Cuffs for the priest.

  Chapter 1.

  “. . . The devil pursues and is certain to crush me to the ground. I have made haste to come to you who is mighty. I desperately need a place of refuge. Please be my fort my lord, for my spirit has grown weak within me and I have no other place to hide. My father in heaven, I spread out my hands to you humbly asking that you may listen to your servant’s prayer and answer me. Show me your face and let the morning bring me word of your unfailing faithfulness. I trust you father, guide my ways and be a lamp unto my path like you have decreed in your holly word. Teach me always to do your will so that I may not stray from the narrow path for I bear your name. Amen.” Bishop Ashphenaz concluded his prayer; a prayer that gave him much sense of relief. The middle aged man of the cloth felt an unexplained heaviness in his heart the whole morning, and he knew that he needed to go down on his knees.

  He rose from his position of supplication and hoisted himself to the leather chair that crowned the awesome elegance of his chambers. The furnishing was minimal but absolutely tasteful. In front of him stood a finely finished oak table with leather tapestry on its sides. It was very much the center piece of the room, around its legs there spread the finest Persian carpet that partly hid the white and grey checkered mezzanine. A stunning mural portraying the majestic transfiguration hung on the left wall. The right wall was made entirely of steel and glass. It let in the morning sun’s rays, which kissed the exquisite art work, so sensually. Perfectly curved lamp stands stood on either side of the oak creating a sense of balance and stability. A visitor could hardly miss the beautiful flowers that seemed to grow gracefully out of their white pots. The sheep had surely done their part in making Asphenaz comfortable in his service, but the good man of God was oblivious of the splendor of his surroundings. Not because of familiarity but because his mind was pre occupied. He had an ominous feeling, but he quite could not place his fingers on what was troubling him.

  Over the days past, he prayed countless prayers all of which lucked specificity yet he knew something nefarious was up. His mind wondered, and he thought about life itself. Of how many apply their minds to study without spiritual insight, yet there really is nothing new. Answers only lead to more puzzling questions; it's like being punished for daring to ask in the first place, for being curious. He wondered what happened before the beginning of time for time itself had to start from some point. The bishop hated time itself, for it constricted him. He wanted to move at his own pace because of time, it made everyone rush and to what end? Time made the days of our lives few, yet all he wanted was to milk out every moment he drew breath. He wanted to experience life and not just rush by the limited days he had been allotted. He now figured it, or at least he thought so. The biggest problem in the world is time itself. Time made the works of human hands meaningless for even his wisdom and all he has ever worked for will soon be rendered meaningless.

  Asphenaz leaned back on his chair’s headset and thought about how wise people handle their affairs with much success, but his heart despaired at the thought of them having to leave all of their rewards to other people. This is all because of time. Like a conveyor belt, it forces forward motion while there is so much to enjoy in a moment. He remembered the moment he had after his prayer. The relief that was so fleeting and nostalgia overcame him. He so desperately wanted to go back to that moment and just stick there, but time pushed him onwards to the raging sea of thoughts that he must live through. H e dared not think that his maker was imperfect in any way, but he reckoned that time was a serious misfortune. A misfortune that no one really knows about and no one cares to understand, for it is so ubiquitous man has taught himself to ignore the fact. The creator is perfect in all his ways, and he created time for reasons man will never fathom.

  In his eyes, earthlings do get much out of all their endeavors, the constant striving with which we all labour. For, in all of man’s days, his work is filled with grief and pain. Sleep does not help much in getting away from it for the mind does not rest even then. In time, the wise man and vagabond are all made the same for there will be days that no one will remember either. So it is better to live in the moment, celebrate all the good things we see regardless of their significance. It is better to eat, rejoice and make merry whenever one can, lest we risk running around the globe in folly. “But why don’t many realize that they are just chasing after the wind?” The man of the cloth heard his conscience prod him. It would be better if we just settled for the little things for happiness is right under our noses, yet everyone is caught up in a futile exercise of looking for happiness from the gods of love, the gods of pleasure, the god that is money and power. In my years, I have seen people that have prostituted themselves to money, yet others are joined to it in matrimony and never have enough. The more possessions people accumulate the more hangers on and boot leakers they attract. Like wolves in sheep skin, they would not hesitate to take their masters down. Time that is the revealer of all always plays up the same story over and over again throughout the generations as the rich discover that they actually are poor that material things are only good for feasting the eyes.

