CHAPTER NINE
Joao walked home smiling that day, remembering The Nervous Lady’s face as the hot coffee splashed across her lips and drenched her pallet and he could swear he saw her feet dance a little as the coffee worked its way through her body, tingling its way from her neck down to her wriggling toes; lighting her senses and filling her soul.
He thought about Charity and how pretty she looked when she smiled. She seemed so happy and the glow in her eyes when she looked down upon him; surprising him at the end of his chase, it was the opposite of incident. It made him forget completely that she had stolen something from a woman in the café.
Was he falling for a thief?
On the bus he was brimming with confidence, watching every stranger board and following them from the turnstile where he sat, all the way to their seats; surveying how they walked with some trudging their feet along like shackled prisoners while others moved about in a light skip; some defeated by the monotonous and suited obedience of day while others were lighter and waking with waxing zest into the celestial lechery of night that was coloured electric.
As the bus was in motion, he sat and examined people’s expressions, especially those lost in wandering thought. There were so many muscles in the human face and it was so awing to see the skin lift and contort and pull and turn in so many rising and sinking fashions. It was like they all had worms under their skin and every time they thought of something pained or wonderful, the worms would wriggle about and stretch their bodies making the people sitting in front of and around him seem anything from lost and complacent to concerned, pensive, tough, mean, frightened, defeated, sad and angry.
When their faces changed, Joao knew their minds were changing and he tried to envision in each of them what weight and burden might have been saddled in their conscious minds.
“This is your stop buddy,” said the man at the turnstile talking to Joao.
“Thank you sir” he replied.
The man paid no folly to his good charm and instead went back to reading his word sleuth, the furrowing worm of worry crawling through the skin on his forehead, pushed up by his confusing eyes as they searched harrowingly for an ‘a’ or an ‘f’ and his fingers squeezed the tip of the pen so tightly that the skin from his knuckles to his fingertips turned whiter than snow and as his concentration welled deeper as his tongue slithered like a slippery slug out from between his teeth and then wiggled at the air as if his soul were trying to shake itself free from the chains of illiteracy.
Joao exited the bus and was caught by the sight of something marvelous as he turned to make his way up the giant winding hill towards his home. There, in front of a shop window, out in the air for the scent of new to be caught up by the wind and tickle against his impressing nose, and just beside his swinging hands and feeling fingers, was something so beautiful that its practicality was an unspoken reward. There; at his touch, was a beautiful white plastic table that in its centre had a crucifix engraved into it.
“This will be perfect for the church,” he said to himself.
Just then a smiling old woman walked up to him, one hand clutching a tiny black bible and the other reaching out to touch Joao’s elbow; the highest The Nice Old Lady could reach in the quest to console his inquisition.
“It is beautiful isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes, beautiful is the only word to describe this but I’m sure it is very expensive and I only have a bit of money and I need to pay it to the men on the hill, so they don’t hurt my daddy,” he said.
“How much can you pay?” said The Nice Old Lady, now strangely squeezing and pinching at Joao’s elbow, making him jerk a little.
Joao opened his wallet and flicked through the notes inside. He had asked Fatts politely for an advance because he had some urgent matters. He didn’t want to divulge too much. Fatts had agreed as long as Joao agreed to loosen up a little and take his foot off the formality. Joao agreed.
Now he was at the bottom of the hill picking at notes with his long fingers inside his wallet while the nice looking old lady watched on.
“Let me help you,” she said.
“Thank you, mam. This is the first money I have ever had. It’s exactly like on TV you know? The same colours and it’s not paper is it? It’s plastic” he said.
The Nice Old Lady smiled and took the wallet from his hands. She scrunched her right hand and pushed it into her bra and then shoved the wallet directly into Joao’s front pocket.
“Be careful my boy, you can’t have that thing out or people will rob you around here. You can’t trust anyone, especially with a face like yours” she said.
