THE PARK ATTENDENDANT
J.P. HOLMES JUNIOR
REFLECTIONS (scroll down)
CONVERSATION WITH A GOD
CONVERSATION WITH A GOD
God appeared at the end of my bed on June the 25th 2012. I knew it was Him because I did not need to ask and He did not have to explain. He looked tired, confused and somewhat dishevelled. His long white unkempt beard reminded me of Father Christmas on a hot summer’s day in Brighton, prickly, uncomfortable and wiry which made the corners of his mouth twitch. Drops of sweat glistened on his forehead revealing the exertion it had taken to get there. It was then I realised miracles do take some effort no matter who you are. Somewhat awkwardly He tried to make the best of the situation and adopted an agitated stance much similar to someone who’d missed the bus by only a couple of minutes, pacing around the small area available between the wall and my bed whilst scratching the side of his face with one finger, pretending not to see me.
In principle I do not like anybody visiting me without notice, particularly in my bedroom at some ungodly time in the morning, but on this occasion I chose to disregard my annoyance, after all - even though I am an atheist- one must at times make an effort when needs must. It was obvious He was having a bad day, week, month, year, or perhaps even a century. For now I decided to take no notice of Him since it was His decision to come to me. Impatiently he tapped the glass of his watch on his bony left wrist, then turned and faced me.
‘I do beg your pardon’, He sounded genuinely apologetic, ‘could you tell me the time please?’
There have been instances in my life that I consider absurd, moments where I have doubted my own sanity, there have been occurrences of which I am deeply ashamed and wish to forget. And then there were the occasions where I had made a complete and utter fool of myself through my own stupidity. At the risk of adding another incident to the latter category I threw the ball back into his court.
‘You made it, you tell me’, I said as I pushed a pillow up against the headboard of the bed, sat up and reached for my glass of water next to the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet.
For a moment he hovered over a reply which He discarded, then took a deep breath and recomposed Himself.
‘Okay’, He turned his attention away from His timepiece, ‘you seem a smart sort of chap and I do not wish to argue. It is not every day I visit this place and when I do it is in your best interest to give me a little support as the creator of everything that surrounds you. I do not wish for much, just the time. After that I shall leave your abode in the same fashion as I arrived in this desolate part of the universe.’
‘Just hang on a minute’, I sipped at my water and tried to formulate a question as one would in such a situation and pulled the plug from the alarm clock once I had put the glass back.
‘Why?’ It was all I could come up with.
‘That is of no concern to you’, His reply carried the sharp tonal quality of agitation.
‘I do believe it is’, I tried to remain calm. ‘I live here and whatever has brought you to my world it is bound to have an impact of some sort. If I refuse to help will that not have direct or indirect consequences?’
‘Of all the places to go I have to land here’, He sighed. ‘It is people like you who make my travels unnecessarily arduous, questioning my integrity, jumping at the first chance they get to put the blame for everything on me. In some respects I can understand that but sometimes it gets messy, like a few thousand years ago. We all know how that story ended. Not nice! Not good! And a very unsatisfactory result! Yet at the end of the day the time wasn’t right. Nonetheless I was made a laughing stock; I was ridiculed for my ideology, my plan and my belief in what I perceived to be a perfect design. And what do I get in return? Someone who doubts the purpose of it all.’
God remained standing at the end of my bed despite His impatience. To me that was a result, I had gained some time. I certainly didn’t want Him to disappear just yet.
‘Tell me’, I tried a different approach. ‘Is your purpose being here for us, the people, or is it perhaps to salvage some pride from a long lost project. I have no recollection of a God intervening when humanity had to cope with the plague, HIV, the Spanish flue or any of the countless natural disasters. We have been having a pretty rough ride here on this planet of yours. And if, like you say, others have ridiculed you for what you have achieved then I have to agree wholeheartedly.’
‘Your ignorance is appalling’, He pointed his finger at me. With his other hand he reached for his lower back and winced at the sudden pain radiating from there. That changed his attitude. ‘Mind if I sit down for a moment’, he gasped, ‘my back is killing me.’
‘Be my guest, please do’, I offered Him the end of the bed with a broad gesture of my arm and found it impossible to mask the smile that spread across my face. The mere implications of God having a back problem tickled my sense of humour. He, however, did not seem amused and carefully lowered his body onto the bed.
‘Thank you’, He managed a tiresome grimace. ‘I believe I am getting too old for this kind of lark.’ His shifted around to face me. ‘I do apologise for my rather unexpected and perhaps trifle rude intrusion but once in a while, every couple of thousand years or so, I have to venture out into the micro cosmos of my creation, hoping I can effectuate a few minor adjustments. It is not an endeavour without risks. Even I must sometimes take my chances.’
I found it a disturbing thought being nothing more than a microscopic particle in His grand scheme and could not conceal my disappointment.
‘Wonderful’, I said with some contempt. ‘That’s made my day. I somehow always suspected I was no more than a meaningless speck of dust in the great expanse of the universe.’
‘No, no’, He waved away my frustration. ‘That is most certainly the wrong attitude to take. Each and every individual who roams this planet is highly regarded by me. Of course I am in no position to know each and every one of you nor has it ever been my intention to do so. I beg of you not to think in negative terms where you yourself are concerned or all the countless others who accompany you here. It does not aid the process. Be aware that Gods can only do so much, we most definitely have our limitations.’
‘What on earth then brings you here to Bramshot Down. There is nothing of importance to be found here, in fact, if there is any place in the whole world where pride is taken from accomplishing absolutely nothing at all then this is the place to be.’
‘I’ll have you know Bethlehem was a darned sight worse back in the day’, God muttered dismally. ‘Mankind has evolved positively since then.’
‘It’s true then, the Bible?’ I gasped.
‘No, you’ve got to be joking’, for the first time I could see a smile on His face. ‘The Bible and all other scriptures were unforeseen complications with dire consequences. It wasn’t all bad yet I’d rather not have had them around.’
