eventually, a dirty-looking old man opened to me.

          "Yeah?" he said, wiping his nose clean on a well-used sleeve.

          "I want to talk to a pastor," I said.

          "Good luck wiv that, there's nobody here."

          "When will they be back?"

          "They won't be back. I think they bin rapchured."

          "I don't understand."

          "Rapchured! Taken up to Jesus!"

          "Are you drunk?"

          "Yeah...but who wouldn't be? What with the whole church being rapchured away to Heaven and all!"

          "Why haven't you been rapchured or whatever?"

          "Oh, I'm not a believer like them. At leas', I wasn't before today, but now it's too late."

          "Tell me about this rapchure thing."

          He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Can we go to the drinkie and talk? I feel turrible lonely here."

          "What do you do here, anyway, if you're not one of them?"

          "A little clean-up and such," he said shortly. "Now what about a drink?"

          We went to the local drinkie and ordered pints. He drank deep and long and wiped his hoary face with a filthy red handkerchief. I gave my beer a tiny sip although I wanted to drink myself into oblivion. I had to know more.

          "Tell me about this Rapchure."

          "I don't know much, but from all accounts, it's like their Jaysus comes along on a white horse wiv a trumpet blast and boom! Rapchure! All of his precious Lambs get to go direct to Heaven."

          I had to remember that the janitor was more than a little drunk but this was too much.

          "What do you mean? Who is this Jaysus? And why's he on a white horse?"

          "Ah, it's all in the Buy-bell," he said, finishing his pint with a deep slobbering gasp.

          "What's that?"

          "It's their holy book, full o' tales of Jaysus and the like. There's some back at the Temple." I did not like the sidelong looks he was giving me. He could tell I was a cushie, I think, and hoping for some action for his help.

          "That's fine," I said pushing back my stool. "I can find a Buy-bell on my own." I got out of the drinkie before the crude old man could grab at me.

          But where was I to find a Buy-bell? Would they have one at the State Library? Somehow I thought not. Not since the May Day Riots at any rate. They would have chucked it as being subversive. I would have to find another of the Dev Churches.

          Finding a Dev Church was no easy task, I found. Nobody I knew ever went to church; those that did would never talk to a cushie. So I did a ridiculous thing.

          I pulled a box into the middle of the park and stood on it and started to preach Judgement as I'd heard Met do.

          Soon a crowd had gathered around me. I just yelled all of the things that I remembered from Met but I included my own observation:

          "Where are the ones we mocked? I'll tell you where. Not here! They have been Rapchured by Jaysus just like it says in the Bi-bell!"

          How they mocked me. I didn't care because after I'd finished and the crowd went off, a tall thin man came up to me.

          "Why were you not raptured, if I may ask, Miss? You sound just like a Dev."

          "I'm not really, I just couldn't figure out any other way to attract someone who could tell me more about the Bi-bell. Are you a Dev?"

          "My father and mother were both Devs. I paid lip service to it all but I never believed it myself."

          "But you know about the Bi-bell and Jaysus and Rapchure?"

          "We should go somewhere where we can't be overheard," he said.

          We wandered over a sport-drinkie that was full of loud football argument. Harry would have been in his element.

          I introduced myself to the thin man and told him all about seeing Met vanish. He nodded glumly but he refused to give me his name.

          "We believers will need to keep a very low profile," he said looking about him as though spies were under every glass table.

          "But, I'm not a believer, I'm just curious."

          "How can you not be a believer?" he said, his eyebrows arching. "You saw what happened."

          "I saw a woman vanish; you tell me what happened," I said. I was curious, not a believer. Not yet, anyway.

          "The Bible says that nobody knows when Jesus will return but he promised that he would. Devs taught that before he returns at the blowing of the last trumpet that Jesus would rapture away true believers to be with him in Heaven."

          "And that's that?" I asked.

          "I'm afraid so..."

          "So all of that Judgement Day blather from Met was all true?"

          "Well, I dunno. I suppose you can't ask her now, can you?" He finished his drink and got up to go.

          "Wait a bit," I said, getting up myself. "How can I find a Bible?"

          "I don't know," he said heading for the door.

          "Look, if you have a Bible I could borrow, I'd really appreciate it," I said.

          "Alright. Come with me, but be quick about it."

-----------

          His house was dingy and small. His garden was brown and dispirited like a well-beaten dog. Inside, the place reeked of cabbage. There were books scattered all over the place like a bomb had gone off at a library. I picked up a dusty book written in a strange alphabet.

          "You read Greek?" he asked, shuffling through his mess. I shook my head and wiped my hands on my smock.

          He handed me a leather-bound book. It said "Holy Bible" on the cover. I opened it and started to read at the beginning.

          "It doesn't mention Jaysus," I said.

          "His name is Jesus, here, give it to me." He took the Bible and flipped most of the pages. He handed it back to me.

          "The Gospel of Luke?" I asked. "Is it about Jesus?"

          "Yes. Now go and don't come back. It's not safe. If they catch you with the Bible, you didn't get it here!"

          And with that I was outside with a Bible in my purse.

-------

          I devoured the Gospel of Luke. I chewed it like a starving dog with a bone. I had to know more about this strange man who lived so long ago.

          I read the stories that Jesus told and spent most of my time both fascinated and perplexed. I needed somebody to explain him to me. I decided to pop round to the cabbage house to talk to the tall thin man again.

          I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. I tried the door but it was locked. Damn. It was early in the morning; could he be at work already? I decided to wait. Then I decided to get a coffee instead at a local chokie. I paid for the cup and forced myself into a Zen state of calm. I contemplated my breathing for a few minutes as the coffee ate a hole in my stomach lining.

          My thoughts were like birds that refused to come to roost. What did the Bible mean by a virgin birth? Virgins did not have babies. Why did Jesus never marry? He liked women well enough, that was clear. Why did he surround himself with fishermen? What was a Zealot?

          I left the chokie and went back to the cabbage house. I knocked again. A light came on and I could hear a shuffling step. It was the tall thin man. His face was a mask of fatigue, like he'd just finished the night shift.

          "I told you never to come back," he grumbled. "You got me out of bed."

          "Aren't you going to invite me in, now that I'm here?" I asked with the unrefusable voice they taught us in my cushie-training.

          He sighed and I stepped past him.

          =====

          "What do you mean, 'explain the virgin birth'?" he groused. I admit it wasn't the kind of question a man likes to answer after finishing up the night shift as the tall man clearly had.

          "Well, isn't it a meta-thingie?" I asked remembering my Literature course material.

          "A metaphor? No, it's a miracle."

          "A miracle?"

          "It's when God directly intervenes in his creation. Mary had never been with a man. Sexually, I mean."

          "Are you pulling my leg?"

          He sneered, indicating that he was disinterested in my leg or any other part of my body. I pushed on.

          "I read the whole Gospel of Luke and I did not see the word 'rapture'," I said.

          He sighed and slumped into a bedraggled armchair. "No, it's a word that was used to describe the scene where believers are caught up in the air to be with the Lord," he said. "'Rapture' is used because such a 'catching up' would be such an ecstatic experience."

          I understood, as all cushies do, what he meant by an 'ecstatic experience'. "So it's sexual?" I asked.

          "What?! Good God, no, woman! How can you even think that?" He lurched to his feet and grabbed me by my arm. "Get out of here!"

          Once again I found myself out in his dingy garden.

___________

          I was fighting a rising tide of ignorance as I read the Bible. What was a Gentile? Was it something to do with genitals? But no, it was capitalized which mean that it was a name. Not that some men don't name their gennies, you wouldn't believe the things men will say to a cushie. It makes you feel like a proper therapist!

          And then there was the matter of the crucifixion. Apparently, this Jesus liked poking at the ones he called 'Pharisees' and 'scribes' and calling them all manner of unpleasant names and suggesting that they were not at all as good as they made out to be. They, in turn, accused him of being a drunkard and a glutton and a friend of sinners. It all ended with him being nailed up on a cross and for some reason this is extremely significant because Jesus told his slow-witted disciples that it was going to happen to him. And this is what I really wanted Thin Man to explain to me: why didn't this Jesus run away from those who wanted to kill him if he knew that it was going to happen? What did he mean when he said that he was 'the King of the Jews'? How could a king let himself be slaughtered?

          Harry makes fun of me for reading the Bible, calling me a hypocrite. He says that I should make up my mind, am I a cushie or a Dev? Apparently, you can't be both, or at least so says Harry, the high priest of pimps. I don't say that out loud of course. Harry's got a bit of a temper. That's why I usually say yes, when he brings a client over for some private time.

---------

          Thin Man is home; I know he is, I can see a light upstairs. I knock on the door but he ignores me. I'm tempted to make a scene, like yelling up to his window that he owes me money for services rendered. I don't though. I give him another few days to calm down.

--------------

          I ask Harry what he thinks of God. He says not much. He brings up children starving and how God couldn't give a fig. Course he doesn't, cos he don't do nuffink, right? I don't know what to say to that. I wish I could talk to Thin Man about it.

----------------

          I caught up to him at the riskie making a wager on a football match. I decided to take the regretful approach with him.

          "I'm sorry for offending you with my ignorance," I said. "But you must help me. I don't know why but I feel like I'll die if I don't find out about your Jesus!"

          "Sounds more like he's your Jesus," said Thin Man but not unpleasantly. "Right! I will tell you what I know but not at my place. We'll meet every Sunday morning at 7 sharp for a month at a chokie that's open then. When the month is over, that will be it. No more meetings!"

          "Don't you like me, Thin Man?" I asked in my best cushie voice.

          "I have a problem with your line of work," he admitted.

          "Why?" My job was therapeutic, State-licensed and absolutely necessary. I was well-trained and proud of my acting skills. No man ever left my flat without a dazed smile on his face.

          "I'd rather not talk about it," he said quietly. He gave me the address to the chokie and buzzed off before I could ask him anything else.

--------------

          "Coffee?" he asked.

          "Mmm," I nodded. I'm not strictly a before-noon kind of girl, then too, my job keeps me up rather late.

          Thin Man was clearly a morning person. I'm not saying that he was smiling or animated but his gloom was less thick, like fog finally burning off at midmorning.

          "So what do you have for me this morning, Miss?"

          "My name is Natasha," I said.

          "I mustn't know your name," he said. "When will you understand that we must be guarded?"

          "Oh, Natasha's not my real name; it's just my cushie name. Makes me sound desirable, doesn't it?"

          He went a bit pale and slurped his black coffee to avoid answering.

          "Anyway, I want to know about evil spirits. What are they and why did they feel that they had to announce that Jesus was the Son of God and why is 'Son of God' capitalized?"