  While still deep in thought, the bishop was startled by the opening of the gargantuan main doors that made way to the sanctuary. Their sheer size ensured anyone opening them could be heard all the way back in the church offices and indeed the Bishop’s chambers. For a moment, he was surprised. It was unusual for anyone other than staff to come to church midweek, especially on a cold Tuesday morning. This was despite the fact that the house of God was smirk in the middle of the city that was home to more than eleven million and a center for thousands of multinationals and institutions. They had all forgotten where they came from and who holds the very lives that they treasure so much. Movie theatres got more patrons than the holy alters in the city. If a young person missed a dance concert for an hour in the presence of he who fashioned everything, he is frowned upon and considered ‘out of touch’. Never the less Ashphenaz rose from the comfort of his chair and headed for the sanctuary, partly glad that anyone would come to church at such a time but mainly because he was dying of curiosity. Immediately he stepped out of his office, he heard cheerful laughter from where he was going. This surprised him the more. “Young people?” he asked himself. They did not sound that many, but his face was now full of glee. Age had surely taken its toll on him, but he could not resist the urge to run across the cabro pavement that snaked to the church hall. He yanked open the back door that led to the alter and tried as much as he could to hide his excitement as he slowly made his way to its center. He noticed two young men at the other end of the isle. They seemed to be in their own world, extremely overjoyed just to be in each other’s company.

  Ashphenaz did not know what to make of the pair that was in a half embrace. He grew a bit apprehensive when he realized that they were holding hands as they approached him. The lines of laughter that were etched on the sides of his eyes promptly disappeared and he felt his throat dry up. They got to him, and he could now properly see them. The guy to his left was heavily built, donning a black sleeveless t shirt, brown and white checkered shorts and a pair of white sneakers. Upon his chin; grew one of the most conspicuous beards he had ever seen not to mention the red spiked mo-hawk that lined the center of a cleanly shaven head. For a moment, the priest’s gaze was fixed on him, and there was an awkward silence. His friend accidentally dropped his bag, a strangely small bag pink in color and hooked to an extraordinarily long strap. The bishop wondered what he could possibly carry in such a tiny bag and why he felt it had to have a strap that long. As he bent over to pick it up, Ashphenaz noticed just how tight his pants were. He always saw such dressing on the streets, but he never thought anybody would be so mindless to come to church dressed so. His shirt was just as tight and its design exposed most of his chest. “Why in the world would such a skinny guy want to show off his chest, colour his nails and walk around in such high heel shoes?” He wondered he was not sure what to make of it.

 
Bishop Ashphenaz fished out his glasses from his breast pocket and went down the podium one stair while deftly putting them on with one hand. He posed between the stairs and pocketed, “how can I help you my sons?” He queried the pair his voice loud as ever, due to years spent behind the Lords pulpit. The visitors were rather surprised at how the old man made an offer sound like a command. For a moment silence reigned, but the priest did not drop his gaze. “My name is Abner Atkinson, and he Is Eliab Cleverly. We would like to get married.” The red head finally found his cahonas and went straight for the jugular, not beating about the bush. Eliab clutched his man bag and looked down as though he was embarrassed. Ashphenaz immediately realized that he had a really sticky situation in his hands, for he made out Abner as a straight forward and feisty character in how he keenly studied his countenance searching for any sign of rejection. He knew very well that the world had lost its way on many matters; many things that were taboo when he was a deacon are now accepted or even go unnoticed in the church. As much as many erstwhile unacceptable practices are now prevalent he had never had to directly handle such a socially delicate issue.

