Heavenly Hoboes

To: God c/o Scribe

  cc Book of Records last entry

  Supreme Being: This brief posting is basically for Gabriel’s enlightenment. Since he doesn’t have any knowledge of my overall plan, he is feeling a bit on the outskirts of this mission. So, Gabriel, in light of your recent promise (which is valid for eternity you understand?), I am giving you a heads-up here. Pay close attention to Douglas’ words from this date onward. Host

  To: Host. I’m turning this post over in its entirety to Gabriel. God cc, etc. etc

  To: Host. That’s it??? You know who. And Scribe, you don’t have to cc this

  With the Jay-Cees gone, the crowd began to move in behind the row of chairs in front of the bandstand as if in a countdown mode anticipating the appearance of the Lord. Everyone seemed to know that seven-thirty was the appointed time of His arrival, and that hour was now drawing very near.

  Hattie was standing a few feet behind the row of chairs still talking about her wondrous healing. She had built a considerable audience. Her listeners had formed an arc sitting on the grass in front of her, and as new people came up they sat in and gave her their full attention.

  As the onlookers began to gather in front of Hattie, their movement opened the paved road that led along the bush-line from the archway to the bandstand. Abe and Shorty found a place to stand at the far end of the platform near the steps and waited along with everyone else to see whom the dignitaries would be. Whoever they were, they could now drive almost directly to their waiting chairs. But for now, the road was a clear path for Roland Thompson.

  The reporter came at a jog and stopped in front of the two black-frocked men. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were part of the ministry.” Both Abe and Shorty shook their heads. “Good, I was worried they had beaten me here.” He got out his pad and pencil. “Which side are you gentlemen on?”

  Abe lowered his voice. “The Lord’s,” he said simply.

  “Yeah, well,” Thompson said, letting his eyes survey the crowd. “You haven’t seen Abraham Douglas, have you?”

  Abe shrugged and Shorty dipped the brim of his hat to cover his eyes and coughed.

  “I doubt he’ll show up,” Roland continued as if he hadn’t expected an answer. “I think the real story here lies with the clergy.” He started to walk towards Hattie and her group but stopped when Reverend Atchinson’s black Buick rolled through the archway. “Ah, they’re here,” he said, backing up a couple of steps to get out of the way. Three more equally auspicious looking sedans pulled up behind the Buick.

  Camera in hand, Roland hurried over to capture the unloading ceremony. It began with Atchinson and five other members of the Organized Ministry getting out of the Buick and standing alongside it.

  “Oh me everlovin’ mother!” Shorty exclaimed when he recognized three of the ministers as being the ones who gave them a bad time the night before. “It’s them we’ve been waitin’ on?”

  Abe leaned over and shushed him. “That’s all right, Mr. McDougal,” he said, confidentially. “I’ve got the feeling it’ll be different this time. I know the Lord’s coming tonight. Maybe He’s just been waiting to get them all together to show them that He’s really here.”

  The flash of Roland’s camera strobed three or four times as the occupants of the other cars unloaded and joined Atchinson for the few steps to the row of chairs.

  A hush fell over the park as eight members of the Organized Ministry, two bishops, and an archdeacon from Windsor straightened their clothing and lined up for their entrance. Brother Michael had not been invited.

  Most of the people in the audience by this time had followed Hattie Scott’s group and had sat on the grass to give their tired legs and burning feet a rest from the long hours of standing. From this sitting position everyone had a fairly clear view of the bandstand. And for the moment all eyes were drawn to the row of ministers. Their impressive presence seemed to have charged the air with renewed anticipation.

  Wasting no time, the clergy filed quail-like to their reserved seats and in unison sat down. A moment passed before the sound of a single person clapping broke the silence; then two people, then three, then a general applause erupted. All the men of the cloth stood, and turning to face the crowd, they began shaking their heads and waving their arms. The applause subsided. The ministers nodded a ‘thank you’ and resumed their seated positions. Roland Thompson crouched in front of the bandstand and snapped another half-dozen pictures.

  Shorty nudged Abe’s side. “I’m thinkin’ its time fer ya to make yer speech.” When Abe didn’t answer, the little man raised the brim of his hat and looked up at him. “What are ya doin’?”

  Abe was tugging at his beard. “It won’t come off!” he said excitedly, and cried an ‘ouch’. “What did Mr. Munroe use to glue these things on with?”