          "Good heavens," he said. "Evil spirits are as advertized: spirits which are evil, demons, fallen angels. The enemies of our souls. Creatures charged with tempting us, testing our resolve and generally being a huge nuisance. I'm not at all sure why they announced Jesus' true identity when he cast them out of the poor souls he prayed for, perhaps, they could not help themselves. Maybe, they blurted it out like we would cry out when we are shocked or overwhelmed. As to capitalizing the 'Son of God' it is because we are all sons of God but Jesus has the pre-eminence."

          "The what?"

          "It means that he is the first born Son of his Father. He is God himself as well as being fully man."

          "None of that makes any sense to me," I said glumly.

          He gave me a whisper of a smile. "Many theologians worked for years to come up with that formula," he grinned. "Jesus was not just a great teacher and miracle worker, he was God himself."

          "That's what Dev's believe?"

          "That's what Luke believed too," he said calmly. "But don't just take Luke's word for it, you should also read the Gospel of John. It's the next book after Luke. I'll see you next week."

          ----------

          But we didn't meet next week. I went to the chokie at bloody 7 a.m. and he was nowhere to be seen. What was I to do? I'll tell you what I did, I choked down the vile coffee and went right back to bed. Maybe, he would show next week.

-----------

          "Where were you last week?" I asked.

          "I lost my nerve," he said, sipping his coffee. "I saw a Stick here when I arrived at six-thirty and promptly turned tail."

          That made sense. Nobody wants to be anywhere near the Stick; people disappear when they get too close to them. They've never heard of habeas corpus and would laugh if you mentioned it to them.

          "You really think the Stick are onto us?" I asked.

          "Don't want to find out," he said shuddering just a bit. "Anyway, we're both here now. What do you want to know?"

          "Well, I've been reading John's Gospel like you suggested but I can't get out of the first chapter. What does John mean by the 'Word'?"

          "He means Jesus, of course. I would have thought that was obvious. The Word becomes flesh when Jesus, the Son of God, chooses to be born a man."

          "Why does Jesus do that?"

          "Lots of reasons," said Thin Man, steepling his fingers like a tiny pink church. "but primarily so that he can make us children of God."

          "How does he do that?"

          "Through the washing of his blood..."

          "What?" I squawked. "What a horrible..."

          "Shut up, woman," he hissed. "You're attracting attention!" He looked around the chokie, smiling at the interested others and arching his eyebrows as if to say, Women! what can you do?

          "You can't blame me for reacting, saying something so disgusting," I hissed back.

          "Look, you twit. I am trying to explain a metaphor to you. Now calm down, and listen for a change."

          Well, he was being brutal and I was tempted to leave in a huff but I settled down.

          "Explain the metaphor," I sniffed.

          "Look, you understand that you're a sinner, right?"

          "I'm not such a bad person," I complained. "Lots of people are way worse than me. Just because I'm a cushie..."

          "No, no, I'm not judging you. At least, I'm trying not to," he said. "I am establishing that you have done things that you're not proud of. There is no one who can say that they are free of sin," he said earnestly.

          "What about you, Thin Man?" I said unpleasantly.

          "Of course, I'm a sinner," he said quietly. "Probably a worse sinner than you. But my point is that all have sinned and thus created a gap between us and God."

          "Why would God care?" I asked.

          "Because he is a true Father," said Thin Man. "And he knows that sin cannot make us happy. But he knows that we are powerless to live truly happy sin-free lives. We need cleansing from sin."

          "Ok, so we need cleansing. But being washed in Jesus' blood?" I didn't squawk this time.

          "Well, it's a metaphor that the Jews, his people, would have understood," said the Thin Man who then proceeded to tell me ghastly things about animal sacrifice on brazen alters in a Temple. I tried to understand, but it was like Ancient History class with the very tedious Mr. Alberts, may be rest in sleepy confusion like all of his former students.

          "So you see, Jesus was called the Lamb of God because his sacrifice would cleanse all mankind of sin," he summarized.

          I smiled weakly but it was all Greek to me.

          I went home and drank the better part of a bottle of vodka and danced around my room to loud music. Why? Because I wanted to that's why.

          But no, I'm not telling the truth. The truth is that what the Thin Man says frightens me. I feel like I'm being pulled into something that I don't really understand. All the talk of blood and sin distresses me.

          Drunkenly, I picked up the Bible and read more of John. Jesus was talking to some priest or judge and telling him that he needed to be born again. The poor priest wants to know if he can wiggle back into his mother's womb to be born again. I'm glad that I'm not the only person that struggles with metaphors. I feel asleep with my Bible on my face. Harry was less than impressed when he stumbled in.

--------------

          "It means what it says," said Thin Man, his finger underlining the passage. "'You must be born again.'"

          "But it's a metaphor, right?" I asked.

          "Of course it is," he said eyes lifted to the ceiling of the chokie.

          "But what does it mean?" I asked plaintively.

          He picked up his coffee cup and sloshed some pseudomilk into its inky depths. I could see the lines between his eyes deepen as he worked out how to explain it to me.

          "Jesus is talking about a spiritual life being like a fresh start, I think," he said. "When you see that your old life is worn out and hopeless, there's something inside that cries out for a new life, don't you agree?"

          "I suppose," I said dubiously.

          "Jesus talks about having a new life like a rebirth, like the phoenix rising from its ashes."

          "Like a what?" I was lost.

          "Never mind," he said gently. "It's another metaphor."

          "How can a person be born again?" I asked.

          "I will leave that with you to ponder for a week," he said and off he popped.

---------------

          How could I be born again? I went back to the Bible and read what Jesus had said to the Nicodemus fellow.

          'How can I be born again?' asks Nicodemus. 'Can I crawl back into my mother's womb?' 'No, you ninny,' says Jesus. And then he says, 'You must be born of water and of the Spirit.' Then he goes through some sort of song and dance about the wind blowing where it pleases, which seems to confuse poor Nicodemus even more. Jesus shrugs his shoulders and tells him that as one of Israel's teachers, he should understand. I was with Nicodemus: completely confused.

_______

          "The wind is symbolic of God's Spirit," said Thin Man. "It goes where it wills because the wind cannot be contained or directed. So it is with God's Spirit, he gives new life to whom he chooses."

          "But what does the wind have to do with being born again?" I asked.

          "Being born anew is something that God's Spirit accomplishes. It's like he is the one who fertilizes the egg of new life in us."

          "And all we have to do is to lay back with our legs open?" I asked innocently.

          "Good God, woman! Why must you be so course!" he said, spitting out the coffee he just sipped.

          "You're too easy, Thin Man," I said with a wicked grin. "See you next week!"

----------

          "What exactly do the Jews have against Samaritans?" I asked as he poured too much sugar into his coffee.

          "It's a long story," he said. "But the key thing to remember is that a Samaritan was a persona non grata to the Jews. That means they despised them," he added seeing that I didn't understand his Greek or Latin or whatever it was.

          "That's why the woman at the well was shocked when Jesus asked her for a drink?" I asked. "Because Jews hated her people?"

          "Exactly."

          "What was his blather about 'living water'? What did he mean?"

          "Aha! Yet another metaphor," said Thin Man, pushing a smudge of almost-butter onto a grey slice of toast.

          I sighed. Could Jesus not just spit out what he meant? I gave him my best blank stare.

          "What do you think of when you think of water?" he asked.

          "Washing, drinking, watering plants," I said.

          "Remember that Jesus lived in a very dry place where water is so very vital. In England, we are rather blasé about water but to a Jew living in Palestine, it was of value beyond pearls."

          I nodded.

          "So when Jesus is offering the Samaritan woman living water that will forever take away her thirst, he is offering her a stunning gift, an unbelievable promise." He seemed quite excited at this point.

          "So what was this living water?" I asked.

          "Well, what do you think?" he asked. "What does Jesus say?"

          "He said that if she asked him, he could give her living water that would well up in her..."

          "Unto eternity," he finished. "And when Jesus says eternity, what do you think he means?"

          "Look, you're supposed to be the teacher!" I complained. "You're supposed to answer the bloody questions, not ask them!"

          "And as student, you're supposed to think!" he said crisply. "Now think, woman!" He hid a tiny smile behind his cup.

          "Well, eternity means forever, so..." I shrugged.

          "So, if we ask Jesus, he can cause living water to well up in us, a spring that will never fail. I think it is a promise of God's Spirit for all who are thirsty."

          "But what is God's Spirit?" I asked.

          In response, he took the Bible out of my hands and flipped it a few pages on and handed it back to me.

          "Read what Jesus says in the fourteenth chapter of John's Gospel and chew on it. I'll go over it with you next week."

---------

          Harry disapproves of my Bible study. He says the clients don't like it; makes them feel strange like. Guilty, you know?

          I told him that that was hardly my fault. If they feel so guilty, maybe they oughtn't to be spending time with a cushie, right? He got angry then and now I have to be extra careful with my concealer and makeup sticks to hide the bruise marks.

          I don't care.

----------

          I read the fourteenth chapter of John's Gospel. I feel grand just saying the words to myself: "The fourteenth chapter of John's Gospel." La de da, who's a real lady now? Why it's you, my dear, cushie though you be. I smiled at the mirror. I could see barely any bruises. Good.

          In the chokie, I ordered a biscuit with my coffee. I was looking forward to finding out more about this Comforter that Jesus talked about.

Jesus said that the Comforter would be with the disciples after Jesus went to his Father and I was wondering how this could be. Could the Comforter live inside me like a fish inside an aquarium? Well, of course not. Surely that was naive in the extreme, wasn't it? No doubt, it was another metaphor that Thin Man could explain to me.

          If he ever showed up, that is. It was already 8 and no Thin Man. Damn and blast. I ordered another biscuit and seethed in my plastic booth. Finally at 9, I gave it up and went home. I washed all of the dishes, scrubbed all of the windows and made the most elaborate lunch that I could. It didn't help. I decided to read more of the Gospel but I was too angry to concentrate. Thin Man had become my lifeline.

----------------

          I sat in the chokie and waited. And waited. Finally, I swore and went home. I couldn't sit down. I decided to go to Thin Man's flat and have it out with him. I pictured our exchange on my walk.

          "So, you tosser, where have you been? Don't you know that I must know more of this life that Jesus talks about? Why do you treat me like a...a Samaritan?" I smiled at this last. Well said , Cushie! And then he would look up at me with his mournful eyes and apologize profusely.

          "I am so sorry. You need to know the truth and I am such a worm, judging you and giving you the cold shoulder. The truth is that I have sexual hang-ups and I don't trust myself."