  He knew that there was no way he would ever marry them, that would go against every word he had ever preached, against his deepest convictions and most importantly against the will of he whom he had served his entire life. However, the good bishop was wise enough not to answer them, instead he begun to pray in his heart for guidance. Sending them away would only harden their will to continue in their ways if they felt victimized. In his moment of prayer, he did not judge them for he knew that they had been misled by popular culture into believing that they were born gay and that they could actually solemnize their union. In his prayer, he asked God to open their eyes so that they would realize the folly of their ways, that homosexuality is actually natured and that they could not possibly be in love. Their attraction to one another was only fuelled by a need for acceptance. He hoped his intercession would last longer but sooner or later he had to come back and face the elephant in the room.

  Eliab now spoke, “Sir we really are in a hurry here, are you gonna bless us or not?” His voice high pitched and almost irritating. Ashphenaz turned to him and for the first time got a clear look at his face. It looked like baked cake, thanks to the thick layer of make up upon it. On his eyelids, jutted out the most outrageous eyelashes, a cat’s whiskers would be put to shame. They sheltered a pair of blue eyes so still in their position he seemed conceited. The bishop could not believe how his morning was unfolding. “My sons,” he started trying to preach to them, “I know you believe in your course, and you are determined to see it through to the end. I am honored that you have decided to come here to accomplish your goal, and I must commend both of you for being so honest and open about it. However it is my duty, to guide you and show you the right path. As a servant of God, I am obliged to not only show you the right way, but to also lead you on that road according to the wisdom that he has bestowed upon me. Indeed what you, my sons want to partake of can not. . . ” “I told you honey, we should not have come here, they are all the same. Let us leave!” Eliab interrupted the old man, throwing his hands up in the air in dejection and turning to leave. He stopped mid stride when realized that his lover was not in toe. “Well, come on there is nothing for us in this god forsaken place.”

  Abner was not going to give up without a fight. He never let his feelings just slide, and he had learnt to impose himself ever since he was a young boy. The young man felt that if he always gave up, his parents would still be trying to ‘straighten’ him to this day. So would his teachers, trainers and associates. He stood rooted where he was staring up at the priest who was on the second highest stair. His gaze bore right into the clergy man's soul, and Abner felt his anger burn up in his chest. “How could he dare . . . who in the freaking world does this old geezer think he is. He certainly as hell does not think he is gonna refuse to marry us and just go back to his damn life.” He thought to himself. His face had now turned red like burning coal, yet he did not utter a single word. With all that tension Ashphenaz felt his heart rate increase as his blood pressure rose in tandem., Abner, on the other hand, felt his muscles tightening, and he instinctively clenched his huge fists, Asphenaz immediately stepped back in fear. The distressed Abner, however, had no intension of physically harming him, his mind had only wondered back to when he was a young boy, desperately seeking approval. The background behind the priest broke down as if he had been ushered into another level in a video game. Up behind it, appeared a soccer pitch, rugged and muddy, drenched in a heavy downpour. He saw the younger him soaking wet, tears hidden by the crazy rain. He had no shirt on but a pair of soccer boots and shorts. His fingers were shaking like leaves during spring, and all he wanted to do was leave the bloody pitch to find some warmth. In front of him, just a few yards stood a set of goal posts and no one in front of them. Right there and then the priest morphed into his late father. He was the deputy head coach of the city’s most successful soccer club. His old man stood a couple of feet away, his countenance stern as always. Unlike Abner, he was fully dressed and warm under a trench coat, an umbrella on his left hand while the right held a soccer ball by the tips of his fingers. He bent down once more and rolled the ball towards his son. Each time the ball came up to Abner, he felt like an enormous Yoke was upon his shoulders and his nervousness transitioned into fear for he knew he was going to let his father down again. He did not want to see the ball again for it brought him such grief, but his father always threw it back at him. This was the umpteenth time he was going to try and score the ball in an open net. The ball rolled and stopped right at his feet. It had soaked up so much water, it felt a pound heavier. Abner stepped back once again and looked at his father’s eyes, and he knew that the ball’s weight was nothing compared to the weight of the task that was in front of him. The expectation was like an anchor pulling him down. He went two more steps back, and as he ran to kick it; his feet felt wobbly like often times before. He felt his toes become flaccid in his boots, and he kicked the ball so far away from the goal it seemed impossible to do that unintentionally. It was almost comical as the young boy fell flat on his back as his father watched on. The coach dropped his head in desperation as Abner lifted up his face to see just how troubled his dad was.