  Shorty shrugged, then tried to pull his own disguise off. Whatever Munroe had used, it was meant to stay. It seemed the only way the beards were coming off was with the skin attached. “What’re we goin’ to do?” Shorty pleaded.

  While Abe was trying to get his thoughts together, someone in the audience called out, “We want the Lord.” Very quickly the phrase caught on and a chant began rolling across the park like a tidal wave. One of the bishops, who had opted to wear his black suit and clerical collar, stood and faced the crowd. With a somber facial expression he motioned for the people to be quiet. The chanting halted and he sat back down.

  Taking note of the bishop’s attire, a man’s voice rang forth. It was evident the petitioner was from out of town and was not aware of how the miracle worked. “We came a long way to see the miracle, Father,” the caller said. “We’ve got kids with us and it’s getting late.”

  The wording aimed at the bishop caused Shorty to look over at the row of ministers. The men were obviously getting nervous, crossing and re-crossing their legs and running fingers around their tight-fitting collars. He leaned over and whispered to Abe. “They’re thinkin’ it’s the priests that’s callin’ the Lord down,” he said with the hint of laughter in his voice. “Seein’ as how they acted so rude last night, it might do ‘em some good to squirm a little, don’t ya think?”

  “No, I don’t think,” Abe snapped as if Shorty’s remark was a personal affront to him. “I’m surprised at you, Mr. McDougal. How do you think the Lord would look on us if we did something like that on purpose?”

  The extra moment of inaction brought on by Abe and Shorty’s bickering was all the crowd needed to gear up. “What kind of farce is this, Father?” someone yelled. “Where’s the Lord?” a second voice demanded. Then a series of sarcastic questions hit the air followed by a loud and raucous booing.

  The crowd was about to lose restraint, and Abe sensed it. He gave a fast jerk on the beard but only succeeded in pulling out a fistful of hair and sending a storm of pain through his cheek. “It’s no use,” he said to Shorty. “I’m just going to have to get up there like I am. It ain’t right to keep them waiting like this.”

  Shorty gave him a nod. “Maybe if ya leave yer hat and coat here with me ya won’t be lookin’ so strange. Do ya think?”

  Abe didn’t have time to answer him. Amid the ever-increasing booing noise an aerial object of some description winged over the minister’s heads and splattered against Roland Thompson’s belly. The splotch it left was red and it looked like he had been shot. Before Roland could react, a second missile splashed onto the back of the archdeacon’s chair. A fan of tomato juice streaked up the back of his neck and all over the two bishops sitting next to him. “We want the Lord, we want the Lord,” the chanting began anew.

  With that, the archdeacon stood and spun around. “We’re not bringing the Lord,” he yelled, then had to duck to miss being hit by a flying hotdog.

  Abe threw his frock and hat to the pavement and started up the steps. “Hold it! Hold it!” he shouted, but he was too late to save the ministers further indignation. A voll
ey of mushy objects had already been launched, and the entire delegation of dignitaries and Roland Thompson were scrambling to get back to their cars and out of harm’s way.

  As the cars of clergy departed, Abe walked over to the middle of the platform and raised his hands over his head. Like Munroe had put it earlier, he was sure enough a sight. Against the background of his white shirt, the long, gray, beard with tufts missing here and there gave him the appearance of an unkempt hermit.

  “Is that you, Abraham?” someone shouted. The mass hushed.

  Abe nodded then bent to talk into the microphone. “That was an awful thing you people just did,” he scolded them. His amplified voice boomed and screeched with a loud squealing noise. He backed away and spoke in his normal voice. “I’m sorry, I never used one of those before.”

  “You don’t need it,” someone from far in the back of the crowd told him. “We can hear you just fine.”

  Abe waved a hand. “Like I was saying, you shouldn’t have treated them that way. Those men were just trying to get at the truth, just like you folks are.”

  “Are you bringing the Lord, Abraham?” a voice rang out.

  “The Lord’s already here,” Abe answered. “He’s always been here. You see, that’s the thing about the Lord. He’s kind of like the wind on a cold day, you can’t see Him, but if you go outside you can sure enough feel Him. Heaven knows I’ve spent most of my life outside in that cold wind. But you know, it wasn’t until just a few days ago that I realized that the Lord was with me all that time. To be real honest with you, I never really thought much about Him. About the only time I ever tried to talk to Him was when I was in some kind of pain or got myself in trouble of one kind or the other. I did a lot of that.” He paused to let the chuckling die down before continuing.

