A exploration of spiritual stillness, 30 day fast of reading, studying and practicing the 26th verse of Tao Te Ching. (Living Calmly) The month long spiritual exercise in accepting and being gracious for what lies ahead. Being a avid hack writer, I’ll post 30 days consecutively, thoughts on “Being Content.” Poems, exercises, take-home assignments, etc.
Day 20,
The Boy and the Preacher,
a short story by robert williams
A small boy with a oversize head, stood up in a rowdy, rambunctious Baptist church one day and shouted, “This is phony.” The choir’s sounds of a marching band halted, holy spirits which had driven women into frenzies scattered for cover. The well-dressed preacher jaw drop below his pockets.
Silence, eerily silence, one which come before storms, even the young sister who never seemed to shut up, was silent. The small boy did something no other would ever think to do, challenge the spirit of God; in church no hap.
As the paralysis of the proclamation diminished, the preacher slowly descended from his castle, (the pulpit.) The boy by now was in the tightly gripped hands of church elders. A few slaps upon his head did not repel his mouth, again with the stomp of his tiny foot,“This is phony.” Women shouted in tongues, inaudible as it was, the young boy heard preparation of a crucification.
Insuring his congregation repeatedly, as he approached the confident boy, “The devil sits among us, praise the Lord.” Venom such as the kind southern whites had against Negroes, began to spill onto the boy, “Get his behind out of here, throw him out, shut him up.” “This is Phony!” the boy repeated louder,” surely now the boy has fit his coffin.
The hotness of July heated the church alone with this child. The volcano named, ‘Spoken Word of God’ has erupted, by a boy with a oversize head and worn out shoes, how could a preacher be pitted against one so small in stature, of puberty. The boy adjusted his discolored shirt after each finger of the elders loosen. He was all but 80 pounds if that, only eleven, he stared deliberately into the eyes of the preacher, without fear or caution, his head tilted so far back looking up he nearly fell over.
*****
What is your problem boy?
Where’s your Mother? “I come here with my sister, our momma send us, but I hate to come. Its phony, I told my her but she insist God will answer her prays. She’s lost, and so are you.” The preacher, desiring to slap the taunting pain in the ass asked, “Do you not believe in God?” “Mister, isn’t it obvious I don’t,” the boy’s proper when addressing elders, his Mother taught him that.
“Tell us why you don’t believe in God, if you’re so smart,” the preacher figuring to make a fool of the confident boy.
“Why you believe,” boy shot back. You take money our Mother gives us, although we’re poor. The boy long since stop giving his 40 cents, he simply would hit the bottom of the basket as it pass by him. He did this to deceive his sister’s watchful eyes, she would tell when he kept the money and buy candy with it. His Mother would hear this and curse him undressed, “He would mumble silently under his tears, I hate that damn church.”
“You drive a Rose Royce, but my family has barely anything to eat, you’re a thief.” “Watch your mouth boy,” the preacher’s anger visible now. His car salesman’s smoothness lost quickly to a child, although a mouthy one. The boy’s reputation in his neighborhood, one of inquisitiveness, ‘Ghetto description,’ “He talk to damn much, always asking fucking questions.”
Now as would have it, his outrageous statement, “This is phony,” has stopped services of a well-reputable church and he stares into the razor sharp teeth of retribution. As the hungry mob edges more in behind the preacher, for surly, a boy or not you don’t insult our pastor, his younger sister push in behind him.
*****
“I”m Telling Momma”
He angered his young sister many times, often on purpose, but he always stands up for himself and always for her. He never allow bullies to bring harm to her, and so she encourages him now. “Say what you want,” she yells at the top of her squeaky voice, “No ones going to do anything to you.”
“Shut the hell up, both of you,” the mob spits out. Both understanding now knowing where the exits are in a fire is so important, never will they complain as the exercise plays out in school. Her brother started a church fire, that may only be extinguish with their behinds. Neither however, feared the empty mob, they did however find the exit of their own accord.
Walking home, he wondered how his Mother’s going to whip him, extension cord or belt. His sister hadn’t said a word since they left church, and he knew what that meant, “I can’t wait to tell momma what you did.” For the boy who always questions people didn’t fear her telling how he stood up to the preacher, he feared the ass-whooping after that.
As their apartment came in view, his sister takes off, running so fast her plastic church hat flew off her head, she didn’t stop to pick it up. She had the news of the day, and only she could deliver it. The confident footsteps of the boy slowing nearly to a halt now, hoping to run into any of his friends to stall time, but he knows, its Sunday morning; everyone’s in church or sleep.
*****
“Whipping Hurt”
Before he goes upstairs to the small second floor apartment, that holds five siblings, a dog and not much furniture, he wonders “How did I get my self into this.” His sister never tells until he’s in front of his Mother, this was her code. She figured this was always the best impact for Mom to give it to him, to give his “little know it all” behind real good. Many times, he thought she would not tell on him and wham, “Mom, boy broke Ms. Smith window!” She always told on him.
His mother with her beautiful smile, which soon will turn to scorn ask, “How was church, you guys back early? The boy’s young sister hearing her cue comes running out her room, faster then usual, and blabs, “Momma, boy did not put his money in the basket again!”
Mother cursed him undressed, “He mumble silently under his tears, I hate that damn church.”
written for the boy’s
younger sister Barbara Williams