  Orioch, his father finally gave up for the sun had long disappeared. They had been on that pitch since dawn, in an effort to show him manly ways. He knew that his only son was ‘different’ and he reckoned that this would cause him much shame later. He had tried just about every trick in the book to correct him. Soccer was his trump card, and it just was not working, however, hard he pushed it. He had not scored one pathetic goal the whole day. There were days Orioch thought he was cursed. He hated faggots so much yet his son was turning into one, and he felt powerless to do anything about it. This time he picked up the net where he kept the soccer balls and went round trudging and picked up all the balls. Not once did he look at his son who was still floored. He then boarded the cart with all the balls, and headed to the house leaving Abner on the pitch.

  His mother was looking on from the house window, and she could barely hold her tears back. Abner rolled over so that he could pick himself up, realizing that his father had left and noticed the disappointment etched on his mother’s face behind the window. She had always tried to be supportive and understanding towards him, but that day he got real evidence of her true feelings and just how much his orientation hurt her. She seemed to wipe a tear drop from her cheeks as she promptly let down the curtains. Abner had never felt lonelier. He had tried so hard to hide how he felt; little did he know that his subtle mannerisms gave him away. It was all bare for all to see and he realized that his parents were all too aware. That explained why his mother had always been overly protective while his dad always tried, but in vain to get him interested in things that totally bored him. He never cared about rodeos nor horse breeding. To him cars were a means of transport and not a man and machi
ne power couple. Pink and yellow were just so much better shades than blue and black, why couldn’t everybody just get it? This is the question he asked himself as he entered the house. His parents were deep in conversation in, their room, and he heard it was about him. The family had tried to keep the issue under wraps, but that day it just blew up in their faces. His mother was trying to prevail upon Arioch, to go easy on him. The man was certainly getting on his last nerve, and he just burst out. “Well, what do I care? Your son is a freaking loser. I do not give a rat’s behind if he ends up making soap for a living or becomes some Don’s errand boy. Today I wash my hands off him. Let it be! ”

  Those words hurt Abner so bad he withdrew from everybody. Yet Arioch had no idea his son had heard him. In his lone moments, Abner would sit down and reflect on his worth. He was downcast, and his father’s words rung out in his mind whenever he saw him or failed at anything. Many thoughts and much confusion defined his mental state for a while until he decided in a fit of anger that his was not a condition but a nature. Abner looked at himself and thought that if anyone could do anything, he would apply himself to it twice as much and was determined to be perfect in whatever he put his mind to. He accepted that he was gay and did not try to change himself. He resigned to his thoughts and agreed to be boxed in by society, for he indeed believed he was different. As he stood by that alter he reminisced just how far he hauled himself., Leaving his home town for this city, with nothing but grit and determination. If only to prove to his father that he was just as good as any other kid, if not better than all of them. He wanted to prove that be as it may, he was never going to be a failure or a mediocre man. He was never again going to be a victim, and he needed no protection from anyone, not his mother, not a rights group. He was going to fight his own battles to the bitter end and come what may; he would impose himself and demand his respect. This was the fuel that drove his current success and established him as one of the best soccer stars in the world. Over five years, his profile steadily rose with each club he joined and at twenty four he had ten trophies including two champions league cups, a myriad of personal accolades, millions s in the bank and much cherished fame.

  Despite all this, he still was not satisfied. Living in the closet stifled him. Memories of how he stirred the soccer world when he finally came out are still vivid on him. He risked everything just so that he could be himself for once in his life, and he decided Ashphenaz was not going to take that away from him. “Look here old man, you pro’ly think you are better than us. News flash, you and your stupid religion are not jerk anything without people like us. God loves me just as much as he does anyone. That I know for sure. We will leave; okay, but you are nuts if you think we are going to let this indignation go unavenged” His words seemed to come out of his teeth as he pushed each one out, all the while his index finger pointed to the almost apologetic bishop. With that, he spit on the floor and followed Eliab out in a huff. When they got to their Aventador, Abner gave Eliab the wheel while he sunk in the passenger seat and immediately whipped out his cell phone. His next move was meant to inflict maximum damage on the bishop. He would get back at Ashpenaz, and the bishop would bare the cross for all who derided him all those years.