‘Then why have us drag them around for all these centuries?’ I questioned immediately.
‘What’s your name?’ He apparently ignored the question completely.
‘Gordon Livingstone’.
‘Right Gordon Livingstone’, He continued as He inspected the nails on His right hand. ‘Let me explain a few things to clear the air. I did not write the Bible. Mankind did somewhere along the line. We Gods can’t interfere at such levels, it is absolutely not in our interest to meddle with insignificant details. Let it also be known that we are incapable of such acts and even if we could we would not be stupid enough to think of such ventures. You see Gordon, it may be difficult to grasp, we too are bound by rules of physics, much similar to the ones that prevail here in your world. There is on the other hand one major difference. To put it in simple terms, we can make but we cannot break.’
I desperately tried to get my head around that one.
‘I am afraid I don’t follow’, I said.
‘It doesn’t matter’, God muttered. ‘It’s not important right now.’
‘It’s important to me’, I replied visibly annoyed. ‘You cannot seriously expect me to accept an explanation I do not understand.’
For a moment He looked at me as if He was measuring me up, weighing up if I was worth his precious time which led me to another thought. If anyone had time, He should have plenty of it. He’d been around a hell of a lot longer than me.
He shifted his body in a more comfortable position, stroked His straggly beard and took a deep breath. I mentally took note that God had grey/blue eyes.
‘We don’t take matter as if it were a lump of clay and start creating a bloody universe’, it was His turn to be irritated.
‘I never assumed it would be’, I reached out to the drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out a packet of cigarettes. God raised his white bushy eyebrows and pulled a face of disapproval as I flicked the lighter.
‘Nasty habit’, he waved his arm in the air to disperse the smoke. ‘It’ll kill you one day’.
‘Life will kill me one day’, I could not help being sarcastic.
God shook his head in an effort to shake off my remark.
‘As said’, He continued, ‘to create in terms like we God’s do is drastically far removed from what the human race thinks creating is. You people need a substance, a medium to construct, form and shape your design. Can we agree on that?’
‘Absolutely’, that made perfect sense to me.
‘We don’t’, He said. ‘We create directly from what you might call our minds. Although I hesitate to take a broad view, we solidify our dreams. That is why we cannot touch them. Once created there is no way back’.
‘Yet you are here’, I argued. ‘As far as I am concerned you are touching your dream in a very real way or am I missing the point?’
God laughed this time. ‘Humanity is definitely coming along’, He chuckled. ‘Dear Gordon, what you see is not necessarily what it is. My presence is a mere figment of my imagination. I might have the ability to make something from nothing but I am no more than an apparition, a man without substance.’
‘So the shape of the man who is sitting at the end of my bed is in no way related to the actual shape of the God he is?’ It was a stab in the dark.
‘No, there is no difference’, He sounded a trifle dissatisfied with His looks. ‘I am afraid the centuries are starting to count. There was a time I was young, eager, far more active than I am now, even quite handsome if I may say so myself.’
‘God’s die as well?’ I was appalled with my own conclusion.
‘Naturally’, he replied, ‘though it must be said that our lifespan exceeds yours by many millennia although there have been Gods who didn’t last very long. They were the ones who didn’t quite make grade, not every God is made out of the right stuff. Thankfully they never get around to create very much.’
I tapped some ash from my cigarette into the ashtray which I had placed on the bed between my legs.
‘Then what is your business here?’ I blew some more smoke into the room.
‘Let us say I’m on a routine check with in the background a sense of urgency’, he smiled again. It seemed God was settling down. His initial restlessness had made way for a more relaxed approach which in turn made me feel more at ease too.
‘About this business with the Bible’, I said whilst stubbing out my cigarette, ‘should we believe in God’s? I mean, does it make a blind bit of difference if we do or not? From what I have gathered so far there is no heaven and that sort of stuff.’
With some difficulty God got up and stretched his legs.
‘You can forget about heaven, there is no such place’, he said as he looked at the painting on the wall. ‘This is it, this world is what you have and I’m pretty proud of it. To be perfectly honest with you God’s don’t give two hoots if you believe in them or not. Yet we do have every faith in you. We have to. You are the sole reason why we exist. We need you more than you need us.’
He turned away from the painting and pulled at his grubby white robe.
‘You married?’ He asked out of the blue.
‘Uhhhh…..no’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Not at present’, it was a touchy subject. It had been a year and it still hurt every time I was reminded of her.
‘Children?’ He asked.
‘Not that I know of’, I tried a little humour. ‘Is that of any importance?’
‘Well Gordon’, he sat back down on the bed, ‘that is a question of perspective. We do not have female God’s, there never have been. So, we searched for ways to retain our species resulting in the creation of man, and as you can see we are very much alike. In many ways we are identical. That in itself was a major achievement but man does fall short of being a true God by a long, long way. After that we sought ways for you to reproduce and created women. Subsequently we supplied an environment for you to live in where evolution takes care of the rest and once in a while our patience is rewarded with a God born from the human race. Ultimately we are hoping that one day, in the very distant future, a female God is born. In the vast space of time that has passed there hasn’t been the slightest indication we might ever reach that goal, but where there is faith there is hope.’
‘Jesus!’ I exclaimed, I hadn’t seen that one coming.
‘Ah, yes Jesus’, God said. ‘For a short while I was hopeful his potential would come to fruition. It soon became clear he was flawed.’
‘He wasn’t your son’, I understood now.
‘Nope’, God admitted solemnly. ‘We are your sons.’
For a while we just sat there. I was lost for words trying to get to terms with my newly gained knowledge whilst God fiddled around with some threads at the end of his sleeve.
I am not sure how long we sat there. God eventually broke the silence.
‘What time is it?’ He asked softly.
I plugged the alarm clock back into the socket at the side of the bed. It was 3:15 in the morning.
