Page 23 - The Myth and the Moment
P. 23
Morning
“Well, young man, I do believe that God would be extremely
pleased to witness you performing a simple act of Christian charity.
How about asking your father to loan me his tire iron for a couple of
minutes?”
Thinking it over. Salvation versus damnation, the eternal dilemma.
If he brings it and God didn’t really want him to, and I’m really the
Devil and steal his father’s wrench, well, then, he’s had it. But what if
I am J.C. himself in disguise as a crotchety old man, pleading for
mercy? Ah, then he’s missed his big chance, and splash!—into the pit,
into the boiling cauldron reserved for bad children who turn away
blind beggars from their door. He’s going through the index cards in
his head, searching for a scriptural simile. He frowns. He smiles.
“No.”
“Eh? Why not?”
“My father’s not here. He’s still in church. But he’ll be back any
minute and your truck is in his way. He has to park in the driveway
because our garage is rented out. God helps the police a lot, too,
mister. He can send them out any time to give you a ticket. I’ll go
pray.”
For me or for the L.A.P.D.? And off he goes, avoiding the hard
questions of life, dishing out the hard answers of death. Did I think I
had the world figured out at his age? Yeah, but I had it wrong. So I
changed my mind a few times until I caught myself doing it; then I
learned, all right. That kid won’t change, and he won’t learn. No
cataclysm can shake his catechism. Whatever happens will just be
reinterpreted as preordained, a page in the script he simply has to
read a little closer. Me? I’ve read enough. Back to work.
“Ahhh.”
Guess I’ll live. What’s another stiff back the morning after, eh?
Maybe try working it back tighter first to get it moving.
“Urghh!”
There we go! Last one; leave it on but loose. Now get the jack
under the axle. No angle to do this from but on my belly. Can this
shirt be saved? Oh, Lord, send down your host—or is it hostess?—of
holy rollers and wringers guided by the angelic laundress of small-
screen fame, to take this soiled raiment and sanctify, purify, and
bleach it to pure whiteness again! Okay, Nate, now you’re cookin’.
Up we go, old truck! Did I leave it in gear with the emergency brake
22