          His fantasy response made me think. Is Thin Man so difficult with me because he's got sexual problems and I threaten him? I walked down over High Road, pondering.

          I rapped at his door and waited. Nothing. I rapped again. Even more nothing. What could have happened to him? We had always met at 7 because his shift was over by then. I rapped at his neighbour's door.

          A shabby old git with clothes as rumpled as his face came to the door and peered at me.

          "Um excuse me," I said, "but I need to get in touch with the man who lives in the flat over. He owes me money."

          Old Git looked at me in that way that all men have and gave me knowing leer. He was sure that he could guess why Thin Man owed me cash.

          "Dunno, if  I can help you, missy..." he said, his dark eyes suggesting otherwise. I sighed and gave him a little of what he hinted at and he gave me the place that Thin Man worked.

          Thin Man had a factory job at Enfield. I jumped on a rattler and prepared a long and unpleasant piece of my mind to share with him. What kind of a man leaves a girl just hanging? A rude man that's what kind!

          ------------

          "Look, I can see you're mad." said Thin Man striding quickly out of the factory with me right behind him just waiting for a pause so I could give him my other barrel. He dipped into an alley behind the dirty building and faced me square.

          "It couldn't be helped," he said, holding up his hands to shut off my flood of complaint. "They switched me to day shift. How could I get hold of you? I've no idea where you live and I don't want to know."

          "You hate me and you're not even trying to help me! Fine Dev you are!"

          "At least I'm not selling my body on the street!" he snarled.

          "No, but you've probably bought someone just like me!"

          He could not look me in the eyes and I knew that I was right about him. I was about to let him have it again when I noticed a tear spilling from his right eye. He wiped it quickly away but it stopped me in my tracks. I understand tears and I respect their message. I held my tongue. I put a hand on his shoulder. He snatched it away but I put it back again.

          "We shouldn't fight," I said. "We need to be kind to each other. I feel like you are my only friend." And then my voice got shaky so I shut up and examined my shoes. I looked up to see that his eyes had softened.

          "Look...I will meet you again. Same chokie but now we need to meet at night. If you can take time out of your busy schedule." He said the last sentence dryly but without acid. I smiled at him.

___________

          "Tell me more about the Comforter that Jesus talked about."

          "What's your understanding?" he said. "I mean, you'll not always have me to talk to, so let's get used to fighting through to a good understanding on your own."

          I didn't like the sound of that, so I just ignored it. Pain can always be pushed away. Any cushie will tell you that.

          "I like the word 'Comforter'," I said. "It makes me feel taken care of. Like a warm blanket."

          "A warm blanket of power and conviction capable of completely changing the one it covers!" said Thin Man a bit sharply. "We are talking about the third member of the Trinity."

          "The third member of the what?" I asked.

          "Good God, woman! Were you raised by wolves?"

          I thought about my mother and several of my vile step-fathers and thought his guess was remarkably apt.

          "Forgive me for not having your upbringing," I said icily. "Just take me through the last thing you were talking about."

          "You understand that God is three persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit?"

          "Three different God's?" I tried.

          "No, no, no...three persons of the same God."

          "Sounds like gibberish to me."

          "You know the shamrock; how it is one leaf with three parts? God is like that."

          Oh well, that was a picture I could understand. I nodded.

          "Well, the Comforter is one of the persons of God. The Holy Spirit was sent by Jesus to fill us and teach us."

          "And comfort us," I added. He nodded. "And he's like a metaphor?" I asked.

          "A metaphor? No, not at all! He's very real!" Thin Man was alarmed. I was confused.

          "But how can the Comforter fill us? I mean, that's surely not to be taken literally, is it?"

          "He can do it because he's God," said Thin Man as if he were talking to a child. "He comes to make his home within the heart of the believer. And yes, before you ask, I am using heart as a metaphor. I am not talking about our actual hearts but rather our souls."

          "Souls?" It was all extremely confusing! This is a metaphor; that's literal.

          "Your soul is the inner you. The center of your will and emotions. At least that's what I was taught," said Thin Man.

          "I thought that was the brain," I said.

          "I doubt it matters what we call it," said the Thin Man loftily. "The main thing is that the Holy Spirit fills you with power to follow God."

          "How's he do that?" I asked.

          "Imagine that you are a torch but without a battery. Your light doesn't shine and all is dark. The Holy Spirit when he fills you is like suddenly getting a battery."

          "And the torch lights up?" I was dubious.

          "Yes."

          "Hmm."

          "You sound unconvinced."

          "Sorry, Thin Man, but it all sounds like a fairy tale to me."

          "There is only one way to determine the veracity of what I am saying," he said.

          "Yes?"

          "Go home and invite him to fill you. Surrender your life utterly to God and ask his Holy Spirit to fill you. Well, I must go. Time for sleep!"

          "G'night Thin Man."

          "Sleep well, Natasha."

--------------

          So, feeling odd but determined, I set out to find out whether the Comforter could comfort even a cushie. Harry was still out at the club, dredging up clients, so I sat in my sitting room and lit a candle. Don't ask me why.

          I opened up the Bible to John and read the 14th chapter again. I prayed a little prayer: "God, Jesus, um Holy Spirit, whatever you all are. I want to surrender to you. I want you to comfort me and give me power to be brilliant."

          I looked at the candle. I was mesmerized by the way it flickered. I remember Jesus saying that the wind blows where it wills. As the wind gusted through my little flat, the flame guttered and danced. I could feel myself beginning to flicker and dance. I was starting to feel all of the tension in my body ebb away when I heard loud arguing from the front. It was Harry with an enthusiastic but drunken client. I shivered and I could feel all of the tension come hurtling back. This was not supposed to happen like this. I decided that I would turn down the drunk. Harry might be angry but hadn't he always said that it was my choice? But then, when had I ever said no?

________

          Everybody in New London was asleep but me. I had taken my warmest coat, my gloves and an overnight bag and I was running away from home. Harry had not taken my refusal seriously and then he took it very seriously and gave me a drunken beating. I knew that he would be gutted the next morning, but, you see, I wouldn't be there to hear it. I needed sanctuary.

          I had a girlfriend out in Devon so I made for the station. She would help me out. Harry would wake up and find himself alone. Serve him right, the bastard.

          I looked at the countryside as the sun was just peeping over the horizon. I liked the way that everything turned from blacks and greys to faint-hearted colours. I found myself catching my breath and waiting for the moment when every colour suddenly catches fire and you see it fully lit. Do you know what I mean? Harry would just laugh if I said something like that to him. He'd say that he doesn't love me for my mind. Bastard.

          We were rattling along by the sea and I could feel the exhaustion sinking in. I put my head against the armrest and tried to sleep. A man with a Greek sailor cap came into the compartment. I feigned sleep so that he would leave me alone. I hated men.

          I peeked at him from under my shuttered lashes and I was amazed to see him take a black leather book from his rucksack and start to read. Was it a Bible? I had to find out. I opened my eyes and pantomimed a shuddering stretch. I pretended to notice the man for the first time.

          "Morning," I said. "What are you reading?" I had him. He was just about to put the book back in his rucksack.

          "Nothing much," he said, after clearing his throat in a very guilty manner. He wasn't English; just two words indentified him as a Yank.

          "Is it a Bible?" I asked. "I'm asking because I've just started reading the Bible myself."

          "You're reading the Bible?" His look of surprise was both priceless and just a bit insulting.

          "I've read the Gospel of Luke and I'm working on John's Gospel."

 

          "Remarkable," he muttered.

          "You're beginning to hurt my feelings," I said.

          "I'm very sorry, but I thought that nobody under the age of sixty ever read the Bible in England," he said.

          "You're under sixty," I said. He had to be. His face was unlined and his eye sockets and throat were full. Nothing had caved in so I made him out to be only a couple of years older than me.

          "I thought I was the only one, but then I'm not English," he smiled. Good teeth which went well with his soft brown eyes. He could have been on the telly.

          "Have you been reading the Bible for long?" I asked.

          "I have been lecturing on it for years," he said. "But recently I've been letting it speak to me."

          "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

          "I was a professor of Biblical Studies," he said. "But somewhere along the way, I became as cold-hearted as the worst atheist. The Bible had become just another text to show off my learning. But that was then."

          "And now?"

          "Now, I'd like to think that I am perhaps a little more humble."

          "You're American, right?"

          "Canadian actually, but that's alright. It can be difficult to choose between us, although it would never do to tell that to either an American or a Canadian." He had a lovely smile that made his eyes twinkle.

          "Why weren't you swept away in the Rapture?"

          "I imagine it was because I was far from God. That was my wake up call. But let's talk about you. How long have you been reading the Bible?"

          "Since I saw my neighbour disappear! I guess that was what woke me up too."

          "Do you go to a Dev church?" he asked.

          "Church attendance is discouraged here," I told him. "Unless you go to the State Church."

          "What's that like? It's not just the good old C. of E. is it?"

          "I don't really know. I haven't gone since I was a very little girl. All I remember is long hymns and lots of stained glass and the Loyalty Oath that everybody stands for."

          "I'm going to Devon to meet some Dev believers at a town called Tiverton," he said.

          "I'm for Torquay," I said. "Got a friend there."

          "I hope she's a kind friend," said the Canadian. "Your other friends haven't been treating you very well."

           I flushed with shame. I'd forgotten my bruises. I didn't know what to say. His face showed his consternation.

          "Oh listen, Miss. I'm sorry I was so flippant. I'm so stupid!"

          "Make it up to me by meeting me in Torquay when you're done with your good friends," I said, trying not to sound too hurt. "I'll be at this number." I gave him Tracy's address. He nodded and we pulled into Exeter to part ways.

---------------

          Tracy was a party girl. After a few days, I was exhausted of having fun and longing for a conversation that didn't feature drunkenness, loud music and Tracy's ill-advised sexual exploits.

          One morning, after choking down dry toast and milky tea she looked over to me and said, "What's the matter with you anyway?"

          "What do you mean?" I said.

          "Don't play dumb with me, girl. How long have I known you?"

          "Since school," I said.

          "You act like you're out of it. Like partying is not interesting to you anymore."

          "Look Trace, I really appreciate your putting up with me while I sort my head out but..."

          "Yeah?"

          "I'm not feeling like partying these days."

          "Why ever not?"

          "Well, I dunno if this will make sense to you...".

          I told her everything that had happened to me since I saw Met get raptured. Her eyes just got bigger and her jaw dropped lower.

          "So, you're God Squad now?"

          I picked up my teacup, drank and gave her question some real thought. "I suppose I am." I said, shocking myself, while Trace stared at me like I'd grown another head.