‘I believe it is time you left’, I answered.
‘Indeed’, He patted me on the leg, got up and vanished leaving nothing but a slight disturbance in the air surrounding me and for the briefest of moments I thought I detected the familiar fragrance of Alison who used to sleep next to me.
REFLECTIONS
It took Travis Perkins 24 years and 127 days in a bad marriage to realise he was truly unhappy and that he had to do something before it was too late. His relationship with his wife had been an uphill struggle since the day the results of his sperm count came in. Neither Travis nor Margaret had been aware back then but in retrospect that caused the first signs of marital fatigue. Their friend’s sexual activities resulted in an explosion of wailing offspring, tiny little people who selfishly swallowed up every bit of time available to their parents and within a few years, Travis was left on a desolate small island amidst people who could do nothing but talk about nappy rash, teething problems and sleepless nights. To say the least, Travis found the company of their friend’s newborns a form of mental torture. It was impossible to have a decent conversation for more than a few minutes after which he’d be interrupted with stories of how these small creatures, whilst oozing body liquids from every orifice available, could put two Duplo blocks together. He’d have to listen and decipher guttural sounds which, for some unknown reason, were real words to the ears of the parents but worst of all was the pride taken in faeces whilst changing nappies on the carpet next to the coffee table in his front room. According to Travis there were many achievements in a child’s young life one could be proud of but shitting yourself wasn’t one of them.
That summer, in 1987, Travis decided to take up fishing, not for the love of it but for the sole reason to avoid the hectic gatherings at his home where Margaret would coo and fuss over the babies as if they were here own. In the years that followed his spot on the bank of the River Wye became a sacred place where he felt at peace with his circumstances.
In the mid 90’s his house had become somewhere to eat and sleep after work throughout the week. During the evenings any form of communication with his wife was replaced by the television. Intolerable dreary soaps were followed by equally retarded game shows where after American crime series lulled all senses to sleep before Margaret took her historical novels to bed instead of him. It didn’t take long before Travis found it impossible to cope with the miserable situation and went for evening walks which always led him to the same spot by the river where he spent most of his time in the weekends. There he would sit and gaze over the water, listen to the rustling reeds for a couple of hours and then return home to carefully crawl between the sheets of the bed as not to wake his wife.
Luckily he found his job to be very rewarding and found some solace and purpose from being promoted to Chief Engineer of the design department at Wilkinson Medical Instruments where he’d worked since leaving the University of Worcester in 1979. The wage that came with his new position gave him a feeling of rejuvenated freedom. He could afford to be a little more careless where money was concerned and treated himself to a few presents he’d dreamed of as a boy, one of which was a motorbike. For a while Travis did not frequent his spot at the river and much to Margaret’s disgust he would tour around the countryside on his shiny new Honda. She told him he looked ridiculous in his leather suit and suffered from Penopause. That did not stop Travis from his high speed trips over the undulating green landscape of South Wales. His accident however did. When he was finally released from hospital he reverted back to his old ways and could be found fishing again. Although the evening walks took more of an effort since having to cope with a slight limp, Travis persevered until he could once again cover the entire distance to his favourite spot and back.
There was no happiness to be gained from the tedious rituals at home and slowly but surely an irritable discontentment started to creep into crevices of his character. Where once he could laugh, joke and enjoy the simple things in life Travis now found he was incapable of taking pleasure in anything at all between the walls of his home. His feeling for Margaret had evaporated, what was left was nothing more than tolerating her presence with unspoken words of contempt. And so it came to be that he realised after 24 years and 127 days in a bad marriage things had to change. That decision was made in the car on his way back from work as he watched the River Wye glistening in the sun around 17:30, August 2009.
Only 3 hours later he found himself driving his car along the same stretch of road in opposite direction, with in the boot two suitcases containing his complete wardrobe and on the rear seats his fishing tackle. Despite his concerns of having no place to go Travis felt relieved, it was as if the air itself contained more oxygen. To his surprise he found himself whistling a tune from a distant memory and for the first time since a very, very, very long time he felt something positive take hold of him. It wasn’t going to be easy but there was every indication life was going to be a darned sight better than it had been.
Around the time it got dark he checked into the Bellamy Hotel in Ross on Wye not too far from where he worked, had a few ham sandwiches for supper and went up to his room where he fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.
A few days later he rented an apartment in the city of…….. filed for divorce and started to put together a new life. With every purchase he made, whether it was the table lamp, the leather settee or the clock he’d bought from a local antique store, he constructed a place he could call a home. His home. Instead of buying a television he invested in a radio and a top of the range hi-fi system. He’d even taken the trouble to visit the Monsoon Gallery on Station Road where he bought an original oil painting depicting a scene by the river rather than settling for cheap print you’d have found in his former home. There was nothing in the house that reminded him of his marriage.
Everything was very different now. Everything but one habit. Travis would get up early on a Sunday morning, put his fishing gear in the car and drive to his favourite spot on the River Wye. Rain or shine, freezing cold or blisteringly hot, on a Sunday he’d be there, sat between the reeds. Catching fish wasn’t important; it was the serenity of the place that drew him. The noise of the water as it lapped over the muddy bank just by his feet, the cool breeze sweeping through what was left of his grey hair and the rustling of the leaves from trees behind him. It was his piece of land, 4 square meters of soggy soil where he could sit on his canvas chair with a broad view of the countryside stretching out to the horizon where, on this particular day, heavy clouds gathered, casting dark shadows on the distant golden cornfields.
‘Morning’, the voice startled Travis.
Travis turned around and found an old man stood just behind him wearing expensive outdoor clothing, wellington boots and smoking a pipe.
‘It doesn’t look good out there’, the chap pointed his pipe at the clouds in the distance.
‘Ehhhhh, no’, Travis said.
‘Fish biting today?’ The man inquired.
‘Not really’, Travis answered friendlier now that the initial shock of unexpected intrusion had passed. In all the years he’d sat there nobody had ever addressed him. On the odd occasion he’d seen people further away but never had they come this far. ‘There are good days and there are bad days.’
‘I know’, the voice was friendly enough. ‘I used to frequent this spot many years ago. Must be more than 20 years ago now. I haven’t been back since but thought I’d venture out this morning and have a look.’
Travis quickly calculated that he’d been coming there about the same number of years.
‘You used to fish here?’ Travis asked as a pinch of jealousy dissolved in his belly.
‘In a way’, the old man grinned whilst emitting some smoke from between his lips. ‘I guess it was therapy more than anything else. This part of the river, and in particular this spot attracts people who need some guidance. I believe I spent more than 10 years here getting to terms with the way my life was paved.’
Travis turned and looked away, focusing on the kaleidoscopic effect of reflected sunlight on the surface of the water somewhere in the middle of the river.
‘Ah, I see’, the stranger took a step forward and stood beside him now, his boots squelching in the muddy clay. ‘You’ve been coming here for quite some time as well. Please let me introduce myself’.
He stretched his arm out toward Travis.
Travis awkwardly accepted the gesture.
‘Allan Berthold’, he clenched his pipe between his teeth as he spoke.
‘Travis Perkins’.
‘How long have you been coming here?’ Allan asked.
‘About 20 years’, Travis admitted as he turned his attention to the clouds which were rapidly coming closer.
‘You must be my successor then’, there was a hint of relief in his voice. ‘It’s good to see you have been taking care of this place. Nothing much has changed although I do not see it with the same eyes as I used to.’ He paused for a moment. ’20 years is a long time’, he added.
‘Indeed it is’, Travis agreed. ‘When I first came here I needed to get away from my everyday life. I kind of got stuck in a marriage that did not work and needed some breathing space. Thankfully those days are over; I come here for different reasons now’.
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes’, Travis answer was short.
Allan sucked at his pipe and remained silent. Both men stared blankly at the water.
‘I divorced my wife some time ago’, Travis picked up their conversation again. ‘Got myself a nice little place in town where I am very happy. How about you?’
‘Oh I am married’, Allan answered. ‘I was fortunate enough to find a good woman. We live out in the sticks, nice bungalow in the middle of nowhere on the Breacon Beacons. I retired and bought the place for us to spend time away from the hectic life we used to lead.’
‘Then what brought you here back then?’
‘Our son died, committed suicide in fact’, Allan spoke without a trace of grief. ‘It all happened a long time ago but at the time I could not get to grips with the situation. In that respect we have been very unfortunate. We were the proud parents of a beautiful child that was born without the ability to be happy. God knows, we tried the best we could, visited psychologists, spent fortunes on alternative treatments but all to no avail. It just so happens that he missed something, something that would make him smile, laugh and have fun. One early morning, he was 16 at the time, he decided he’d had enough. I do not blame him for his decision, his life was wretchedly difficult and in his position I’d probably done the same but finding your son hanging from your front porch is a traumatic experience beyond belief. It took years before I lost feeling the weight of his body in my arms as I tried to hold him up in a futile attempt to avert the inevitable. He was probably dead already anyway. It took even longer for the smell of his urine to leave my nostrils. But in the end they both disappeared thanks to this place.’
‘Jesus’, Travis was visibly shaken. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
‘Don’t be’, Allan said. ‘I have learned to cope and am at peace with it now. I used to sit here, just like you and stare into the water until the reflections formed his face. Then we’d talk for hours. Just silly things really, nothing of great importance. To begin with his apparition was quite faint yet in time the vision became clearer and then one day, I can remember it well, his face seemed to float on the water. I told him so and then he smiled, not just any smile, but a broad smile. Since then I haven’t been back. I knew he was just fine where he was. And that is how I remember him, my boy with a smile on his face. Something he never achieved when he was alive.’
Travis remained silent. The first drops of rain fell from the thick dark clouds overhead but neither of them took any notice.
‘Do you see him now?’ Travis asked the question before he’d really thought about it.
‘No’, Allan said without even glancing at the river. He looked up at the sky. ‘I don’t want to. My memory of him is perfect at is. What do you see in the water?’
‘Nothing’, Travis admitted as he reached for the umbrella beside him. ‘Nothing at all’.
Allan helped him put the umbrella anchor into the ground and soon both men stood sheltered in a steady downpour of heavy rain.
‘You’ve never seen anything in these waters then?’ Allan asked again.
‘Honest to God I haven’t’, Travis offered Allan a cup of hot coffee from his thermos flask which was gratefully accepted. ‘To be fair I have never really tried’.
‘Oh’, Allan sipped at his drink. ‘I suppose different people need different signals to bring them forward.’
‘I don’t think I need it’, Travis watched the rain disrupting the surface of the water. I have buried my demons already.’
A flash of lightning tore through the dark sky, momentarily lighting up the landscape that surrounded the two men. A deep rolling thunder followed and echoed away over the hills.
‘Then maybe you should not return after today’, Allan said thoughtfully. ‘These places are very rare and there are many others who desperately need to find some comfort here.’
Travis felt anger rise within him. He wondered how this old man dared even suggest such a thing. It was his patch, his stake in happiness that he had found. Just as he wanted to argue his point Allan interrupted him.
‘Time to move on’, was all he said as he returned the empty cup. ‘Thanks for the coffee and nice meeting you Travis.’ Allan stepped from under the umbrella into the pouring rain and left, hands tucked deep into his pockets.
Travis waited until the skies cleared and then for the rest of the day he stared into the waters of the river. When the light started to recede he packed away his fishing tackle and drove back to his apartment.
‘So what if I don’t have any children’, he muttered to himself and decided there and then he would never return. Instead he would ask Jennifer Townsend to join him for dinner that evening. He’d never had the balls but this time he would.
‘
J.P. HOLMES JUNIOR
REFLECTIONS (scroll down)
CONVERSATION WITH A GOD
CONVERSATION WITH A GOD
God appeared at the end of my bed on June the 25th 2012. I knew it was Him because I did not need to ask and He did not have to explain. He looked tired, confused and somewhat dishevelled. His long white unkempt beard reminded me of Father Christmas on a hot summer’s day in Brighton, prickly, uncomfortable and wiry which made the corners of his mouth twitch. Drops of sweat glistened on his forehead revealing the exertion it had taken to get there. It was then I realised miracles do take some effort no matter who you are. Somewhat awkwardly He tried to make the best of the situation and adopted an agitated stance much similar to someone who’d missed the bus by only a couple of minutes, pacing around the small area available between the wall and my bed whilst scratching the side of his face with one finger, pretending not to see me.
In principle I do not like anybody visiting me without notice, particularly in my bedroom at some ungodly time in the morning, but on this occasion I chose to disregard my annoyance, after all - even though I am an atheist- one must at times make an effort when needs must. It was obvious He was having a bad day, week, month, year, or perhaps even a century. For now I decided to take no notice of Him since it was His decision to come to me. Impatiently he tapped the glass of his watch on his bony left wrist, then turned and faced me.
‘I do beg your pardon’, He sounded genuinely apologetic, ‘could you tell me the time please?’
There have been instances in my life that I consider absurd, moments where I have doubted my own sanity, there have been occurrences of which I am deeply ashamed and wish to forget. And then there were the occasions where I had made a complete and utter fool of myself through my own stupidity. At the risk of adding another incident to the latter category I threw the ball back into his court.
‘You made it, you tell me’, I said as I pushed a pillow up against the headboard of the bed, sat up and reached for my glass of water next to the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet.
For a moment he hovered over a reply which He discarded, then took a deep breath and recomposed Himself.
‘Okay’, He turned his attention away from His timepiece, ‘you seem a smart sort of chap and I do not wish to argue. It is not every day I visit this place and when I do it is in your best interest to give me a little support as the creator of everything that surrounds you. I do not wish for much, just the time. After that I shall leave your abode in the same fashion as I arrived in this desolate part of the universe.’
‘Just hang on a minute’, I sipped at my water and tried to formulate a question as one would in such a situation and pulled the plug from the alarm clock once I had put the glass back.
‘Why?’ It was all I could come up with.
‘That is of no concern to you’, His reply carried the sharp tonal quality of agitation.
‘I do believe it is’, I tried to remain calm. ‘I live here and whatever has brought you to my world it is bound to have an impact of some sort. If I refuse to help will that not have direct or indirect consequences?’
‘Of all the places to go I have to land here’, He sighed. ‘It is people like you who make my travels unnecessarily arduous, questioning my integrity, jumping at the first chance they get to put the blame for everything on me. In some respects I can understand that but sometimes it gets messy, like a few thousand years ago. We all know how that story ended. Not nice! Not good! And a very unsatisfactory result! Yet at the end of the day the time wasn’t right. Nonetheless I was made a laughing stock; I was ridiculed for my ideology, my plan and my belief in what I perceived to be a perfect design. And what do I get in return? Someone who doubts the purpose of it all.’
God remained standing at the end of my bed despite His impatience. To me that was a result, I had gained some time. I certainly didn’t want Him to disappear just yet.
‘Tell me’, I tried a different approach. ‘Is your purpose being here for us, the people, or is it perhaps to salvage some pride from a long lost project. I have no recollection of a God intervening when humanity had to cope with the plague, HIV, the Spanish flue or any of the countless natural disasters. We have been having a pretty rough ride here on this planet of yours. And if, like you say, others have ridiculed you for what you have achieved then I have to agree wholeheartedly.’
‘Your ignorance is appalling’, He pointed his finger at me. With his other hand he reached for his lower back and winced at the sudden pain radiating from there. That changed his attitude. ‘Mind if I sit down for a moment’, he gasped, ‘my back is killing me.’
‘Be my guest, please do’, I offered Him the end of the bed with a broad gesture of my arm and found it impossible to mask the smile that spread across my face. The mere implications of God having a back problem tickled my sense of humour. He, however, did not seem amused and carefully lowered his body onto the bed.
‘Thank you’, He managed a tiresome grimace. ‘I believe I am getting too old for this kind of lark.’ His shifted around to face me. ‘I do apologise for my rather unexpected and perhaps trifle rude intrusion but once in a while, every couple of thousand years or so, I have to venture out into the micro cosmos of my creation, hoping I can effectuate a few minor adjustments. It is not an endeavour without risks. Even I must sometimes take my chances.’
I found it a disturbing thought being nothing more than a microscopic particle in His grand scheme and could not conceal my disappointment.
‘Wonderful’, I said with some contempt. ‘That’s made my day. I somehow always suspected I was no more than a meaningless speck of dust in the great expanse of the universe.’
‘No, no’, He waved away my frustration. ‘That is most certainly the wrong attitude to take. Each and every individual who roams this planet is highly regarded by me. Of course I am in no position to know each and every one of you nor has it ever been my intention to do so. I beg of you not to think in negative terms where you yourself are concerned or all the countless others who accompany you here. It does not aid the process. Be aware that Gods can only do so much, we most definitely have our limitations.’
‘What on earth then brings you here to Bramshot Down. There is nothing of importance to be found here, in fact, if there is any place in the whole world where pride is taken from accomplishing absolutely nothing at all then this is the place to be.’
‘I’ll have you know Bethlehem was a darned sight worse back in the day’, God muttered dismally. ‘Mankind has evolved positively since then.’
‘It’s true then, the Bible?’ I gasped.
‘No, you’ve got to be joking’, for the first time I could see a smile on His face. ‘The Bible and all other scriptures were unforeseen complications with dire consequences. It wasn’t all bad yet I’d rather not have had them around.’