  “That’s all behind me now. I’m just sorry it took so long for me to come to my senses. You know, even after I first saw the Lord, I kept on giving Him trouble. I didn’t want to change my ways and I really didn’t want to stop drinking. I suppose I was what you’d call a hard case. But the Lord stuck with me. And, folks, He’ll stick with you if you’ll just give Him a chance. He already knows you. He’s in your hearts. You’ve just got to open the door and go outside where you can feel Him.” With that, Abe stopped and stared at the faces of all the people who were intently gazing at him. It was a strange scene. Possibly a thousand people, many of them children, and yet not one sound, not even a baby’s cry disturbed the moment.

  “You asked if I was bringing the Lord,” Abe said, his voice carrying to the last person in the audience without him having to shout. “I just wish you all could be standing up here and seeing what I see. If you were, you’d know He’s here.”

  Shorty stood to his feet. “Amen!” he called out.

  “Amen!” someone said in return. Then the entire mass rose and began to applaud. Abe bowed his head, and the park lights shut off, leaving them in total darkness as if a lead shield had been dropped around them. Even the sky was black, no moon, no stars, no refraction of city lights, just blackness.

  In an instant, the glorious Light of the Lord settled over them as an opaque golden cloud. It rippled from the center outward until its luminescence covered the entire gathering. Then it floated down upon them in layers of prismatic color, each layer separated by countless bursts of tiny sparkling stars, some white as new-fallen snow, some of a royal emerald green, others of colors not yet imagined. It drifted onto the people and through them and into the grass below them. As the last layer passed, the sky appeared again, starlit and magnificently clear. Slowly the park lights glowed back on as if a dimmer switch was controlling their brightness.

  Just as the times before, the Light was praised by silence. For a long minute the blessed crowd stood fast, moving only their heads to visit their sight upon those surrounding them. As if there were no differences among them, no envy, no animosity, no jealousy, they gazed at one another with looks of total compassion and empathy.

  To Abe, who was in the position to overlook the entire congregation, the scene was one of complete brotherly love. He gave them a few more moments of reflection then he spoke. “You know, folks, you’re the luckiest people in the world. You came here to see the Lord and He came here to see you. He is a sight to behold, but it doesn’t end here. I sure wouldn’t want you to make the mistake I did by going back to your old ways. Just try to remember how you’re feeling right now, and try real hard to never change. Now, I think it’s time for you to get your kids home. I’m sorry we ran so late.”

  “Glory be to God,” a voice sang. The sound brought the crowd out of its mesmerized state. They began to move, en masse, towards the bandstand with their hands searching pockets and purses.

  Abe held up his hands. “Folks, you hang on to your money. Spend it on your family or on those people you know could use your help. Like they say in the places where I used to hang out, this one’s on the house.”

  Shorty climbed the steps and joined Abe. “I’m glad ya did that, Mr. Douglas. Them people’ve already spent a fortune just hangin’ around here all day. Here, I brought yer coat.” He handed Abe the black frock and helped him slip into it. “Ya know, that was a pretty powerful appearance,” he went on, then gave Abe a quizzical look. “Do ya think it’s over? Do ya think that might’ve been the last one?”

  Abe straightened out the front of his frock. “I expect the Lord’s the only one who could answer that, Mr. McDougal. As far as I know, we just keep on doing it. You know, there’s a lot of people in the world.”

  “Yer sayin’ we might be at this ferever?”

  Abe laughed. “I just told you I don’t know. But, if that’s the plan, I don’t think I’d mind.”

  “Mr. Douglas?” a man interrupted them.

  Abe looked down at the older gentleman standing in front of the platform. His silver hair was almost as unruly as Abe’s, his shirt wrinkled, his dark trousers held up by a broad pair of red suspenders, and his red-cheeked face highlighted by reading spectacles that hung on the tip of his pug nose.

  “Mr. Douglas, I don’t have the words to tell you what this has meant to me and I don’t know how I’m going to write about it and do it justice.”

  “You’re a writer?” Abe asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the man answered, and handed Abe a business card. “I’m Harley Goodhouse. You can see by the card, there, I work for the Midvale Monitor.” He offered a hand to Abe, then to Shorty with a questioning look.

  “Thomas McDougal,” Shorty said.

  “Nice to meet you both. Would you mind if I took your picture?”

  Abe fingered the bottom of his beard. “Well, actually…”

  Shorty butted in. “Do ya think we could get a copy fer ourselves?”

  “I’d be more than happy to get you a print,” said Harley, reaching for the camera that wasn’t there. “I must have left it over there,” he said, motioning behind himself. “Just a second, I’ll go get it.”