          "Can you stand being here with me?" she said softly. "I know I'm not exactly..."

          I gave her a huge hug then and kissed her cheek. "It's not like that! I'm no different than you. I just need something, you know...more."

          "Would you rather go to a church instead of clubbing?"

          "Do you have one here?"

          "Course we do. There's St. Michael's and St. Matt's..."

          "Not State Church. Do you have a Dev in town?"

          "I wouldn't know, but maybe we can find one."

          "You'd come with me?"

          "Sounds like a scene," she said.

          And that's how two party girls wound up sitting in a circle on folding chairs with about twelve other Dev's in somebody's dank basement.

-------------

          "What did you think?" I asked Trace after we go back into the light of day.

          "I dunno," she said, shaking her head a bit. "Is it a rule that everybody has to dress like pensioners?"

          "Probably," I said. She was right. The women were all dressed in dark dresses that fit them like potato sacks. No make-up or glitter at all. I imagine that we two probably stuck out a bit. Maybe that's why the women were all frowning through most of the service, while the men seemed quite chuffed. Next time, we'll leave our flashwear at home and wear something a bit more sedate.

          We walked by the seaside after church remembering when we were young and eating chips with malt vinegar. Trace had an uncharacteristic frown on her lovely mouth.

          "What do you think God is like?" asked Trace. "I mean, is he like an old man with a snowy beard?"

          "Sounds more like Father Christmas," I said. "But Jesus said that if you'd seen him, you'd seen his father."

          "God is Jesus' father?" she asked, startled at the thought.

          "Yeah, at least that's what Jesus said."

          "So what is Jesus like?"

          "It's hard to say...sometimes he's all soft and gentle like when this sinful woman washes his feet with her tears and dries them with her hair and sometimes..."

          "What? Jesus did that?" she interrupted.

          "Oh yes. But as I was saying, sometimes he's a proper terror, like when he whips money-makers to drive them and their cattle out of the temple. He's not very simple."

          "Is the Bible hard to understand?"

          "Bloody awful, and yet, there's something that happens inside when you read it, like drinking tea in front of the fire on a miserable day."

          "Christ, girl, you're becoming some sort of poet!"

          That pleased me. Harry always said that I should shut up and let my body do the talking. Bastard.

-------------

          I was sitting in Trace's overstuffed armchair fighting my way through the twentieth chapter of John's Gospel, trying to make sense of everything. Jesus is dead (that much is very clear from chapter nineteen) and then he's not. They pulled him off of his cross, and wrapped him in some sort of spiced linens (spiced linens?) and then laid him away in a cave, sealed with a stone. So Mary (not his Mum, Mary, but the other one) goes to the tomb and there's no Jesus. She runs to get Peter and John, two of Jesus' closest friends. They all get to the empty tomb and wonder, where's Jesus? Mary is crying outside the tomb and she sees two angels who ask her why's she crying. (I mean, are angels thick, or what?) She tells them why she's upset and suddenly there is Jesus with her but she doesn't recognize him. (She doesn't recognize him?) He calls her by her name and suddenly she realizes it's Jesus. Of course, she wants to hold on to him but he doesn't let her because he's not gone up to his father yet. What? Does he mean that he's still a ghost? But no, because later, when the disciples are meeting together, they tell Thomas that they've seen Jesus. Thomas, a sensible sort, figures that his friends are in some sort of denial brought on by grief and says that he'll believe them when he can put his fingers in Jesus' nail holes! Gross, right? What a bugger Thomas is! But here's the thing, Jesus comes up to him and offers his ruined hands to Thomas to verify that he's Jesus. So, Jesus is no ghost. It's so confusing. Where was that Canadian? I needed to ask him about a hundred questions.

---------------

          And then, there he was at the door, smiling a funny smile and holding onto about a dozen roses.

          No, that was my pathetic little daydream. Too many Richard Curtis films on late night telly.

          When he did come, he was properly tuckered out and complained that the folk in Tiverton had no clue that a visiting theologian would like to be fed every once in a while and where was the rule that said you couldn`t offer him a pint after the meeting? We took the hint and ferried him to the drinkie for a pint of bitters and some chips. He ate like a starved man.

          I waited for him to finish before I started firing questions at him. He answered all of them calmly and thoughtfully and I could see what having a proper education could do for a humanbeing.

          "Yes, it's a bit of a mystery, isn't it?" he said when I asked about the nature of Jesus' body before returning to his father. "But when Jesus says not to 'touch' him, you should know that he means something like 'don't cling to me'. Rather like saying, 'I haven't yet gone up to my Father, where I will sit enthroned with him.'"

          "I don't get it."

          "Hmmm, this beer is superb." He signalled for another from the barman. He drank deeply, wiped his mouth and returned to the discussion. 

          "Did you note that Jesus tells Mary to run off to the other disciples instead of clinging to him?"

          "So?"

          "So maybe Jesus is telling her how important it is to not just be solo with Jesus but connected to the other Christians?"

          Trace was sitting off just listening to us with wide eyes. I'm not sure how much she understood but she certainly didn't look bored.

          When he was off to the loo, she leaned over to me and gave me a look.

          "You like him, don't you?" she whispered.

`         "Why would you say that?" I hissed, startled that I was so easy to read.

          "I've never seen you hang on a man's words like this bloke," she frowned.

          "It's not like that," I protested. But it was like that. Damn. This was not the thing to do, I said to my heart. But, my heart just grinned at me and said, I want what I want. Double damn.

---------

          He ordered a shepherd's pie but didn't inhale it like the chips. I actually saw him chewing.

          I decided to crush down my hormonal heart by focusing on the Bible.

          "So I've read the two Gospels, do I plunge in and read another one or should I start at the beginning of the Bible and read it straight through?"

          "I would not do that, if I were you. I would get a good grounding in the New Testament before pushing on to the Old."

          "Ok, those words didn't mean anything to me."

          "Oh sorry," he mumbled through his shepherd's pie. "The New Testament is the record of Jesus and his disciples, including the letters of some of the church leaders like Peter, Paul and John."

          "And the Old Testament?"

          "That's basically a history of God's dealing with his Chosen People, the Jews, from Creation to their dispersion in Babylon to their triumphant return. It's rich and powerful reading and occasionally shocking but I think getting a good firm purchase on the Christian writings are necessary to an understanding of the Old Testament. Some Christians have tried treating the Old and New as having the same weight and have developed catastrophic theologies as a result!"

          We smiled at the Canadian who had clearly forgotten that he was speaking to a couple of party girls not his fellow theologians.

          We invited him to come to the dank basement with us next Sunday. He smiled and said he would. It wasn't like a date but I still felt chuffed. Remembering the way that the Dev women dressed, Trace and I went for something earth-toned and somewhat less form-fitting. Not sure, but I think our Canadian was a bit disappointed.

---------------

          We sat in the dank circle with the Canadian in between us to protect him from the clear interest of the other baggy Dev women. I'm not the jealous sort, as you can imagine, but I did think that they gave the Canadian a little bit too  much attention. Once they found out that he was a theologian, they begged him to give us a pep talk. They called it a Sermon but it was clearly an occasion to rouse the troops.

          He smiled his glorious smile and began to talk about a bloke called Jonah. Get this: this Jonah was swallowed up by a mega-fish when he was trying to escape doing what God wanted him to do. What did God want Jonah to do? Why, go to his mortal enemies, the Ass-somethings, and tell them that God was furious with them for all their sins! It reminded me of listening to Met when she was doing her God rants in the park.

          So Jonah, tiring of being in belly of the fish, tells God that he's willing to be a good boy and go to their big city, Nineveh. The fish pukes up our boy who goes to Nineveh and preaches judgement.

          Good news: the Ninevites actually listen to Jonah and put on scratchy clothes and smear dust on their heads. Not sure why, but apparently it's part of their (big word here) repentance. And God forgives them, even though they're like the cold-blooded killers of their era.

          Bad news: Jonah is severely ticked off by God's kindness. I suppose that he was hoping that the monsters would get some fire and brimstone. It was an odd story but all of the baggy women were almost applauding the Canadian, all bright-eyed and praising the Lord. It made me sick. You can believe that we got him out of there in record time before they could get their drool on him.

          We went to a drinkie and had a few pints.  I turned to the Canadian and asked him to explain the story better.

          "Which part did you find confusing?' he asked, inhaling the better part of a piece of cod.

          "If God was trying to get the Assy-thingie folks to change..."

          "Assyrians..."

          "If he wanted to get them to repent, why would he send one of their enemies to challenge them? Why not talk through one of the Assyrians? Someone that they'd be more inclined to listen to?"

          "Why, that's a very lucid question!" he exclaimed through his half-chewed cod. "I am impressed."

          I saw Trace frown and  flair her lovely nostrils, which made me feel a bit self-conscious. Was I drooling like one of the baggy Dev women?

          "I wonder if God had two reasons for sending Jonah," he said. "First of all, he wants to challenge the Ninevites but I think he also wants to challenge Jonah himself. Old Jonah is pretty pleased with his hatred of his enemies and he seems disinclined to let it go. Note how God deals with him in sending him a vine to shade his head in the heat of the day and then killing it? Did you understand what He was up to?"

          "Yes, or rather no. I didn't get the point of that at all."

          (Big smile and twinkling eyes.) "God wants Jonah to see how he values even the scum of the earth (in Jonah's eyes). He wants the Ninevites to repent but he also wants Jonah to understand His compassion for them. Do you see how what John says flows out a similar understanding?"

          "Um..."

          "When John says that Jesus came into the world not to condemn sinners but to save them."

          "God! Do we have to talk about the Bible all the time?" whined Trace.

          "I'm so sorry," said the Canadian. "What would you like to talk about, Tracy?"

          "Tell us about Canada," she said. "Anything but church and Bible and God and that lot!"

          "Canada is beautiful," said the Canadian. "But not beautiful in the same way as Britain is. Canada is much wilder and most of it is as easy to live in as Siberia. It is a winter ice fantasy and a summer of hot blowing winds. It has mountains to challenge the Himalaya's and plains to rival Africa. It is mostly empty except for a strip of population just north of the border we share with the United States."

          "It sounds magical," sighed Tracy. "Britain is so small and crowded."

          "Britain is Heaven," said the Canadian. "It's the land of Shakespeare and Dickens, Oxford and Cambridge. I come here and drink in history. Canada, once you leave Quebec City, is so very young. In British Columbia, we think a town established in 1910 is historical!"

          "I doubt that the loo in this place is more recent than that," I said.