  A shortcut on his home screen sent him direct to his favorite social media account. ‘THE BISHP @ CANTERY CHURCH WON’T MARRY ME AND ELIAB COZ WE GAY. XTREMELY PISSED!’ With just eighty characters, he knew he had brought a three hundred year old church to it knees. “He should know not to mess with me.” He muttered to himself. He knew the power he wielded; he knew how much the entire world scrutinized his every move and hung on every word he said. Unlike other superstars, he was crafty enough always to use this to his advantage. Abner used the media so skillfully he had literally made himself an idol. Indeed his evil scheme worked exactly how he had thought it out. The response was so overwhelming, people from far corners of the planet reacted with outrage at the ‘injustice’ and ‘barbaric’ ignorance of a bishop whom many termed as living in the Stone Age. Abner plight became such a hot topic; the social site went down for hours. News agencies picked up on the seeming innocuous topic and made it a headline issue, on noticing how much interest it had generated. Many called into television newsrooms and radio stations across the world while bloggers went on overdrive with as many protagonists as were antagonists. The whole morning and late into the night anything else could cease but the debate about homosexuality and its place in modern society. Bishop Ashphenaz had gone back to prayer after the two young men he did not know drove off from the church precincts. It was only in the evening when he got a rude shock from the answering machine. He immediately turned on the television to find his name on virtually every television network’s news ticker.

  Ashphenaz had been pulled from his tranquil world into the center of the world’s attention. How could he not recognize Abner? He wondered. Distraught by the unfolding events he decided to go home quickly. Ashphenaz stepped out of the church building smack into a maze of confusion as journalists and gay pride campaigners wrestled the church security for ground. Apparently they had been at it the whole morning. “Pretty good job these men have done here.” He thought to himself. His ability to see the funny side of all matters even when he was up to his neck in trouble still amused him. A few of the workers present in the compound escorted him to his white Sedan, and he drove off using a back exit to escape the commotion at the main gate. At his house, he found pastors serving with him patiently waiting. “Huh! I see you guys are crazy enough to stick with me.” He chuckled. “What! Whaaaat! ” He stood in the center of his living room arms outstretched. “Do not be overly concerned my friends, your faces will fall off if you all maintain that look.” He playfully chided them. He went on to assure them that the only thing that should worry them was the risk of stepping away from God’s will. “Let God himself be my judge if I have wronged anyone. By the way, I did not even finish what I was going to tell them.” He answered the senior pastors when they expressed concern over his safety and the future of the church. They later shared the evening meal at his house and had a lengthy prayer session after which, he dismissed them each to his own house to await deliberations on how the church would handle the matter the following morning. Before he let them go, he cautioned his men, “remember my brothers, you must always aaaaallways stand for what is true and right. The church must never ever mix with the ways of the world, but we should be clearly distinct. Black is black and white is white. Such matters have no grey areas, and you must not compromise come what may. I beg you all not to compromise even on the little details, let alone what is facing us now. Stay strong and keep the faith. Shalom! ” He then bid them farewell.

  That night Ashphenaz slept soundly. The old man had long learnt not to worry about the things of the world nor of coming events for no one had complete control over the future except he who reigns upon high. The God whom he served, the creator of heaven and earth. He prayed for peace and guidance and simply believed he had been granted his plea and moved on. God had won so many wars for him before he was not the least bit fazed by the hornets nest he had stirred in the morning for he did it all for God. As he slept, the world was still raging about him and Abner. In a matter of hours a little known clergy man was lifted to world recognition where even the other leaders drawn from the civil organization, church and governments called his name from different time zones. Morning came once more, and Ashphenaz could not help marveling at just how long his life had been. That morning he knew he was going to need God to come through for him in a big way as he drove to church. The church security by some means he could not figure had somehow managed to keep all media people far away from the main entrance, securing him a smooth passage to his work place. It felt like a triumphant entry, he did not realize that he was only in the eye of the storm.