  “We’ll be waitin’ right here fer ya,” Shorty said as Harley left in search of his camera.

  Abe waited for the reporter to get out of hearing distance before he spoke to Shorty. “You want a picture of us looking like this?”

  Shorty laughed. “It’d be kinda fun to look back on, don’t ya think?” he said, straightening out his and Abe’s beards. “Anyways, he can always take another one when we figure out how to get these off our faces. Here, put yer hat on and button yer coat.”

  Harley came jogging back. “It’s amazing,” he said holding up his camera. “It was still there.” He directed their pose and snapped two shots, then hung the strap around his neck. “You know, I wasn’t going to stick around tonight. In fact, the only reason I came over in the first place is because I heard there was a couple of bishops on their way and I thought there might be a story in it.” He took his glasses off and stuffed them into a shirt pocket.

  “I’m ash
amed to say it now, but like most of the folks around here I go to church fairly regular. And I’d been pretty much convinced that you two were doing the Devil’s work. That’s how the churches feel about you guys, you know. That’s why most of the people here tonight were from out of town. Actually I was headed home when I stopped to listen to Hattie Scott telling her story about how her bad leg was miraculously healed. Seeing her dance around on that bad leg of hers caught my attention. I saw her just last week and she could hardly move then.”

  Abe nodded. “She told us,” Abe said. “And there’s probably more like her that we just don’t know about. I don’t think the Lord would help her and overlook everybody else, do you?”

  Harley gave them a wide smile. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Douglas, and I’m going to find them, and I’m going to write the story right this time. You know, I owe you both an apology.”

  “Fer what?” Shorty asked.

  “For doing such a lousy job in last week’s paper,” the reporter answered. “I have no doubt a lot of your troubles could have been avoided if I had done the piece right. But I promise I’ll make up for it. I wish it could be sooner, but this week’s paper won’t be out for another couple of days. When I do get this real story out, though, everything’s going to change. Midvale’s going to be the new Mecca. I can guarantee you that.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of that,” Abe said.

  “Mecca?” Harley said. “Well, that’s a special religious place where people go to pray.”

  “Fer pilgrims and such?” Shorty asked.

  “That’s right. Where pilgrims go. That’s what Midvale is going to be,” Harley said, nodding his head. “Well, gentlemen, I’d better get on that story.” He pulled a small notebook from his pants pocket and thumbed it to a clear sheet. “Would you mind if I caught up with you sometime tomorrow and asked you a few questions?”

  “Not a’tall,” Shorty answered for Abe. “Would ya be havin’ our pictures with ya then?”

  “Sure will,” Harley said with a smile. “Right now I’d like to try to talk to some of the other witnesses before they all leave. So I’ll say goodnight and be in touch tomorrow. You guys still with Captain Hedges?”

  “We are,” Abe Answered, and Harley left to get his story.

  Munroe waited in the background for the reporter to finish his business then motioned for Abe and Shorty to join him. “I seen the Lawd!” he said, fairly gushing with excitement. “Whoee! It sho weren’t like nothing I ever imagined. The Lawd’s beautiful, ain’t He?”

  “He certainly is, Mr. Munroe,” Abeagreed.

  “You know I’s getting’ old, and I used to fear ‘bout dyin’, but not any mo. No Suh, I ain’t afraid no mo. I’d go right now if He was to call my name.”

  Shorty screwed up his thick eyebrows. “Ya know, Mr. Munroe, ya shouldn’t be talkin’ like that. The Lord didn’t let ya see Him to put yer mind on cashin’ in.”

  “Mr. McDougal’s right, you know,” Abe said. “ It’s good you’re not afraid, but you’ve got a lot of living yet to do. You just remember the Lord’s real and make the best out of every day.”

  “I’ll sho nuff do that,” Munroe said, and shook both their hands. “I’m just glad I got to see Him. Yes Suh, I’m a happy man.”

  “Mr. Munroe?” Abe interrupted him. “What kind of glue did you use to stick these beards on with? They won’t pull off.”

  Munroe laughed. “They stuck on pretty tight, all right. That’s the way they s’posed to do so they don’t go fallin’ off in the middle of a show or somethin’. Jesse got some solvent ovuh at the trailer fuh that. If you boys is through here, we can go on ovuh and git yuh fixed right up.”

  “We’re finished for the night,” Abe said, and they walked across the highway to the trailer in Munroe’s pasture.