Coffee and Sugar by C. Sean McGee (primary phonics .txt) đ
- Author: C. Sean McGee
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They all yelled, each and every one of them, thinking that Joao would recognise their voice especially, amidst the taunts and screaming from hundreds of desperate and addled followers, each saying the word Joao more personable, more caring and more understanding than the last.
Joao ran and he didnât stop, not for his falling lungs or his elastic legs. He ran until he was so far from where he started that he had no real idea of where he was.
He was somewhere downtown, on a street he didnât know that was off many streets he had never heard of or seen before. He crouched behind a large skip bin that was placed crudely over a kerb near a construction site that was heavily boarded and while he crouched, he listened to his heart exploding in his chest, thinking he had never felt as scared as this in the whole of his life.
The ordinary and mundane had never been as appealing to him as it was right now; cleaning a floor, opening a can of vegetables, peeling the sticker off of the tomato sauce bottle, sweeping vomit, tucking his father into bed, watching the television or combing his hair, anything at all was what he would rather be doing and anywhere but here was where he wished he could be.
He looked quickly to his left and to his right but the street he was on was a desert of commotion. There was an old stray dog sitting by a bench seat across the road and he was scratching with his hind leg behind his ear and flapping his tail up and down against the ground as he did. The dog had a pained expression as if the attendance to its itch with his digging and scratching claws might be incredibly galling or insatiably good, it was hard to tell really whether the it was enjoying it or not.
Joao watched the dog and cast his stare on the shrub beside that grew unbaited from a hole in a red wall that stood erect behind the scratching dog. There wasnât a lot of shrub as the hole wasnât that large but it did look like the arm of a tree had pushed straight through the bricks to find itself some sun and Joao trained his eyes on the waving green that was picked on gently by the light breeze and he imagined; as he had done constantly of late, the small green shrub being parted lightly by the hand of a girl.
But as he stared out across the road, his mind felt funny and as he thought; as he had become so accustomed to, of a delicate hand parting the leaves but when the brush was cast aside, he saw his own face looking back. The hand was not his but his face was there. It was far from the opening and there was a rope around his neck keeping him hanging from a branch that was off at a height somewhere that he couldnât see.
The dog stopped scratching and skipped gingerly across the road, stopping by Joao for a second to sniff his hands and to look him in the eye before pitter pattering away into the construction site behind, slipping through some loose panels and disappearing amidst the sprawl of rubble and flapping tarpaulin.
Joao followed, looing quickly behind as he darted to the fence and peeled back the broken panels so as to squeeze his skinny frame through. He took one last look at the deserted street before letting loose of the panels that jumped from his hands and swung like a pendulum in a heavy scraping swish before the two pieces came to a rest, one sliding over the other and both making invisible, the entrance behind the fence.
The bricks crumbled and crushed under his feet and though he tried to make secret of his pass behind the broken panels, he could do little to dampen the sound that invited cautious ears to his arrival.
The ground was hidden under a loose mount of rubble, broken bricks and half mounted walls that teetered on edge of collapse, moored by thick metal tubes, wires and piping that ran between the brickwork and pressed deep into the ground.
Joao made every step a tentative one, feeling the tip of his foot touch the bricks before the rest of his body followed. The tarpaulin tickled as it flapped under the course of the wind, its sharp corners lightly whipping the back of his neck while above him, the rest of the sheet pushed in and out as if it were breathing, being pushed down upon by the lightly blowing breeze.
And as he walked through a plastic sheeting that covered an entry into the building, the light vanished almost entirely and he stepped forwards, blind and calling quietly to the dog that was sitting a way off in the distance, in a dark part of the building in which he could not see, sitting and watching as Joao patted at the darkness with his wavering hand, whispering a coming command to the dog to which sat, waited and watched, alongside its master.
âDo you believe in godâs plan?â spoke the voice of a man, leaning down in the further dark and patting the small dog that sat beside him which lifted its snout high so that the manâs massive fingers and coarse nails could scratch against his skin in a fashion that his own could not.
Joao knew the voice immediately.
It was loud and booming like the sound of rolling thunder muted by guarding hands clasped over frightened ears.
âCome here son, let me show you something.â
The man stepped out from the retreat of shadows with the dog tailing by his feet. He swept the fearful Joao up in his arms and rested his assuring hand on the boyâs shoulder in a way that maybe his father might have done had he ever assumed the rank of good man or half descent father. Regardless, it took some of the paint off his red hand and he walked with The 13th Apostle into the construction.
