Thus energized, he got into the Prado. Then he remembered something. ‘Before you alter your locality by muscular projection, you must submit your immediate environment to careful ocular scrutiny.’ He surveyed his immediate environment. There was no way he could make a three-point turn or any turns here, as the neighbor had parked too close to Prado. Furthermore, the man servant had gone. So Pastor X had to go knock at his neighbour’s gate to get him to reverse sufficiently for him to make his projections.
“Sorry to bother you this early,” said Pastor X when the neighbour responded, “but I can’t get out. We need to move your vehicle a little to create room for a three-point turn.”
“Sorry Pastor; I packed too close. But, it’s okay, let’s go. I’m staying behind a little this morning to sort out a leak on the roof. Besides, that fallen tree has to be moved. We have to get the tree cutters or the City council guys to do something.”
They got to their vehicles and entered. The neighbor reversed his car several metres. Whilst at it, Pastor X was struggling to get Prado to rev. The alternator sounded as if it was being constricted for breath. Was it still fast asleep? He tried again with the same result. The motor would not turn! He pulled the bonnet lever and got out.
“What’s the problem?” asked the neighbor as he joined him.
“I wish I knew. But it sounded like the engine was getting choked.” Pastor X opened the bonnet and both peeped. Almost simultaneously, they jumped back, alarmed. A snake had coiled itself on top of the engine block for warmth at night. Now, disturbed by the effort to start the engine, it must have begun to think of a way out. The bonnet opened just as it was uncoiling itself to get away from that crazy vibration.
“They do that all the time,” said the neighbor. “Get in the car,” he shouted, almost commanded. “Then try to start again and again.”
Pastor X did as he was told, shaking almost uncontrollably. He had been gripped by fear and dread. Snakes, in any form, frightened him to tears!
Presently, the python slid away out of the engine compartment and headed for the safety of the canopy of the fallen tree!
“It will be dealt with by those who come to clear the road,” the neighbor said.
Before he set off, Pastor X checked the back seat, just to make sure none had crawled in whilst he slept. There was no intruder there.
Despite the early morning traffic jam, made much worse by the previous day’s flash floods, Pastor X made it to his Church in record time. His charger was not there, waiting for him. Instead, someone had left three dollars (the price of a new charger) in one dollar bills.
Power had been restored in some districts of the city. His area church-wise was one of them. He wandered within the church deep in thought. Whilst so entranced the early morning dream came vividly to mind. So they recruit disciples? How many? And those questions! The wealth on earth! The converts left behind! How much wealth did Jesus amass? How much wealth? Try as he did, Pastor X could not think of anything that Jesus Christ owned.
He went back to the vestry, picked a Bible and walked out of the church. He had read the Bible; had studied it. Now he wanted to read it again- the entire book, to analyze it- in depth.
He drove back to the City centre, stopped at the Gulf Complex and bought a charger.
“Could you charge my phone for a while?” he asked the girl at the counter.
“That will be one dollar,” she replied.
“Here,” he said, as he handed her the phone and one of the dollars he had found at the vestry. “How long?”
“Come back in twenty-five minutes.”
“That long?”
“Yes.”
“Ok.”
“What name should I write?”
“Pastor X.”
Outside, he bought a can of fruit juice and a packet of biscuits. He reached the Prado just as two parking attendants were clamping Prado. He pleaded with them but they would not listen. He produced the remaining two dollars from the vestry find and the problem was solved. He entered Prado and began to read Genesis in the Old Testament.
Half an hour later, he went back to the shop and found that his phone had charged three-quarter way. He took it and went out. In fact, there were several messages waiting to be read. One message caught his attention. It came from Dono.
‘I thought I should warn you that the cheque I gave you last night is subject to a second signature. My wife has to sign it. Sorry for the oversight. You remember I told you I hadn’t mentioned it to her? I don’t know how you will persuade her to countersign it. I tried to mention it to her but she would not hear of it. But she is a devoted member of your congregation and I’m sure you know how to handle them. If she can countersign it, I will have no problem. On the other hand and in any event, if you could come up with a Church project, to be supervised by a select committee of say five respected members, I could consider making a personal donation from my own funds, independently of her. However, I will continue to prod her, but I do not know with what degree of success. I hope you will meet with better luck abroad. Good journey!’