          "Speaking of which, I believe that I need to pay it a call," belched the Canadian.

          After he had gone, Trace turned her laser eyes on me. "You do have a thing for him," she said. "That's why you're always on about the Bible, you think it's the only way you can hold his interest!"

          "That's not fair! I am serious about the Bible! As for the Canadian..."

          "Yes?"

          "I do like him," I admitted. "I just don't know what to do about it."

          "Why don't you just take him to bed?" she suggested.

          "I don't think that'd be on," I said. "I think that's against the rules for Devs."

          "So, what's the plan?" she said brightly.

          "God, Trace. I have none..." And that was the dismal truth. What kind of chance did I have? There was no way that a Dev would ever date damaged goods like me. He had to realize that I was a cushie; it was a clear as the nose on my face. But what if he didn't? I turned to Trace.

          "Do you think he realizes that I'm a cushie?"

          "Why should he?" she answered. "It's not like you're got a "C" stamped on your forehead."

          "Shh, he's  coming."

          The Canadian had his coat and invited us to an invigorating walk by the sea.

          He was enthusiastic about walking, that's for sure. It didn't bother him that the wind was whipping rain into his face. He just laughed and said that he liked weather that wasn't half-hearted. My heart, all of it, just pounded. Trace made an excuse to leave us together and I walked beside him huddling my thin coat to my body and shivering.

          "You cold?" he asked, noticing my blue lips perhaps.

          "Just a bit!" I said.

          "Here," he said taking his huge coat and wrapping it around me.

          "Better?"

          "Much...look, can I ask you a question?"

          He smiled, "Of course."

          "It's rather personal..."

          "Fire away."

          "Are you married or anything?" I whispered, looking out over the water.

          "Am I married?" he said. "No I'm not. Well, not now at any rate."

          "Oh..."

          "Why do you ask?" he said peering at me, as I was studiously avoiding his eyes.

          "I was wondering why not."

          "Oh, I don't know. I suppose that I've never met the right woman. I've met my fair share of wrong ones though." He picked up a stone and sent it skipping over the water. "Then too, I'm always on the road, it seems."                                 

          I picked up a stone and send it right into a wave; I knew how it felt.

          "I like you," I said. Cushies do not blush, so obviously any redness on my face was due to the wind and rain. He looked at me with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

          "You hardly know me," he said gently.

          "Do you find me attractive?" I asked. All or none.

          "Who wouldn't?" he said frankly.

          "Do you like me?"

          "Yes, I do."

          "Well? What are you going to do about it?"

          "You're awfully forthright," he complained. "You've got to give me a chance to catch my breath." My heart sank but then I looked up and  saw that he was still smiling, as though struck by the unlikelihood of the present moment.  He stretched out a hand to me.

          "Let's walk to the pier," he said. "I would kill for a cup of something hot."

          We had some regrettable coffee and Trace found us sitting around a plastic table laughing. She shot me a look that said, 'well, what the hell happened?' I shot her back a look that said, 'We'll talk later.'

          ------

          "You came right out and told him that you wanted him?" said Trace from her bed.

          "Well, I didn't put it that way. Remember that he's a Dev."

          "Does he want you?" she persisted.

          "I think I overwhelmed him, but yes, I do think that he wants me."

          "Well, who wouldn't?" she said tartly. "A saucy minx like you!"

          "I'm more than that," I grumbled. "I got to know him because I saw that he was reading a Bible not because he was good-looking."

          "I'm just messing with you, girl..."

          "Don't. This is hard for me to figure out."

          "Just follow your body and leave your head behind."

          "That is terrible advice, Stace." But I wondered if she had a point. Should I make a bold move and crawl into his bed just down the hall from us? That's how I landed Harry. I considered the prize that I had reeled in that night five years ago and knew that I had to go about things differently now. I didn't need another Harry; I needed someone who would make me feel that I mattered.

---------------

          "I have to go back to Canada tomorrow," he said over breakfast.

          "That's...terrible news," I said.

          "I know," he said.

          "Can't you switch your flight?"

          "I'd like to, but I'm due back at work the day after tomorrow."

          "I'll miss you." I felt gutted but what else could I say? He was right; we didn't really know each other. Damn, damn, and double damn it all to bloody hell.

          "Would you consider going with me?" he said.

          "What? Go to Canada?"

          "I know, it's insane, isn't it?" he laughed. "Let's buy you a ticket before cooler heads prevail."

----------

          So it was that I was in the air flying through the blue with my Canadian sitting beside me. I was sipping wine and he was fast asleep with his mouth hanging open. I thought my heart would explode from contentment. I opened my Bible and read some of Matthew's Gospel. I nearly stopped when an incredibly tedious accounting of Jesus' male relatives was the first thing that he chose to write about.

          Oi  Matty, sexist much? I muttered but fortunately, he quickly moved on to Jesus' birthday. I was pretty familiar with the story from reading Luke but there were some additional details that I rather liked. Like the Wise Men. Luke is fixated on shepherds and angels, but Matty features a trio of men from the East who follow a star to Jesus. They must be astrologers or the like. I'll ask my Canadian when he wakes up.

          Anyway, these Wise Men realize that this star is so bright that it must lead to Someone Important. Don't ask me how, I've never understood how people can take astrology seriously. (We Virgo's are like that.) So these wise men go right to the top and visit King Herod. They tell him that they are following the star to the "King of the Jews." Well, if I had been Herod, I would have said "Thank you very much. That would be me." But he is filled with a sense of doom, realizing that a challenger to his supremacy has been born. He'll nip it in the bud, will our Herry. He tells the boys to find the king and come back and tell him all about it so he can go and worship him too. Yeah right. Worship him with a brick more like!

          But the Wise Men are warned off and they ditch Herod who is so pissed that he throws a full scale massacre of baby boys. I shivered. What a dreadful man! Why did God allow people like that king to live? Must ask my theologian if he ever wakes up.

          I looked out the window and gasped. The sun was just beginning to peek up behind us and I could see the mountains up ahead. It reminded me of a picture postcard a friend had sent from Austria. There was snow all over, not just on the mountains.

          The woman was coming along pushing a big box with coffee to those who were already up (or those who had no luck sleeping.) I've never flown before so there was absolutely no way that I could fall asleep and miss the magic.

          The Canadian grunted and rubbed his eyes. I passed him over a coffee and he drank it gratefully.

          "Where are we?" he said blearily when his coffee was gone.

          I pointed to the little map on the tv screen which I had been watching obsessively.

          "It's the Rocky Mountains, right?" I said. He nodded and stretched like a cat in a sunbeam. I smiled because he had a piece of something green in his teeth.

          "You should try to sleep," he said.

          "Can't. It's too wonderful."

          "Mmm," he observed with enthusiasm, world traveller that he was. He turned in his chair and was out like a light with nary a flicker.

          I decided to carry on with Matthew. I read about John the Baptist who is different from John who wrote the Gospel apparently. This lad spent his time in the desert wearing uncomfortable garments, eating macro-biotically and slagging the Pharisees when they came to check him out. It was John who baptized Jesus which was odd to me. I mean, the Son of God needs to be baptized? Why? Good old John is right confused too about the very same point. After he asks Jesus, what the hell? Jesus tells him to relax and baptize him anyway. Why? Jesus says it's to 'fulfill all righteousness', whatever that might mean! I jotted down the question in my tablet so I could ask my Canadian.

          After his baptism, Jesus follows the Holy Spirit (who is some kind of bird) into the wilderness where he gets to starve for forty days. Talk about a cleanse! Just to make it interesting, the Devil makes an appearance to test Jesus. I clenched my fists. Nice,  kick someone when they're down, why don't you?

          The Devil urges Jesus to turn stones into bread and deal with his hunger. Jesus doesn't bite and instead he tells him that he'd rather eat God's words. Nice one, Jesus.

          Then the Devil takes Jesus to the top of the temple and tells him to throw himself off. 'Are you kidding me?' Is what I would have said. The Devil tries to trick Jesus by saying something about God saving him and sending him angels so he won't even get dirt on his feet. Is the Devil quoting something? Jesus can't be fooled; he just tells the Devil that it's not bright to put God to a foolish test.  Ooo Jesus, you're so clever. Of course, it would be crazy to toss yourself into the blue as if daring God not to catch you. Why did he think that Jesus would do something so brain-dead?

          Anyway, then the Devil pulls out all of the stops. He takes Jesus up to a mountaintop where he can see all the world's kingdoms. The Devil says, "Look Jesus and drool. Here's everything that you could ever hope for. Tell you what, you kneel down and worship me and it's all yours!" Tempting, yes? But Jesus doesn't think so. He tells the Devil to piss off because he's going to worship God alone. No hedging your bets in other words. Jesus makes me think. Do I serve God alone? What would I have done if the Devil came up to me and said: "What can I get you Cushie? Just give me a taste of worship and I'll give you whatever you want!"

          I think Jesus was able to hold out against temptation because he knew who he was. I wonder who I really am?

----------

          Finally, another sign of life from the Canadian. I push over the sandwich that I collected on his behalf from the girl half an hour ago. I swear, he eats it in three bites maximum. I've never seen someone who can eat like him.

          "According to the little telly, we are beginning our descent into Vancouver," I said grandly. Sadly, getting into Vancouver meant plunging into a fogbank so I could no longer gawk at the perfect miniature world beneath us.

          "What time is it," he grunted.

          "Let me check my tablet," I said. "It's 9:30 on the button."

          "Did you sleep at all?" he wonders.

          "I'm fine. Who can sleep?"

          "You'll pay for it," he grunts.

          "Ha!" I said  to cut off a potential argument. "I'm superhuman!"

          "Lucky me," he grumbled. Not a morning person.

-----------

          Vancouver is not New London. Except for the traffic which is also unbelievably bad. Canadians seem to have a distaste for mass transit that borders on the pathological. Everyone has a car! Nobody rides the bus and as for rattlers, there seem to be none.

          When the clouds break, you can see that the city is ringed with snow-capped mountains. God, it's beautiful.

          Of course, my Canadian doesn't live in the city quite. We have to drive for several hours to get to his town. I'm a city girl so when I see the city disappearing behind us, I must admit my heart sinks just a little.

          We drove through farmland and past the ocean. Where does he live? Is he some sort of rural landholder? And then, more glorious city! But we just drive past it, whatever it was and back into the country again.

          "Are you a city or a country mouse?" I asked.

          "A bit of both," he said, having fully awakened by the act of out-wrestling other drivers for control on the crowded highways. "You might call me a suburban mouse. Of course, in the valley here, you are never very far from both city and country."