‘Then why have us drag them around for all these centuries?’ I questioned immediately.
‘What’s your name?’ He apparently ignored the question completely.
‘Gordon Livingstone’.
‘Right Gordon Livingstone’, He continued as He inspected the nails on His right hand. ‘Let me explain a few things to clear the air. I did not write the Bible. Mankind did somewhere along the line. We Gods can’t interfere at such levels, it is absolutely not in our interest to meddle with insignificant details. Let it also be known that we are incapable of such acts and even if we could we would not be stupid enough to think of such ventures. You see Gordon, it may be difficult to grasp, we too are bound by rules of physics, much similar to the ones that prevail here in your world. There is on the other hand one major difference. To put it in simple terms, we can make but we cannot break.’
I desperately tried to get my head around that one.
‘I am afraid I don’t follow’, I said.
‘It doesn’t matter’, God muttered. ‘It’s not important right now.’
‘It’s important to me’, I replied visibly annoyed. ‘You cannot seriously expect me to accept an explanation I do not understand.’
For a moment He looked at me as if He was measuring me up, weighing up if I was worth his precious time which led me to another thought. If anyone had time, He should have plenty of it. He’d been around a hell of a lot longer than me.
He shifted his body in a more comfortable position, stroked His straggly beard and took a deep breath. I mentally took note that God had grey/blue eyes.
‘We don’t take matter as if it were a lump of clay and start creating a bloody universe’, it was His turn to be irritated.
‘I never assumed it would be’, I reached out to the drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out a packet of cigarettes. God raised his white bushy eyebrows and pulled a face of disapproval as I flicked the lighter.
‘Nasty habit’, he waved his arm in the air to disperse the smoke. ‘It’ll kill you one day’.
‘Life will kill me one day’, I could not help being sarcastic.
God shook his head in an effort to shake off my remark.
‘As said’, He continued, ‘to create in terms like we God’s do is drastically far removed from what the human race thinks creating is. You people need a substance, a medium to construct, form and shape your design. Can we agree on that?’
‘Absolutely’, that made perfect sense to me.
‘We don’t’, He said. ‘We create directly from what you might call our minds. Although I hesitate to take a broad view, we solidify our dreams. That is why we cannot touch them. Once created there is no way back’.
‘Yet you are here’, I argued. ‘As far as I am concerned you are touching your dream in a very real way or am I missing the point?’
God laughed this time. ‘Humanity is definitely coming along’, He chuckled. ‘Dear Gordon, what you see is not necessarily what it is. My presence is a mere figment of my imagination. I might have the ability to make something from nothing but I am no more than an apparition, a man without substance.’
‘So the shape of the man who is sitting at the end of my bed is in no way related to the actual shape of the God he is?’ It was a stab in the dark.
‘No, there is no difference’, He sounded a trifle dissatisfied with His looks. ‘I am afraid the centuries are starting to count. There was a time I was young, eager, far more active than I am now, even quite handsome if I may say so myself.’
‘God’s die as well?’ I was appalled with my own conclusion.
‘Naturally’, he replied, ‘though it must be said that our lifespan exceeds yours by many millennia although there have been Gods who didn’t last very long. They were the ones who didn’t quite make grade, not every God is made out of the right stuff. Thankfully they never get around to create very much.’
I tapped some ash from my cigarette into the ashtray which I had placed on the bed between my legs.
‘Then what is your business here?’ I blew some more smoke into the room.
‘Let us say I’m on a routine check with in the background a sense of urgency’, he smiled again. It seemed God was settling down. His initial restlessness had made way for a more relaxed approach which in turn made me feel more at ease too.
‘About this business with the Bible’, I said whilst stubbing out my cigarette, ‘should we believe in God’s? I mean, does it make a blind bit of difference if we do or not? From what I have gathered so far there is no heaven and that sort of stuff.’
With some difficulty God got up and stretched his legs.
‘You can forget about heaven, there is no such place’, he said as he looked at the painting on the wall. ‘This is it, this world is what you have and I’m pretty proud of it. To be perfectly honest with you God’s don’t give two hoots if you believe in them or not. Yet we do have every faith in you. We have to. You are the sole reason why we exist. We need you more than you need us.’
He turned away from the painting and pulled at his grubby white robe.
‘You married?’ He asked out of the blue.
‘Uhhhh…..no’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Not at present’, it was a touchy subject. It had been a year and it still hurt every time I was reminded of her.
‘Children?’ He asked.
‘Not that I know of’, I tried a little humour. ‘Is that of any importance?’
‘Well Gordon’, he sat back down on the bed, ‘that is a question of perspective. We do not have female God’s, there never have been. So, we searched for ways to retain our species resulting in the creation of man, and as you can see we are very much alike. In many ways we are identical. That in itself was a major achievement but man does fall short of being a true God by a long, long way. After that we sought ways for you to reproduce and created women. Subsequently we supplied an environment for you to live in where evolution takes care of the rest and once in a while our patience is rewarded with a God born from the human race. Ultimately we are hoping that one day, in the very distant future, a female God is born. In the vast space of time that has passed there hasn’t been the slightest indication we might ever reach that goal, but where there is faith there is hope.’
‘Jesus!’ I exclaimed, I hadn’t seen that one coming.
‘Ah, yes Jesus’, God said. ‘For a short while I was hopeful his potential would come to fruition. It soon became clear he was flawed.’
‘He wasn’t your son’, I understood now.
‘Nope’, God admitted solemnly. ‘We are your sons.’
For a while we just sat there. I was lost for words trying to get to terms with my newly gained knowledge whilst God fiddled around with some threads at the end of his sleeve.
I am not sure how long we sat there. God eventually broke the silence.
‘What time is it?’ He asked softly.
I plugged the alarm clock back into the socket at the side of the bed. It was 3:15 in the morning.