Pastor X teetered on the brink of collapsing just outside the small shop. He stood as in a trance for several minutes- struck by the enormity and import of the message. He walked unsteadily to Prado and sat. His plans, both immediate and in the middle term, depended on that tithe, that fat cheque. Now his hopes and expectations had taken a hard knock- so hard because the previous day, Dono had, by his conduct, confirmed that nothing had changed. He almost explicitly wished him success in what he called ‘international projects,’ only to turn out to be a callous schemer, a turncoat!
‘It has nothing to do with his wife,’ he concluded. ‘The devil is THAT man. I can now see why he insisted on buying the secondhand tyre and pretended to be the epitome of generosity. Second thoughts, that’s what he contracted. But why couldn’t he come out in the open and tell me so? Would I have bitten his ear off? Coward, that’s what he is. He could not say it to my face.’
‘I will continue to prod her,’ he had written. ‘You do not prod her. You command her. That is what a good Christian husband would do. That’s what I would do.’
But something continued to trouble Pastor X. What if the man had been sent? But sent by whom? God? Certainly not! A section of the church, perhaps? Opponents of my Church, my mission? Possibly. Am I getting too strong for them, too influential for their liking?
That I’m powerful and influential is beyond doubt. Any fool can see that. But isn’t that what we are expected to be- strong, invincible for the Lord? Why would anyone in his right frame of mind want me to be otherwise? And serpents- why send serpents to me?
All the while Pastor X was driving towards his bank to ascertain the position from his friend the banker. When he got there, he found that the customer parking area was almost fully taken, but he got a slot and brought Prado to a stop. Then, an idea came to him. Why not read the other messages now? He turned to the unread messages. One of them was from the banker. It read: ‘I tried to call you, but your line was inaccessible. It was to inform you that upon checking the signing instructions, we discovered to my horror that the cheque in question needed to be countersigned. To avoid its being formally dishonored, you had better pick it up from my secretary, Monday morning, and have it countersigned. We will then endeavour to clear it specially, in the normal way. Sorry for any inconvenience caused.’
Pastor X bit his lip. He now was truly in a quandary. It would have been worse, much worse, if he had succeeded in calling his friends abroad. As it stood, the problem was still a local one, grave though it was.
He needed to think deeply and to pray fervently. Perhaps this was a great moment, a moment of revelation. Perhaps it was the day of his salvation- true salvation. For, if this day could pass without taking his life with it, then it would indeed be the day of revelation for him. He had survived bleak Sunday, and if he could survive black Monday, he would sing praises to God. He would renew his vows to serve none but God.
Slowly
, but determinedly, his hand reached for the Bible. Intuitively, he opened the Chapter on Saul’s conversion on the road to Damascus. Halfway through the story, he exclaimed:
“Yes, this is my road to Damascus. This is my revelation!”
He looked up and about. He was still alone in his Prado. The day was still young, but pregnant. It had an imprint on him like no other. That dream early in the morning was not just another of those nocturnal journeys that people made within their own cocoons. It was God’s way of reaching out to him. Abandon luxury. Embrace the cloth. Go to the Mount of Olives. Repent and pray. Earn your anointing. Forty days and forty nights, no less, and you will become a true disciple of Jesus Christ. The serpent was but a reminder. When you look for a snake in the night begin at your own feet. Or more appropriately begin in your own heart. The devil is never far away.
Pastor X pressed the reply button and wrote: ‘It’s no use. That woman will not budge. The church will be blessed in other ways. Thank you.’
He sent it.
After a while he wrote another message, this time to Brother Chris.
‘My dear Brother, The Lord has assigned me another mission. Hold the fort until I should come back. Be blessed.’
He sent that, too.
Forty days and forty nights! No less. Forty days and forty nights of prayer and repentance! He turned the ignition key and pulled out of the parking lot, homeward bound. Half way to his house he started hearing strange sounds coming from the engine. He listened keenly. The sound was increasing in volume. Knock, knock, knock, knock or sounds to that effect. That was the sound of a developing engine knock. He slowed down and cautiously guided Prado to the Village Garage two kilometers from home. The manager agreed to have the damage assessed and repaired. He would bill the Church.