          And that much was about right. I drove through belts of close block housing and then an expanse of country that was so green it made my heart ache with longing. Did I just say that? Maybe Trace was right about me being a poet.

          "Here it is," he said, turning off of the freeway.

          It was a nondescript road leading to the side of mountain, densely wooded. He drove straight into the mountain and then the road lost its directness for a series of drunken zigzags as it attempted coitus with the highland.

          He pulled up to a lovely white cottage overlooking the whole valley. I could see a river glittering in the fretful winter sun.

          "You live here?" I gasped.

          "Well, no. Actually, I live in a little apartment in town. This is my mother's place."

          "I'm staying with your mother?"

          "Well, you can't stay with me, you know."

          "Why not?"

          "Um, well...it's because we're not married, you see?"

          "Will your Mum be happy to see me?" I asked, just a bit worried. What if she was one of those mothers who torment women who go after their precious sons?

          "I think so. I told her that you were a Bible student looking for a  place to stay. She approves of theologians even though she thinks they're all mad."

          "What does she think of your work?"

          "As I said, she thinks I'm mad, but she loves me nonetheless."         

          "Crickey."

          We rapped at the door and there she was, a white-haired sprite beaming like she'd won the lottery.

          "There you are, David!" She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a colossal hug. She turned to me and smiled at me.  "And who is this lovely young woman?"

          "My name is Natasha, ma'am," I said. Immediately, I felt guilty of an untruth. "Although, my real name is actually Florence."

          "Ah Florence, the fountain of the Renaissance," she said. "I understand that you'll be studying with David?"

          "Yes Ma'am."

          "Has he told you that I think all theologians are mad?" Her eyes twinkled.

          "He certainly has."

          "Some of my favorite people are mad, so consider it a species of compliment."

          "I will Ma'am."

          "Oh, call me Alice; everybody does. Come in and we'll get you fixed up!" She lead me into a room which overlooked the valley. I could barely refrain from pinching myself.

          "I'll leave you to your own devices," she said. "You'll probably want a nap after your flight."

          My Canadian winked at me and promised to pick me up tomorrow morning for an orientation. Of course, I was far too excited to sleep. I walked around the room, poking at books and looking through an album of photographs from an earlier non-digital age. My Canadian was a chubby, apple-cheeked boy with a look of mischief in his eyes and always a book in his hand.

          I laid on the bed to read and before I knew it I was fast asleep.

          ----

          "Tea time!" In came Alice with a tray of tea and toast.

          "What time is it?" I croaked.

          "You've been out for three hours," she laughed. "But I thought I would haul you out of bed so that you can sleep again tonight."

          "Bleagh," I said and what's more I meant it. I sipped the tea and let it melt my phlegm away. I rubbed my face and stretched like a cat.

          "How long have you been serious about my David?" she said pleasantly.

          "Um?" I mumbled. "You know?" How could she?

          "I'm his mother, my dear. I haven't seen that look in his eye since he was standing beside Bergit at the altar."

          "Bergit?"

          "He was married to her some seven years ago," she said.

          "What happened?"

          "Adultery," she said crisply, like a doctor discussing a terminal sickness.

          "Him or her?" I said.

          "Him, actually. She never forgave him."        

          "Why are you telling me this?"

          "You asked."

          Why did I ask? I wished that I hadn't. What could I say now? Nothing. We drank our tea in silence. Her face was like a porcelain mask. Dispassionate? Or well practiced in hiding unpleasant emotions? She reminded me of one of those society women in Victorian times like on the telly. 

-----------

          "What's the matter?" he said, as he  manoeuvred his car around the hairpins.

          "Nothing," I said. I'd not slept very well and I was not in the mood for a serious talk. Did it bother me that he'd cheated? I mean, I took it for granted that men cheat. I was a cushie; ninety percent of the men I went with were married. You could always tell. There was an aura of unspoken shame before, a quickness to the task during, not to mention a large measure of gratitude afterward. Did I mention that I was a skilled actress?

          Yet, it did bother me that he had cheated. Devs were supposed to be different. At the same time, I felt like a hypocrite. I had been with hundreds of men. He had been with two women. Two that I knew of. I was mixed up and I don't talk my way out of confusion; I stew.

          The Canadian picked up on my stillness and he went quiet himself. He turned on the radio and we listened to a chorale. It was like listening to a cathedral choir. We descended from bright sunshine into an endless sea of fog. Perfect.

          He switched on the headlights and on we drove until we pulled up in front of a nondescript building.

          "Bible College," he said, as he pulled up into a spot marked for Staff. "Come on in and I will talk to the registrar about you taking  my course. I may have to tell him that you're my fiancée to get a better price." He waggled his eyebrows at me. I smiled a little but between feeling disoriented by his adultery and out of my depth at this Bible School I was feeling far from light hearted. I wanted to say, "But, David, I'm not your fiancée."

          He lead me into a large room full of tables and chairs and a group of students from late adolescence to those with grey hair. I sat beside a woman who looked to be about my age. She smiled at me. I saw that she had a large black Bible and a notebook in front of her. What was I doing here?

          I opened my tattered Bible and pretended to read. I had turned to a book called "Galatians" and was scanning it to see what it might be. The author was going on about how they were all children of God, that there was no difference between them. Why would he need to write something so obvious? And here was that word "Gentile" again! Was it the opposite of a Jew? It would match the other contrasts, male v. female and slave v. free. Hmmm. I turned to the woman beside me.

          "Gentiles are like anti-Jews, aren't they?" I said.

          "Pardon me?" she gulped, her eyes wide.

          "Gentiles, this word here," I said tracing the passage with my index finger.

          "Oh...gentiles are people who aren't Jews. People who don't live according to Jewish Law." She smiled at me. "I'm Ruth."

          "Florence."

          "Are you Australian?"

          "Good God, no! I'm English!"

          "Oh sorry. I can never keep all those accents straight."

          Well, this caused me to splutter internally for some time. Imagine!

          David stood at the front and said a few funny things to warm up his new class. Their expectations must have been pretty low because they laughed like hyenas at every tiny joke he made. I noted with displeasure that fully seventy percent of the class consisted of young females, who gazed at him adoringly. I frowned. What was the problem with Dev women? Were they not here to learn the Bible?

          I blushed at that moment because I could hear myself in that corner of my brain where self-knowledge ruled. I was in this class for the very same reason. I smiled and gave myself a discreet elbow to the ribs and composed myself to learn. Adoring women was his problem, not mine.

          He spoke well and clearly about the man Paul. Guess what, Paul wrote the very book that I was trying to understand. Only Galatians is not a book, but a letter. This course we were in now revolved around the book of Ephesians which was another letter that Paul wrote to a church in Ephesus, which is in present-day Turkey. He showed us photos of ruins and established what he called a "historical context" which sounds less exciting that it actually was. I had always thought history the preserve of the incorrigibly dull but in David's hands it became like a living story. I found myself getting lost in a world of Greek statues, open markets, rioting silversmiths and the like. I sighed with contentment.

          He closed by sending us all home to read the entire letter. "Read it carefully; chew on it but don't treat it like a theological book! Read it pleasurably, like you would a letter from a loving friend."

          Over coffees, he asked me how I liked his course thus far. I told him that it was marvelous and then, I'm afraid my face fell. He peered at me and his smile lost some of its wattage.

          "Something's been bothering you all day, hasn't it? Would you tell me?"

          "It's something your mother told me," I said.

          "She told you about Bergit?" His voice was a whisper.

          "She said that she left you over your adultery." There it was all out in the open. I breathed a long sigh of relief.

          "I was a fool."

          "How did it happen?"

          "It was during a time of what I like to think of as my spiritual winter. I had become very proud of my scholarship and standing as a theologian as I've already told you. I had stopped depending on God for understanding and became enamoured with my own voice. Bergit had always been a straight-talker, and she told me she didn't like how I was acting. Instead of heeding her, I grew resentful of her. How did she presume to tell me what was the matter with me? Oh, I was a proud, proud man-a fool really." His voice choked a bit and I covered his hand with mine.

          "Well, with my marriage in a rocky place and my pride knowing no bounds, I started appreciating some of my more admiring students at the University where I was lecturing. I reasoned that their frank admiration was reality and Bergit's misgivings were her own problem and nothing to do with my behavior. What a recipe for marital disaster!"

          "Colleen was in my  Ethics class and one day she invited me out for a beer. I told her yes. One thing lead to another and the affair was on. Bergit saw in my face that I was keeping something from her and the guilt was killing me. I finally came clean. She was packed up and  gone by the next day."

           "Thanks for telling me."

          "It's not the kind of thing that I like to tell women that I admire," he said. This was much better.

          "You admired me?"

          "I've admired you since I first saw you on the train. When you caught me reading the Bible, you were so forthright and unafraid. I had been told that the British Christians, the Devs, were all in hiding, skulking around on the margins and here you were freely admitting to reading the Bible to a stranger!"

          "Speaking of the Bible, I do have a question from class..."

          "Ask away."

          "It's the word 'predestination'. What does Paul mean by it?"

          "A lovely can of worms," he mused. "Paul means that God has chosen us to be his own even before we were created, even before the creation of the world."

          "He chose me before he made any mountain or ocean?"

          "Yes, breath-taking, isn't it?"

          "So I had no choice in the matter?"

          "Everyone has a choice. I could choose you but that is not guarantee that you will choose me."

          "How could I resist you?"

          "Now, you're teasing me." He smiled broadly and then glanced at his watch. "Listen, I have a staff meeting in a few minutes. Can I suggest that you take a walk around the grounds? It may be winter but at least it isn't raining."

          I gave him a generous hug and went off to investigate the gardens.

          It wasn't raining when I stepped out of the school but that didn't last. I could feel a misty dampness descending on me as I walked the winding paths. I didn't mind; it was a good match for the dreariness I was feeling. I realized that my Canadian was in a better place now than he was when he was married to Bergit, but I had to deal with knowing that he was not the heroic figure that I once thought he was.

          Would he cheat on me if I opened my heart to him? That was a terrifying thought to me. Love was never part of the equation with Harry, just a lot of shagging and drinking.

          I noted with pleasure that I could make out some green bits poking out of the well tended gardens. I looked closer and saw little purple flowers that stood shivering in the misty rain.

          "Where are your umbrellas?" I asked them.

          "Where are yours?" they answered.

          "Probably still in England," I said. What was I doing in Canada? At least in England, I knew who I was and what I was good for. Who was I trying to fool, studying the Bible with these good, upright Devs?

          "What if there's a reason for being here?" asked one of the little flowers interrupting my self-pity.

          "What if I'm only deluding myself?"