âYou see this hereâ he said, waving his arm around to point out an empty part of the site, âthis is going to seat twenty thousand people and outside, weâre building a space outside with enough standing room for fifty thousand more. That will make us the biggest church in the known world, in godâs world. Thatâs his plan, to set his stage for the lordâs return and the apocalypse and you can be a part of that Joaoâ said The 13th Apostle.
âThe apocalypse?â
âIn building that stage.â
The 13th Apostle turned and held his two great hands on Joaoâs shoulder and the warmth that exuded from him filled Joao with a kindly confidence that made him swell with intrigue. The Apostle looked him in the eye without discipline, without disappointment and without disregard; a look that felt as foreign to him as his was to The Apostle, as he scrunched and grimaced his face in estranged appreciation.
âAre you ok son? Youâre not retarded are you? Charity said you were a little strange.â
âIâm sorry sir. Iâve been feeling really strange in the past days. Real funny and stuff. Not retarded or nothing, just kind of funny, kind of sad. Do you think people can be saved? That Jesus can save everyone?â
âWell I know he can or I wouldnât be here doing this now would I, dedicating my life to his word, singing his name and turning to him like the flowers do, the morning sun. Do you have a question in your faith?â
âNo sir. I love Jesus. I just wonder⊠why he loves us, you know?â
The Apostle leaned down on one knee and even now as he lowered himself to the ground, he still towered over Joao, casting his shadow behind him like a fishermanâs net.
âAll Jesus wants is for us to pass this test. And itâs never too late for any man, no matter how deep his wrong, to find Christ in his heart and be saved. Thatâs where people like us come into the equation Joao. Itâs our job to help them open their eyes. Once they have Christ in their heart; and you know this,â he said adamantly, âtheir lives will find meaning and they can start to make better, all the hurt that they done. But Jesus, he is a patient man and heâll wait an eternity; if thatâs the time a man needs, heâll wait that eternity, to answer that manâs prayer and when that man calls out the Lordâs name, when heâs down on his knees under the banner of Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour, when he gives his heart and soul into the hands of the son of god, when he casts off his fear, when he lays that first stone himself, you know what Jesus says?â
Joao wanted to shake his head but he stood dumbfounded.
âHe says, welcome home my son. Thatâs what he says.â
Joao smiled.
âSo everyone can be saved?â
âThatâs right.â
âEverywhere? I mean, on the hill too?â
âEveryone can be saved Joao, but not everywhere. You canât strike a match in the middle of a hurricane. You gotta hold onto that match until the storm passes and then you can do what needs to be done. That hill, itâs not part of godâs plan. Nobody on that hill wants to be saved; you gotta get em when they come down. Here is the only place we can save themâ said The 13th Apostle.
âMy daddy, he drinks a lot; a lot more than he did, since we moved onto the hill.â
âIs he violent? Is he out of control?â
âI donât know. I donât see him much anymore. Heâs out most of the night and heâs drunk and asleep when I get up in the morning. I just clean up a bit before I leave. I think heâs real sad. He wanted to be like you and Jesus. He wanted to be a good man, to be famous.â
âAnd what about you Joao? What do you want?â
âI want to matterâ he said.
âYou matter to someone.â
âNo, I donâtâ he said.
âYou matter to your mother and father, your family, you matter to them.â
âTheyâre mean, all of them. Iâm no use on the farm and here, I canât do anything right. My daddy drinks and heâs using drugs and I canât stop him. And I think he might be seeing a girl, from one of the bars.â
âYou sit in the desert too long and youâre gonna thirst.â
âI think about dying sometimes.â
Joao wept as The 13th Apostle took his great arms and pulled Joao close to his chest with such force that it felt as he if might squeeze all of the sadness and disbelief from his pores like an old and worn sponge.
âWhat if I told you Jesus has a plan for you? What if this is your plan?â said The 13th Apostle.
Joao didnât respond. His tears spoke of his despondence. The Apostle squeezed him tighter, pressing his firm hand against the back of Joaoâs head, almost smothering him as he wept against him cathartically.
âYour coffee,â said The 13th Apostle, pausing slightly so Joao could silence the flight of his sniffling and tears, âhow do you do what you do?â he asked.
Joao gripped The Apostleâs waist and pulled his head away from his chest. His nose was running horribly and there was a long wet stream along The Apostleâs chest but The Apostle didnât seem to care. Joao wiped away the hanging snot from his nose and sniffed heavily of what beckoned to follow from his wiping hand.
âI close my eyes and I just imagine stuff. I see stuff. I feel stuffâ said Joao.
âDonât be modest Joao. Thatâs not
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