Storyteller
This has nothing to do with the cds for sale. Just a continuing bit to get a taste of the style.
The blast of cold air was a shock. The three old men sitting by the small kerosene stove looked up at the short skinny blonde. On first glance she looked childishly young, it seemed almost criminal that she was followed in by a man twice her age at least. It wouldn't have seemed all that unusual except she took money from him to pay for the gas. She smiled a smile that let everyone in the room know what the relationship was all about.
The old man looked over to the small gathering around the oil stove. "My God I am getting old. I can remember when that would have been a wood stoves." All the old men laughed.
"Ain't nobody who remembers them stoves young enough to cut the wood." one of the old timers said.
"Ain't that just the damn truth," the stranger replied. "I can remember the time when men our age could actually do work. That was before anybody knowed about heart disease and stuff. If you could make it to the store, you was fit enough to chop wood."
"You're right those old men were hard as an oak knot." The man in dirty overalls said.
The old man moved to sit by the stove. He winked at his young companion then began, "Yep, one time an old man was sitting by a wood stove in a country store back home, when some young punk came in. The punk kid was talking about workin on a church about a mile down the road. Said, just wasn't no damn good men left in the world."
'What you mean?' one of the old mean asked.
'Oh we got us plans for a big old round window in this church. Every time the mason tries to lay the brick the old preach makes him take them down. 'This here window has got to be perfect. You knowed that when you took the job. This here window is the focal point of the whole church.' So we took that window down and rebuilt it ten times. The old preacher done told the crew's overseer that one more time and he's gonna send us all home.'
The old stranger motioned to the coffee pot on the kerosene stove. The old men who listened carefully nodded their approval. The storyteller filled a plastic cup with the strong black liquid, then he continued.
"Martin," one of the old men said to the other. "You laid some bricks as I recall."
"Yep but that was twenty years ago, afore I bought the farm."
"Bet you could lay that big round window for them boys."
"I spect so, but hell they don't want no old man up there. They wants one of them damn good men he's talkin' about."
"Old man, I tell you right now the overseer would make a deal with the devil to get that window in, but I don't think you know how tough this preacher is."
"Go on down there Martin and help these boys out."
"John, you done got my curiosity up. I really want to know how hard this window is."
(check out our next week adv one of them will have the continuation)
The storyteller continued from last week.
The old man named Martin walked from the store With the others following behind. They each went to almost identically rusted Ford pickup trucks. The ages varied as did the color of the remaining paint. Their uniformity lay in the rust and the smoke from the tailpipes.
While the storyteller spoke, the young woman began to look about the store aimlessly. She had seen him weave his magic dozens of times. He would begin for no reason at all, some scene would set him off and he would begin. Grown men were lost in the stories forgetting everything. Most often forgetting even the beautiful young woman waiting for the storyteller. While he kept them in awe, she would shoplift. She had no purpose other than to collect things. Her theft had no rhyme or rhythm at all. She just took whatever appealed to her at the moment.
'When the three old men arrived at the job site, they were surprised by the enormity of the hole which had been left for the window. The kid rushed to the overseer who was obviously not impressed. Still he was desperate.
"So Old man, what do you want to fix my window."
"First of all why is it so important that every brick be perfect?"
A youngish man in a sweater and khaki slacks said, "We have a stained glass window from a cathedral that burned. The window is round and it was a miracle that it survived. It can not be placed in anything that is less than perfect." He looked skeptically at Martin. Martin just nodded.
Martin looked at the plans for some time, then at the hole left in the wall. No one had ever seen a mason do what he did next. Martin stood on the ground as he counted the bricks. When he had figured the number of missing bricks in his head, Martin knelt down and he prayed. Nobody ever knew what he was praying for, but he prayed quietly. The whole job site stopped. Even in the back of the building where they could not see the old man on his knees. Somehow they knew because they also stopped their work.
When Martin rose from his knees, she smiled at the skeptical pastor who suddenly smiled back. The pastor, who had been pacing about, took a seat on a sawhorse to watch.
Check next weeks advertisements for the conclusion
Continued from last week.
Martin struggled onto the platform. His arthritic joints suddenly seemed to stop bothering him. He could work through the pain, or maybe there was no pain. No one knew what had happened, but Martin moved like a man of twenty five.