          "What if God did choose you before he made the world?" said all the flowers."

          "I find that hard to believe," I shrugged.

          "Would it kill you to try?" said a tiny purple bloom.

          "No, it wouldn't," I admitted. I smiled at them, bravely open to the elements in the middle of their well-tilled bed. I would try staying open like them even though I was far from feeling safe.

----------

          "You were the girl from Ephesians!" It was the woman I had sat beside, also walking through the gardens.

          "Guilty as charged," I said.

          "Walking without an umbrella?" she smiled, extending hers. She seemed to glow with friendliness.

          "I'm used to rain," I said, glowing at not quite the same wattage.

          "Brr not me! I find this constant drip like a Chinese water torture. But I do love the mildness here. I like to come out here just to look at the gardens," she said. "It's amazing to see so much green in the middle of winter."

          "I was just doing that. It's nice to see the little flowers popping up."

          "Back home, we'd have to wait another couple of months."

          "Where are you from?"

          "Saskatchewan, it's right in the middle of Canada. It's probably minus twenty there today."

          "How do they stand it?"

          "They dress for it! Warm boots, warm coats and lots of hot coffee. Coffee that you have to stir with a jackhammer." I wasn't at all sure what a jackhammer was but her tone was light so I suspected that they enjoy strong coffee in Saskatchewan. Canadians have a positive mania for coffee, I've noticed. Not content to pour instant into hot water, they force it through a grinder, then a press and then sell it for a king's ransom at Starbucks that seem to be on every street corner.

          "Shall we walk together?" Ruth suggested. I felt a bit shy when she took me by the arm but her warmth quickly won me over. We walked along and she told me the names of all of the flowers and described what all the dead-looking sticks would look like when spring  ushered in summer.

          "You're quite the horticulturalist," I told her.

          "In Saskatchewan, winter is so long that you physically ache for any sign of new growth when spring comes. Horticulture is almost a fetish for us; it keeps us sane when we get a blizzard in April. Of course, here on the West Coast winter is barely a week long. I've heard that in some years, they barely get any snow."

          "Sounds like Britain," I said.

          "Shall we get something to eat?" she suggested. I looked at my watch.

          "I have a couple of hours," I said. "What do you have in mind?"

          "Let's grab some coffee," she said.

          We walked into town and found a Starbucks. She ordered something so complex that I can't even remember all of the descriptive words. I smiled weakly and asked for a coffee, smallish. They smiled pityingly at me and pushed across a paper cup.

          "Tell me about Britain," she said, as we settled down with sticky buns and our coffees.

          "It's quite different from here," I said. "Everything is new here; back home everything is old. Of course, we don't see it as old, it's just what we're used to. But, I look around in Canada and everything seems to be new and gleamy."

          "I hear that Christians are persecuted in Britain," she said.

          I told her about what little I knew.

          "We're very lucky to live in Canada," she said.

          I have nothing to say to this. You might know that your home is a wreck but you get protective when somebody else brings it up. I concentrated on my sticky bun.

          "Isn't Doctor Gladwin the best?" she asked.

          "Who?" I said, completely baffled.

          "Our Ephesians teacher," she laughed.

          "Oh yes, he's quite something," I said. "He makes it all come alive, doesn't he?" I didn't even know his last name!

          "Which other courses are you taking?" she wanted to know.

          "Just the one," I said.

          "Really?" She waited for me to explain why I was only taking one course. I wracked my mind but couldn't find a satisfying answer. So I changed the subject.

          "Tell me about Saskatchewan."

          "It's flat and cold in winter, flat and hot in the summer. When the fields are ripe for harvest, it's like a sea of gold waving in the wind. Sometimes, it gets so hot that we have cloudbursts."

          "What's that?"

          "You look up at the sky and on the horizon you see a big black cloud coming your way. Then you run around your property and make sure that all the windows are shut! It rains like the heavens are completely open and then five to ten minutes later it's all done. The roads are like rivers and the air is fresh and clean! Some nights we have thunderstorms and lightning strikes from one end of the sky to the other. It's not a tame country. People who live there are tough and friendly. Everybody knows his neighbours and helps out whenever there is need because we know that we all need each other. It's different here in B.C."

          "How so?"

          "B.C. is definitely more stand-offish. People don't open up easily to each other. They never read their Donne."

          "Their Donne?"

          "John Donne wrote that 'no man is an island to himself'. In B.C. almost everybody is an island to each other. Even the churches here are less friendly."

          I suggested that we take out our Bibles and read the letter over and discuss it. She agreed and soon we were deep into Ephesians. There was some species of folk music playing quietly in the background and the gas fire was keeping us delightfully warm. I read slowly and carefully, keeping in mind what David, I mean the honorable Dr. Gladwin, had said. Until I hit a wall.

          "What does Paul mean by 'sexual immorality'?" I asked Ruth.

          "Well, you know," said Ruth. "Having sex with someone other than your spouse."

          "What about people who don't have a spouse?"

          "Oh, they're supposed to abstain from sex." Her smile was of the frozen variety.

          "Are you serious?" I asked. Her face told me that she was.

          "Do they interpret Paul differently in Britain?" she said, trying for a lighter touch perhaps.

          "I'm fairly new to all of this," I told her. "What does Paul say about prostitutes?" I felt sure that there would be some sort of concession for good sexual therapists.

          "Prostitutes?" she said, her eyes wide. "He would say that they were sinners, of course. There's a passage about not becoming intimate with a prostitute because then you will be one flesh with her."

          "Is that a metaphor?" My head was spinning at the notion that I was one flesh with hundreds of men.

          "Um, I don't know."

          "But how can a prostitute become one flesh with all of her clients? Isn't she just performing a service?"

          "Oh my, do you really think so?" she said, aghast at my suggestion. Apparently, they aren't very sophisticated  in Saskatchewan.

          "I have to get back," I said. "Thanks for answering my questions."

          "Your questions are so interesting," she said. "Your point of view is so different from the usual way I look at things. See you in class tomorrow!"

------------

          I walked back to the school in the misty rain, pondering my profession in the light of what I'd learned about it from Ruth. Don't misunderstand me. I didn't love being a cushie but neither did I see it as being sinful. Was I deluded? I decided to give prayer a whirl.

          "God," I whispered. "What do you say?"

          It's funny how God talks without saying a word. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, memories flooded from the locked away depths: my dreadful stepfathers and their wandering hands, old boyfriends who made it clear that sex was always on the menu, men who looked at my body as I walked, never ever looking at me in the eyes. Feeling like a toilet for men who said nothing as they pumped away at me. Acting orgasmic when all I really wanted was a hot bath. Harry mocking me whenever I complained.

          I walked by a little tree which had pale yellow ribbon-like flowers poking out along its length. I could smell a faint perfume as a beam of light showed through a cloud to illuminate it. I shivered and the thought came to me.     "I saw you and loved you. I've always loved you."

          I could feel warm tears joining the rain on my face as internally I began to let go of an endless measure of pain. I felt like I was sinking into an embrace.

          I wandered for some time, just letting go of the jagged hard bits and letting some warm soft liquid fill me. I noticed that I'd wandered over to where my little friends, the purple flowers, were drinking in the rain.

          "You were right," I told them. "I am here for a reason."

          They said nothing but then they didn't have to.

-------------------

          David came out of the meeting room looking tired. I reached out a hand to him and pulled him to the sofa where I was waiting for him.

          "Enjoyable meeting?" I smiled.

          "As delightful as a root canal," he said. "Sometimes I long for the days of Divine Right. Then our Prez could just do what he thought best  without all of this endless consultation! Committee after committee! Just do something! If it's wrong, just admit it and try something else..."

          I think my mouth was wide open at his outburst, which made him burst out laughing.

          "I'm sorry, my dear. I was ranting, but I'm like a storm that blows quickly through and then I'm done."

          "I wanted to talk to you about something important," I told him.

          "If it's important, maybe we should wait until we're in a more private place?"

          We walked back to his car and as soon as we were en route, I charged in.

          "I'm a prostitute, David."

          He nearly drove into a tree.

_____________

          It was a long conversation and painful in parts. His face was a mobile stage presenting shock, understanding, curiosity, and chagrin.

          "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asked quietly.

          "Because I liked you and I didn't want to risk your disapproval," I said. I thought some more and continued.

          "I started talking to you because you had a Bible. I ached to have someone to talk to about what was changing me and then you came along. I had already stopping being a cushie."

          "So why tell me about it now?"

          "I don't know. I suppose it's because you've become important enough to be honest with. You've told me your shit and now I'm telling you mine, right?"

          "Wow," said David as my shit continued to sink in. "I'm going to need some time with this."

          "Are you going to stop loving me?" There. Get it out there.

          "No." He said it without hesitation. But he didn't say it like a hearts and flowers announcement either. What did I expect? I wanted to say something to make everything better but there was nothing to say. Instead I just laid my head on his shoulder as he drove. I could feel his body tense up so I went back to my own side.

---------

          It was a sombre dinner around Alice's table. Neither David nor I had much to say. Finally, she put down her knife and fork and peered at us.

          "Who is going to tell me what is going on?" she said pleasantly.

          "It's nothing, Mum," said David woodenly.

          "I'll be the judge of that," she said serenely.

          "I told your son that I'm a retired prostitute," I said quietly.

          "That's nothing?" she said. He shrugged and keep on looking at his plate.

          "Doesn't  your Bible has a story about a man who was told to marry a prostitute?" she said evenly.

          "What?" I said. How could such a thing be in the Bible?

          "Hosea," said David. "Mother, it's not fair to use a book that you don't even believe in against your son." Could I detect just a whisper of a smile?

          "Tell me the story," I begged.

          "Very well. God was not very happy with Israel. She was running after false gods..."

          "They're all false, if you ask me," said his mother in an aside to me.

          "He wanted to shock Israel with an object lesson, an analogous narrative, so he told his servant Hosea to marry a well-known prostitute by the name of Gomer. They would be stunned at such an outrageous act and then God could slide in the rapier. 'Oh Israel, you are doing the same thing to me by running after your idols and indulging in spiritual adultery.'"

          "What happened?" I said.

          "He married her and made her a respectable wife but she was unable to break out of her perpetual adultery. Every time she left him for another man, he took her back."

          "A sucker for punishment," said Alice tartly.

          "Reading Hosea, you see the broken heart of God so clearly," said David.  "It is full of anguish. He says, 'What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears.'"

          "But I'm not like that," I said quietly. "I may have been a cushie once but my love is real."

          "I know," he said. "I just need some time."

          "Adultery and prostitution," said Alice. "Life isn't boring with you two."

          Now David was actually smiling.  

          "How does Hosea end?" I asked.

          "God tells Israel that he will heal their waywardness and love them freely, that he will be like the dew to them, so that they can send down their roots. He tells them that their splendor will be like an olive tree, their fragrance like a cedar of Lebanon. He promises that people will dwell again in their shade; that they will flourish like the grain, and blossom like the vine." David's face was lifted up as he quoted and I could see his eyes soften.  

          In my mind's eye, I pictured a dried out husk of a tree struggling to live on the fringes of a desert. I could see clouds moving overhead and a light spring rain falling.  Almost immediately, the tree responded by pushing out new growth on every branch. It was like a film I once saw where the film-maker had used stop motion photography to show how a desert is transformed by a sudden rainfall. It suddenly occurred to me that I was like that tree.

          "It's dinner time," announced Alice, snapping me out of my reverie.

          "Great, thanks Mum," said David which completely destroyed my mood. He certainly enjoyed eating.

          Alice kept on bringing out courses and David kept shovelling in the food like a piranha stumbling into an all-you-can-eat buffet. I would have felt even more disdainful except that I was matching David bite for bite. My God, could Alice ever cook. Either that or I have never been served real food before.

          Finally, we pushed back our well-used plates and gushed appreciation to the chef. She glowed. We brought the dishes back to the kitchen and she shooed us away when we tried to help her with the washing.

          "Sit down, you two," she commanded. "Take a cup of coffee back into the sitting room and talk about how you will live your lives together, if that's still possible."

----------

          "Do you still want to live our lives together?" asked David with a worried look on his face.

          "You haven't asked me before," I reminded him.

          "I know. I don't like to ask the Question. I like to proceed as though we'd already agreed on the agenda."

          "I suspect that I should feel patronized..."

          "It's just my fear of rejection," he smiled. "Anyway, what about it? See any future with a repentant adulterer?"

          "I do. Are you willing to tie yourself to a reformed cushie?"

          "I am. Or should I say, 'I do!'"

          "You'd better kiss me." And then he did. He was still kissing me when Alice stepped in with her coffee.

          "Oh good," she said. "That's the power of a good meal."

          ----------

          Ruth smiled at me as I sat beside her.

          "You look awfully happy," she chirped.

          "I am." Last night, after Alice had gone to bed, David got down on his knee and proposed to me. Of course, he had no ring but what did I care about that? I was delirious with joy.

          We spoke about getting a place together in town after a summer wedding. It was a surreal discussion. My brain kept on interrupting to say helpful things like, "Can this really be happening?" and  "A couple of months ago, you were a New London cushie, now you're engaged to a theologian and planning to live in Canada." It was all a little overwhelming.

          I turned to Ruth and gave her a look like the cat who got the canary. "I am awfully happy."

          David called the class to order, so I couldn't fill Ruth in on the details. She looked at me with a "Let's talk later" implied.

          I suppose that David was teaching something particularly spellbinding from the first chapter of Ephesians but I was in dreamland. Mrs. Florence Gladwin. It sounded like I was the daughter of an aristocrat.

          ------

          She pushed a mug of coffee over to me and waited expectantly.

          "Well?" she asked.

          "I'm getting married!" I said.

          "No!" she said.

          "Yes!" said I.

          "Do I know him?"

          "It's Doctor Gladwin."

          "Shut-UP!" she barked, frothing a bit at the mouth. (It could have been the whipped foam from her cappuccino.)

          "Pardon?"

          "I don't mean that you should literally shut up. It's just something we say here. Actually, keep on talking! How in the world could you be engaged to him?"

          I told her about meeting David on the train and all of the rest of it. She had a look fixed on her face like she was overcome with the romance of it all.

          "Wow!" she said, as I finished. She took a large swallow of her by now tepid cappuccino. "That's wonderful!"

          "It is, isn't it?" I took a healthy swallow myself.

          "You have a lot of planning to do," she said, eyes glowing.

          "I do?" I was thinking of a quick pop down to the registrar's or whatever they have for quickie marriages in Canada and then live happily ever after.

          "You have to book a church, choose bridesmaids, find a gorgeous dress, book a romantic honeymoon..." She kept on reciting a list of overwhelming proportion while I'm afraid that my eyes started to bug out a bit.

          "Are you serious?" I said finally.

          "It's the most important day of your life," she assured me. "You'll always remember it!"

          "It sounds like an awfully big fuss," I said, but my heart was starting to beat a little faster.

          "We have to go out and buy a bridal magazine," she said.

          "I've never heard of such a thing." I said.

          "Prepare yourself for a jolt of concentrated estrogen!" she said with a huge smile.

          ------

          "Look at this one," said Ruth. "It's mostly satin but the sewn-on pearls are so gorgeous!" She flipped another page, full of veils and other transparent things.

          The bridal magazine was full of spell-binding dresses and weighed a good twenty pounds. It was just a bit overwhelming.

          "What's your budget?" asked Ruth. "What will your Dad spring for?"

          "I don't have a father," I said.

          "Oh," she said. "That could put a crimp into things."

          "I was actually thinking of something smallish," I said.

          "Does your Doctor Gladwin have funds?" she asked.

          "I don't know," I said. "Do theologians usually make a lot of money?"

          "I suspect not," she said sadly, shutting the bridal magazine.

          "Oh, don't shut it," I said. "Let's just indulge ourselves a little, even if it's only a fantasy."

          "That's the spirit," she laughed. "Ooo, look at this one!"

          --------

          "Do you make a lot of money, David?" I asked him as we were driving to his mother's house.

          "Not a lot," he admitted. "Why do you ask?"

          "Well, I'm wondering what kind of a wedding we'll have. Ruth and I were looking at a bridal magazine."

          "Who's Ruth?" he asked.

          "She's the woman I sit beside in Ephesians."

          "She knows that you're marrying me?" He seemed alarmed; his voice was tight.

          "Yes...why? Is that a problem?"

          "Well...it's a bit disconcerting to think that one of my students knows that I'm engaged to another one of my students."

          "I thought you registered me as your fiancée."

          "Well, I was going to, but then I thought better of it. I suppose I'll have to go to the Prez and have a little talk with him. You might need to withdraw from my course. Appearances, you know?"

          "That hardly seems fair," I protested.

          "Sorry. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe the Prez will be ok with it all."

          ____

          But the Prez was not ok with it and I was asked to leave David's class. I was desperately angry at the unfairness of it all and I felt cheated. David tried to help me understand how it would be perceived if he was my teacher using expressions like 'conflict of interest' and the like. I was pissed so I'm afraid that I wasn't very understanding.

          "What am I supposed to do with my days?" I said plaintively. "They won't let me work here, I can't go to school..."

          "You could plan the most amazing wedding," suggested David.

          "With limited funds?" I said, not to be placated.

          We parked in front of Alice's cottage and went in with heavy hearts. Alice met us at the door. Her smile vanished as she saw the despondent looks on our faces.

          "What's up?" she said, not letting us in.

          "Everything's turned to shit!" I said, absolutely fed up.

          "They told her she had to withdraw from my class," David explained.

          "Gracious," she said. "You do know that David is not the only teacher at his blessed school, don't you?"

          "Mum's right, Florence," he said. "Why don't you take some Old T. with Gregory? Or maybe Apologetics with Simon?"

          ----

          Gregory turned out to be an older man with a fringe of white hair around a shiny egg-shaped head. He was so like a bird. He had long spindly legs like a stork and a Roman nose which gave him aquiline look. He used his long arms to make points, flapping at the overhead projector notes that he scrolled through during each of his classes. He was wise and witty but he was no David. I noted wryly that I was the only woman in his class.

          I was content. I was studying the Bible again, I was engaged to be married to a perfect man, my future mother-in-law seemed to like me and the wedding would work out just as all things always do, right? Everything was coming up roses for me. Which just goes to show you how little we know.

_________________________________________________________

          Dear Diary,

I haven't kept a journal since I was a little girl but my spiritual director seems to think that it will be a good practice for me.

          I found a dreadful flat yesterday that matched what I was willing to spend. New London looks the same as the day I left it five years ago: dreary, filthy, damp and depressing. But I'm not the same. I hope not.

          David turned out to be less perfect than I hoped. My director suggests that some men are wounded so deeply that they are unaware of it most of the time. They go through life happy and productive and then for some reason the wheels go off the cart. They lose an argument, or a friend fails them and suddenly they turn to someone for comfort. Do they turn to their adoring wife? They do not. At least David didn't. He  got cold, uncommunicative and lost himself in isolation for weeks at a time. When I taxed him with his uncharacteristic behavior, he  drew further away. I was confused most of the time because all of a  sudden David would come up out of his funk and all would be sunshine and roses again. And then something else would trigger him and he would be back in his Slough of Despond.

          Then, one day, I found an unfamiliar name on his cell phone. Celine. One of his students, of course, a young female with stars in her evangelical eyes.

          He didn't attempt to deny it. He just stood in front with cold eyes and silence as I melted-down. I moved out of our place and contemplated suicide. It was Alice who took me in hand and helped me find my feet after the divorce was finalized.

          I stayed with her on her mountain and licked my wounds. Every day I would drown my sorrows with a long hike. One afternoon, I was looking up at a waterfall as it cascaded down the lip of the rock face when I heard what could only be the voice of God. He said, "Go home. It's time." I wanted to argue but it was God, right? The one who knows everything. So...

          So go home to Britain? Right.

          I dropped in on my director in her comfortable office and plunked myself down in her well-aged overstuffed armchair. She liked to joke that the chair was a good match for her. She pulled her chair over to me and sat smiling at me, her wrinkled face glowing with soft light. It's her eyes that make everything seem surmountable. Delft blue and serene. Nothing seems to trouble her.

          I told her of my revelation and all she did was smile. Then we talked for a long time about what I had learned in the last two years. She spoke of testing revelations, looking to see if a revelation was a short cut out of mourning and the like. These Benedictines can be awfully Machiavellian. Finally we exhausted the spring cleaning of my soul and she spoke of vocation. Was I called to England?

          She told me to come again next Tuesday after contemplating all we'd discussed.

          But instead, I bought a cheap air fare.

---

          I look around my flat and put my things where they'll show well. Not that that's hard. My things are all cheap and worn which suits the flat perfectly. Putting away my things was easy, not so easy was why was I here?

           One thing that I knew I had to do.

------

          I rapped on the familiar door hoping that the Thin Man still lived at the same address.

          The door opened a crack and then wide. He stepped out, his mouth agape.

          "It's me again. Can I come in?" I said.