Joao thanked her and she gave him and hug and a kiss on the cheek before he picked up the table in his arms and slowly plodded his way up the way, swerving to and fro as he dodged invisible stones and pot holes the size of quarries in the road and along the path of which was only being held together by the very obstacles that made it almost impossible to pass.
“Hey there cutie” said one of the prostitutes lined up against the concrete wall where all along the road, there sat rows of plastic tables circled by plastic seats and in every seat, there was a drunk man, waving his fist around and raising his voice in directive protest while around him, heads bobbed back and forth, nodding away and slurring their way through drunken approval.
Joao nodded his head at the prostitute because he could not wave. His hands were nursing the awkward table and his legs were busy stopping him from falling over as the hill ventured near vertical as he reached close to the summit. As he neared his church he was stopped by a hoarse yell coming from one of the bars beside him.
“Preacher boy, you got my money?” said The Alpha, coming out of the bar with his weapon strapped under his arm and followed closely by his henchmen who squinted profusely and snarled their upper lips, feigning mean and unpredictable as they shadowed their leader out onto the streets.
“Yes sir, I have your money here,” Joao said.
Joao took the wallet out from his front pocket and pushed his fingers inside. He took out the notes and swished them about in his hands before The Alpha reached across and stole them from his hands.
“Is this a fucking joke? Eight fucking dollars? You tryna fuck me here, or do you want me to fuck your daddy’s arse again with that broom stick? Where’s the money preacher boy?” yelled The Alpha.
Joao panicked and opened his wallet and picked and pulled at every little compartment, pushing his fingers into the tiniest of spaces knowing there was no way they would be filled, but hopping to all Christ that somehow they would.
“I had two hundred dollars. Two hundred and eighteen. It’s my advance. I asked Fatts and he said if I agreed to stop calling him sir and was less polite because he doesn’t’ like…
“Shut the fuck up. Where is my money? Nobody lives on this hill without paying their tax, nobody. Not even friends of Fatts. Do you understand? You don’t pay your tax, you’re gonna die preacher boy” snarled The Alpha, throwing the eight dollars at Joao and pushing him backwards with his two hands, sending the frail boy hurdling over onto the ground, tripping over his table and banging his head on a large stone.
“Leave him go, he’s just a kid. He doesn’t know any better. Look at him, he’s scared” said The Harmonious Whore.
The Alpha turned to The Harmonious Whore and grabbed her by the throat, rushing back against the wall, squeezing so tight that her eyes bulged and not even a gasp could escape her mouth.
The Harmonious Whore kicked away with her legs while her fingers twitched, but The Alpha eventually released his hand sending her crashing to the floor. As she fought for breath, The Alpha and his henchmen kicked at her stomach and stomped on the back of her head while seemingly everywhere, sitting at every table, heads bowed and dissenting voices silenced as a wave of fear lapped across the conscious mass of one and all.
“Get up preacher. You’re next” said The Alpha, leaving the bruised and bloody Harmonious Whore and; with his hungry henchmen, making his way o
ver to where Joao lay cowering, cracking his knuckles and pulling from a sheath on the back of his belt, a long and very sharp hunting knife.
Joao flipped through his wallet but it was empty, only the few small notes circling about his body as a light breeze picked them up and they fluttered about insultingly.
“The Nice Old Lady,” Joao said, “she must have made a mistake. She took too much money. I can speak to her and when she sees she made a mistake she will give me the money back and I can give you your money. Please, trust me.”
The Alpha took Joao by the throat and pushed the tip of the hunting knife under his chin, breaking the skin. A cool trickle of blood ran from his neck down his chest and pooled on the cloth that tucked into his pants and caught against his belly button.
“I want my money preacher boy,” he said.
“Here, take it,” said a girl’s voice from behind throwing a handful of notes over The Alpha’s head, the light warm breeze holding them long enough for Joao too see the cost of salvation.
“This is his debt, not yours. Half of that money’s mine anyway. What the fuck are you doing away from your post and why are you helping this stupid kid?” yelled The Alpha.
“He’s a friend. And it’s not my money. It’s his. I robbed him earlier. I’m just giving it back is all.”
“Since when did you have a fucking conscience?”
“Just let him go. Look, you made him piss his pants. Let the kid go.”
“There’s only one fifty here. He’s fifty short” said The Alpha.
“I can get the money sir, I can. I’ll speak to The Nice Old lady” said Joao pleadingly.
“Go home Joao, it’s ok, go,” said the girl.
“Charity? Is that you?” he said wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Joao, go home, I’ve got this. Don’t worry” said Charity.
“What are you doing here?” asked Joao.
“Don’t worry. Go home. Your father is waiting” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Just go,” she said smiling to him.
Joao picked himself up slowly and backed away like an injured crab from The Alpha who was squatting on the ground, holding his hunting knife in his teeth while his hands were busy collecting the notes that were flying about in the light breeze before him.
He looked at Charity who was smiling back at him innocently making all of the fear in his blood turn warm and consolingly as if her tender stare were a fever that boiled away the impurity in his heart and returned him to calm and love.
He stilled himself in her eyes and smiled as he picked up the table and walked past the bars and rows of blind witnesses to the small decrepit entrance to his church where a blinking light invited him to the shadow of his father, stumbling about drunk.
“What happened to you?” asked The Bishop, zipping his pants and wiping something from the tip of his nose.
“Nothing,” said, Joao.
‘’Where were you all day?” said The Bishop.
“I got a job, sir. At a café, at the bottom of the hill and I got an advance and…” said Joao.
“A job? Doing what?” said The Bishop interrupting.
“I help Mr. Fatts. I clean things; cups, plates, the floor and I served a customer today. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. I made her a coffee and she was really happy. She cried. That’s how happy she was and Mr. Fatts, he was a bit angry I think, but when the lady spoke to him he kind of changed his mind and was happy as well. I did good, I did” said Joao proudly.
“Your job is here, helping me with the church. Did you even knock on doors today? Did you do your real work?” said The Bishop.
“No sir, I didn’t. I’m sorry sir, I just thought if I could get some money then we could pay those men and they wouldn’t, you know…”
“Those men did nothing to me, you hear? Nothing. You think I’m scared of a couple of thugs with guns? Where’s the money? You said you got an advance, how much? Where is it?” asked The Bishop.
“It’s gone,” said Joao.
“Gone?”
“I have this sir,” Joao said passing him the eight dollars that he had collected from the ground.
“This is your advance?”
“I bought this table. I thought you would be happy. Look, there is a crucifix in the middle which is good if you put it against the wall and people sit on one side and they always see the right crucifix and I thought you would be happy sir’ said Joao.
“You’re bleeding,” said The Bishop.
“The bad men, they hurt me. My friend, Charity, do you remember her? From the bus, remember? She helped us find our way? Well, I saw her today at work and it was really weird cause I thought she stole something then I saw her again tonight. She gave the men money. They were going to hurt me. He had a knife at my neck. I thought he was going to kill me then Charity saved me. Do you think that was the money that she stole?” said Joao.
“What?”
“The money, she gave the men, if it was the money I think I saw her steal from a lady at the café earlier today. I chased her, but I forgot to ask her. I kind of forget everything really. She’s really friendly and I don’t think she would have stolen something cause she is really friendly and nice people don’t do bad things” he said.
“It’s eight o’clock,” said The Bishop.
“Oh, ‘The Carriage of my Heart’ is on,” said Joao excitedly, forgetting the stinging pain in his neck and the singing bruises that rose up his back and legs.
“You disappoint me,” said The Bishop, folding his arms.
Father and son sat down in front of the television that now sat on the new plastic table that Joao had bought and they shared little emotional or lexical reference as they dove into their favourite reality and skipped far from the one that buggered them ceaselessly.