Taking the Bible with him, Pastor X hired a taxi cab and went home. From there he sent another message to Brother Chris, requesting him to make a follow-up of the repairs and to collect the Prado at completion. He added: ‘Please note that I have no intention of using Prado henceforth as my official or private car. It is for the Church to determine if, how and by whom it will be utilized in the future.’
Pastor X checked the time. Twelve o’clock, midday. Twenty four hours earlier, he had been a happy man of God at Church, delivering a moving sermon to an attentive, receptive congregation. He had been a man with a vision about to embark on a mission; an exuberant man with projects and programs to prosecute.
Now here he was, a spiritual wreck, needing an injection of a large dose of stamina to stay the course; to discover or chart anew, the path to salvation.
He had parted with Prado. Now he would part ways with more. Home Theatre, Flat screen HD TV, iPod, iPad and others. ‘These have to go,’ he promised. ‘Get real! The pursuit of luxury is the antithesis of the pursuit of salvation.’
He called H&T, the auctioneers and gave them directions.
It was a hot day. No trace of the remnants of the previous day’s storm in the sky. But the ground was still heavy with the load deposited that Sunday. They found him in prayer outside his house. They loaded the items he had discarded.
“Do you owe people money?” the clerk asked.
“Yes,” replied Pastor X.
“Are they mortgaged?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“If they are mortgaged, we would like to see the relevant documents. Are they?”
“I said, no.”
“Ok. Check with us Friday afternoon. We have an auction on Wednesday and Friday mornings.”
“When it’s done, make out a cheque in the name of the Church and call this number. Talk to Brother Chris.”
He gave the man the details.
“You going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Far?”
“Yes.”
“I missed the service yesterday.”
“You are a member of my Church?”
“A new member, yes. My name is Lovemore Wakanaka.”
”I’m donating everything to the Church.”
“Wonderful! I’ll make sure we get the best deals for them. I’ll be conducting the auction.”
“Praise the Lord.”
He signed the mandate documents and the truck left. He closed the gate and went into the house. In the kitchen, he turned on the stove. The lights had just been restored. He warmed up some pasta and milk. That was his lunch.
His Mercedes Benz Sports was next on the line. After a struggle it started and he drove into a car sales yard that specialized in Sports and high-range vehicles. They gave him a price that he instantly accepted. They paid a deposit. The balance was to be paid by cheque made out to the Church. Brother Chris was to collect it Friday. Pastor X signed the transfer forms and left.
For the second time that day he hired a taxi cab and went to the Country Bus Station, bought a ticket and returned home to pack. That night Pastor X travelled incognito two hundred and fifty kilometers out of town to Mutare. The following day, in the company of a guide and two porters, he set off for Mt Inyangani, his local Mount of Olives, there to remain in prayer and meditation for forty days and forty nights. And there to confess his sins to God for he doubted that God had the patience to hear all his sins at once.
Forty three days later, he reappeared. A much leaner, robed, trim-haired but heavily bearded Pastor X, flanked by Brother Chris, stood by the entrance to the Church, ceremonial Staff in hand. As the congregation entered, members bowed and Pastor X- now anointed Apostle X - touched their foreheads in solemn greeting.
One of the members, Pricilla, moved closer and whispered something. She had countersigned the cheque! Apostle X gave her an incisive look and smiled. It was time to celebrate Christmas!
“Halleluyah!”
End.
About the Author
This Kenyan author writes Novels, Poems, Short Stories and School Readers and has published with EA Literature Bureau, Hodder Education and Cambridge University Press.
Other eBooks by this Author
Set Her Free
Murder In The Rain
Masai Mara Adventures With Olê Ntutu
Hear Me Angry God
Watch Your Mouth
Whispers At Dawn (Poetry)
Returning the Knife
Harvest Festival
Cattle- (Non-fiction)
From the Roaring to the Crouching Lion
My Lovely Elizabeth
The Suitors of Chiuta
Jaws of Justice
Co-authored
Of Friends, Money & Gossip
Great African Women
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends