A tangled heap of different fishing lines mixed with twine and frayed bits of rope is a more accurate metaphor for human existence. One may spend hours unraveling a single line only to find it knotted with another, which is then tied up in itself as well as in other bits that may not even belong there.
One quiet Saturday in Titahi Bay, the doorbell rang. When Jamie answered he saw two men in beige trench coats. The one closest to the door was older, Caucasian, and wore a calm expression on his face. The man behind him was Asian--perhaps Korean, Jamie thought, trying to be more specific--and held his hands behind his back. First, Jamie thought they were detectives (he had rung the police the day before about a break-in to his garage), for that reason he opened the door. Before the door was fully ajar he noticed the man in front held a brightly coloured pamphlet, the word "Watchtower" printed in bold, yellow letters across the top. At that moment, he wished he hadn't left the couch.
Dammit, Jamie thought, clenching his teeth. "Jehovah's witnesses." And like all conflict situations, a fight or flight response was triggered--it was flight. Jamie figured he had time to slam the door and hide before they got a word in. But it was too late--there had been eye contact. It would be rude to close the door now, he thought. And Jamie was nothing if not polite.
"Good morning," spoke the man in front, a broad grin stretching his face and pushing wrinkles that went all the way to his ears.
"Afternoon." Jamie corrected.
"We've come to tell you the Good News," said the Korean.
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"That Jesus is risen, and he died for your sins," replied the man in front.
"Oh. I thought you were going to say you really were detectives," Jamie mumbled.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing."
The men began their speech. It was one Chris practiced regularly, and he thought about why he joined the Church each time he recited it.
Having Korean parents who immigrated to New Zealand when he was still in the womb, Chris found blending in difficult. Although he grew up going to Kiwi schools and spoke with a thick Northland accent, his appearance always marked him as a foreigner. No amount of rugby or yardies could change that. Further, his mother and father never tried to integrate into the New Zealand culture, rather they kept a distinctly "Korean" home. When he met Lachlan, Chris was struggling with his identity. After a few meetings, Chris found that, among the Jehovah's Witnesses, he didn't need to be Kiwi or Korean; he could just be Chris. The overwhelming sense of acceptance was something he felt he needed to share with the rest of the world. And every once in awhile, somebody listened.
"I don't want to hear this," Jamie interrupted. "I grew up Catholic." The men at the door smiled and nodded. The sky started clearing, and the sun shone on Titahi Bay. Chris and Lachlan, still in their trench coats, began to cook.
"Are you still a Catholic? Many Catholics have joined our Church," Lachlan said, small beads of sweat appeared on the surface of his nose, but he hesitated to wipe them away. Never look nervous, his mentor had always told him.
"No. No, I'm not still a Catholic." Jamie answered with a smirk. "I'm an atheist."
At this, Lachlan twitched suddenly and let out a raucous fart. Chris pretended not to notice, hoping their audience wouldn't pay any attention. Lachlan, on the other hand, was so distracted that he didn't even realise what he'd done. He was gearing up for what was likely to be a lengthy debate. Atheists, he'd come to learn, almost always debate. "Shameless, smarmy heathen," he thought, all the time managing to retain a smile. "This young man has set down a challenge," thought Lachlan. "It's up to me to make the first move."
1 comment:
ewww... I usually just mutter some suitably illogical, "Sorry, I don't need to buy anything" and close the door before they explain they're selling the Good News. What gets me, is how they KNOW when I'm looking my most ridiculous, and stop by then. I was trying to make a new "look" work by layering some tops that not only do NOT layer well, but I got my arms stuck. And then they rang. But I was right in front of the door (that's where the mirror is!) and they knew I was there, so I had to open. So I'm standing there, my arms stuck at weird angles with ridiculous tops on, speaking very bad French with other young adults who were also obviously anglophone (these were actually Mormons, who have to do 2 years abroad or somesuch). That was definitely my worst doorbell religion experience. I can't wait (but I'm nervous all the same) to see how yours turned out.
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