‘I believe it is time you left’, I answered.
‘Indeed’, He patted me on the leg, got up and vanished leaving nothing but a slight disturbance in the air surrounding me and for the briefest of moments I thought I detected the familiar fragrance of Alison who used to sleep next to me.
REFLECTIONS
It took Travis Perkins 24 years and 127 days in a bad marriage to realise he was truly unhappy and that he had to do something before it was too late. His relationship with his wife had been an uphill struggle since the day the results of his sperm count came in. Neither Travis nor Margaret had been aware back then but in retrospect that caused the first signs of marital fatigue. Their friend’s sexual activities resulted in an explosion of wailing offspring, tiny little people who selfishly swallowed up every bit of time available to their parents and within a few years, Travis was left on a desolate small island amidst people who could do nothing but talk about nappy rash, teething problems and sleepless nights. To say the least, Travis found the company of their friend’s newborns a form of mental torture. It was impossible to have a decent conversation for more than a few minutes after which he’d be interrupted with stories of how these small creatures, whilst oozing body liquids from every orifice available, could put two Duplo blocks together. He’d have to listen and decipher guttural sounds which, for some unknown reason, were real words to the ears of the parents but worst of all was the pride taken in faeces whilst changing nappies on the carpet next to the coffee table in his front room. According to Travis there were many achievements in a child’s young life one could be proud of but shitting yourself wasn’t one of them.
That summer, in 1987, Travis decided to take up fishing, not for the love of it but for the sole reason to avoid the hectic gatherings at his home where Margaret would coo and fuss over the babies as if they were here own. In the years that followed his spot on the bank of the River Wye became a sacred place where he felt at peace with his circumstances.
In the mid 90’s his house had become somewhere to eat and sleep after work throughout the week. During the evenings any form of communication with his wife was replaced by the television. Intolerable dreary soaps were followed by equally retarded game shows where after American crime series lulled all senses to sleep before Margaret took her historical novels to bed instead of him. It didn’t take long before Travis found it impossible to cope with the miserable situation and went for evening walks which always led him to the same spot by the river where he spent most of his time in the weekends. There he would sit and gaze over the water, listen to the rustling reeds for a couple of hours and then return home to carefully crawl between the sheets of the bed as not to wake his wife.
Luckily he found his job to be very rewarding and found some solace and purpose from being promoted to Chief Engineer of the design department at Wilkinson Medical Instruments where he’d worked since leaving the University of Worcester in 1979. The wage that came with his new position gave him a feeling of rejuvenated freedom. He could afford to be a little more careless where money was concerned and treated himself to a few presents he’d dreamed of as a boy, one of which was a motorbike. For a while Travis did not frequent his spot at the river and much to Margaret’s disgust he would tour around the countryside on his shiny new Honda. She told him he looked ridiculous in his leather suit and suffered from Penopause. That did not stop Travis from his high speed trips over the undulating green landscape of South Wales. His accident however did. When he was finally released from hospital he reverted back to his old ways and could be found fishing again. Although the evening walks took more of an effort since having to cope with a slight limp, Travis persevered until he could once again cover the entire distance to his favourite spot and back.
There was no happiness to be gained from the tedious rituals at home and slowly but surely an irritable discontentment started to creep into crevices of his character. Where once he could laugh, joke and enjoy the simple things in life Travis now found he was incapable of taking pleasure in anything at all between the walls of his home. His feeling for Margaret had evaporated, what was left was nothing more than tolerating her presence with unspoken words of contempt. And so it came to be that he realised after 24 years and 127 days in a bad marriage things had to change. That decision was made in the car on his way back from work as he watched the River Wye glistening in the sun around 17:30, August 2009.
Only 3 hours later he found himself driving his car along the same stretch of road in opposite direction, with in the boot two suitcases containing his complete wardrobe and on the rear seats his fishing tackle. Despite his concerns of having no place to go Travis felt relieved, it was as if the air itself contained more oxygen. To his surprise he found himself whistling a tune from a distant memory and for the first time since a very, very, very long time he felt something positive take hold of him. It wasn’t going to be easy but there was every indication life was going to be a darned sight better than it had been.
Around the time it got dark he checked into the Bellamy Hotel in Ross on Wye not too far from where he worked, had a few ham sandwiches for supper and went up to his room where he fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.
A few days later he rented an apartment in the city of…….. filed for divorce and started to put together a new life. With every purchase he made, whether it was the table lamp, the leather settee or the clock he’d bought from a local antique store, he constructed a place he could call a home. His home. Instead of buying a television he invested in a radio and a top of the range hi-fi system. He’d even taken the trouble to visit the Monsoon Gallery on Station Road where he bought an original oil painting depicting a scene by the river rather than settling for cheap print you’d have found in his former home. There was nothing in the house that reminded him of his marriage.
Everything was very different now. Everything but one habit. Travis would get up early on a Sunday morning, put his fishing gear in the car and drive to his favourite spot on the River Wye. Rain or shine, freezing cold or blisteringly hot, on a Sunday he’d be there, sat between the reeds. Catching fish wasn’t important; it was the serenity of the place that drew him. The noise of the water as it lapped over the muddy bank just by his feet, the cool breeze sweeping through what was left of his grey hair and the rustling of the leaves from trees behind him. It was his piece of land, 4 square meters of soggy soil where he could sit on his canvas chair with a broad view of the countryside stretching out to the horizon where, on this particular day, heavy clouds gathered, casting dark shadows on the distant golden cornfields.
‘Morning’, the voice startled Travis.
Travis turned around and found an old man stood just behind him wearing expensive outdoor clothing, wellington boots and smoking a pipe.
‘It doesn’t look good out there’, the chap pointed his pipe at the clouds in the distance.
‘Ehhhhh, no’, Travis said.
‘Fish biting today?’ The man inquired.
‘Not really’, Travis answered friendlier now that the initial shock of unexpected intrusion had passed. In all the years he’d sat there nobody had ever addressed him. On the odd occasion he’d seen people further away but never had they come this far. ‘There are good days and there are bad days.’
‘I know’, the voice was friendly enough. ‘I used to frequent this spot many years ago. Must be more than 20 years ago now. I haven’t been back since but thought I’d venture out this morning and have a look.’
Travis quickly calculated that he’d been coming there about the same number of years.
‘You used to fish here?’ Travis asked as a pinch of jealousy dissolved in his belly.
‘In a way’, the old man grinned whilst emitting some smoke from between his lips. ‘I guess it was therapy more than anything else. This part of the river, and in particular this spot attracts people who need some guidance. I believe I spent more than 10 years here getting to terms with the way my life was paved.’
Travis turned and looked away, focusing on the kaleidoscopic effect of reflected sunlight on the surface of the water somewhere in the middle of the river.
‘Ah, I see’, the stranger took a step forward and stood beside him now, his boots squelching in the muddy clay. ‘You’ve been coming here for quite some time as well. Please let me introduce myself’.
He stretched his arm out toward Travis.
Travis awkwardly accepted the gesture.
‘Allan Berthold’, he clenched his pipe between his teeth as he spoke.
‘Travis Perkins’.
‘How long have you been coming here?’ Allan asked.
‘About 20 years’, Travis admitted as he turned his attention to the clouds which were rapidly coming closer.
‘You must be my successor then’, there was a hint of relief in his voice. ‘It’s good to see you have been taking care of this place. Nothing much has changed although I do not see it with the same eyes as I used to.’ He paused for a moment. ’20 years is a long time’, he added.
‘Indeed it is’, Travis agreed. ‘When I first came here I needed to get away from my everyday life. I kind of got stuck in a marriage that did not work and needed some breathing space. Thankfully those days are over; I come here for different reasons now’.
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes’, Travis answer was short.
Allan sucked at his pipe and remained silent. Both men stared blankly at the water.
‘I divorced my wife some time ago’, Travis picked up their conversation again. ‘Got myself a nice little place in town where I am very happy. How about you?’
‘Oh I am married’, Allan answered. ‘I was fortunate enough to find a good woman. We live out in the sticks, nice bungalow in the middle of nowhere on the Breacon Beacons. I retired and bought the place for us to spend time away from the hectic life we used to lead.’
‘Then what brought you here back then?’
‘Our son died, committed suicide in fact’, Allan spoke without a trace of grief. ‘It all happened a long time ago but at the time I could not get to grips with the situation. In that respect we have been very unfortunate. We were the proud parents of a beautiful child that was born without the ability to be happy. God knows, we tried the best we could, visited psychologists, spent fortunes on alternative treatments but all to no avail. It just so happens that he missed something, something that would make him smile, laugh and have fun. One early morning, he was 16 at the time, he decided he’d had enough. I do not blame him for his decision, his life was wretchedly difficult and in his position I’d probably done the same but finding your son hanging from your front porch is a traumatic experience beyond belief. It took years before I lost feeling the weight of his body in my arms as I tried to hold him up in a futile attempt to avert the inevitable. He was probably dead already anyway. It took even longer for the smell of his urine to leave my nostrils. But in the end they both disappeared thanks to this place.’
‘Jesus’, Travis was visibly shaken. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
‘Don’t be’, Allan said. ‘I have learned to cope and am at peace with it now. I used to sit here, just like you and stare into the water until the reflections formed his face. Then we’d talk for hours. Just silly things really, nothing of great importance. To begin with his apparition was quite faint yet in time the vision became clearer and then one day, I can remember it well, his face seemed to float on the water. I told him so and then he smiled, not just any smile, but a broad smile. Since then I haven’t been back. I knew he was just fine where he was. And that is how I remember him, my boy with a smile on his face. Something he never achieved when he was alive.’
Travis remained silent. The first drops of rain fell from the thick dark clouds overhead but neither of them took any notice.
‘Do you see him now?’ Travis asked the question before he’d really thought about it.
‘No’, Allan said without even glancing at the river. He looked up at the sky. ‘I don’t want to. My memory of him is perfect at is. What do you see in the water?’
‘Nothing’, Travis admitted as he reached for the umbrella beside him. ‘Nothing at all’.
Allan helped him put the umbrella anchor into the ground and soon both men stood sheltered in a steady downpour of heavy rain.
‘You’ve never seen anything in these waters then?’ Allan asked again.
‘Honest to God I haven’t’, Travis offered Allan a cup of hot coffee from his thermos flask which was gratefully accepted. ‘To be fair I have never really tried’.
‘Oh’, Allan sipped at his drink. ‘I suppose different people need different signals to bring them forward.’
‘I don’t think I need it’, Travis watched the rain disrupting the surface of the water. I have buried my demons already.’
A flash of lightning tore through the dark sky, momentarily lighting up the landscape that surrounded the two men. A deep rolling thunder followed and echoed away over the hills.
‘Then maybe you should not return after today’, Allan said thoughtfully. ‘These places are very rare and there are many others who desperately need to find some comfort here.’
Travis felt anger rise within him. He wondered how this old man dared even suggest such a thing. It was his patch, his stake in happiness that he had found. Just as he wanted to argue his point Allan interrupted him.
‘Time to move on’, was all he said as he returned the empty cup. ‘Thanks for the coffee and nice meeting you Travis.’ Allan stepped from under the umbrella into the pouring rain and left, hands tucked deep into his pockets.
Travis waited until the skies cleared and then for the rest of the day he stared into the waters of the river. When the light started to recede he packed away his fishing tackle and drove back to his apartment.
‘So what if I don’t have any children’, he muttered to himself and decided there and then he would never return. Instead he would ask Jennifer Townsend to join him for dinner that evening. He’d never had the balls but this time he would.
‘