He began by carrying his own mortar onto the scaffold. He squinted then began laying bricks. "Now I wasn't there myself but my daddy was. He said Martin chipped those bricks with that old brick hammer and they just fell into place. Not a single ragged end anywhere. They have saws now to do that but in those days it was a deft hand on a brick hammer. No man ever broke, chipped and laid bricks any better. At least that is what my daddy said. When the window frame was finished the preacher looked at it from the ground. The only man on that scaffold was Martin.
"You done the best job any man has ever done on that window, but there is one brick that stick out a bit." The preacher wasn't angry he was actually curious.
"That is true, and it will remain just like that. That brick is like that to remind me and everyone else who sees it that only god is perfect." Everyone held their breath until the preacher nodded.
"It is a wise man who understands that he is not perfect," the pastor said.
"And a wise man who knows god does not expect us to be."
"So everybody was happy." The storyteller stood to leave.
"Wait a minute stranger, did he leave the brick crooked on purpose or did he shine the Reverend on?"
"How the hell would I know, I wasn't there."
"So Betts, you ready?"
"I am Deacon." With that she walked to the counter, then poured her shoplifted bounty onto it. "Since you were so involved in the Deacon's tale, you really should carry our line of Cds." She immediately removed the bundle of CDs from her large pocket book. "You can't deny that he is spellbinding."
Everyone laughed as the owner opened the register to hand her a twenty dollar bill for the four packs of CDs.
This has nothing to do with the cds for sale. Just a continuing bit to get a taste of the style.
The blast of cold air was a shock. The three old men sitting by the small kerosene stove looked up at the short skinny blonde. On first glance she looked childishly young, it seemed almost criminal that she was followed in by a man twice her age at least. It wouldn't have seemed all that unusual except she took money from him to pay for the gas. She smiled a smile that let everyone in the room know what the relationship was all about.
The old man looked over to the small gathering around the oil stove. "My God I am getting old. I can remember when that would have been a wood stoves." All the old men laughed.
"Ain't nobody who remembers them stoves young enough to cut the wood." one of the old timers said.
"Ain't that just the damn truth," the stranger replied. "I can remember the time when men our age could actually do work. That was before anybody knowed about heart disease and stuff. If you could make it to the store, you was fit enough to chop wood."
"You're right those old men were hard as an oak knot." The man in dirty overalls said.
The old man moved to sit by the stove. He winked at his young companion then began, "Yep, one time an old man was sitting by a wood stove in a country store back home, when some young punk came in. The punk kid was talking about workin on a church about a mile down the road. Said, just wasn't no damn good men left in the world."
'What you mean?' one of the old mean asked.
'Oh we got us plans for a big old round window in this church. Every time the mason tries to lay the brick the old preach makes him take them down. 'This here window has got to be perfect. You knowed that when you took the job. This here window is the focal point of the whole church.' So we took that window down and rebuilt it ten times. The old preacher done told the crew's overseer that one more time and he's gonna send us all home.'
The old stranger motioned to the coffee pot on the kerosene stove. The old men who listened carefully nodded their approval. The storyteller filled a plastic cup with the strong black liquid, then he continued.
"Martin," one of the old men said to the other. "You laid some bricks as I recall."
"Yep but that was twenty years ago, afore I bought the farm."
"Bet you could lay that big round window for them boys."
"I spect so, but hell they don't want no old man up there. They wants one of them damn good men he's talkin' about."
"Old man, I tell you right now the overseer would make a deal with the devil to get that window in, but I don't think you know how tough this preacher is."
"Go on down there Martin and help these boys out."
"John, you done got my curiosity up. I really want to know how hard this window is."
(check out our next week adv one of them will have the continuation)
The storyteller continued from last week.
The old man named Martin walked from the store With the others following behind. They each went to almost identically rusted Ford pickup trucks. The ages varied as did the color of the remaining paint. Their uniformity lay in the rust and the smoke from the tailpipes.
While the storyteller spoke, the young woman began to look about the store aimlessly. She had seen him weave his magic dozens of times. He would begin for no reason at all, some scene would set him off and he would begin. Grown men were lost in the stories forgetting everything. Most often forgetting even the beautiful young woman waiting for the storyteller. While he kept them in awe, she would shoplift. She had no purpose other than to collect things. Her theft had no rhyme or rhythm at all. She just took whatever appealed to her at the moment.
'When the three old men arrived at the job site, they were surprised by the enormity of the hole which had been left for the window. The kid rushed to the overseer who was obviously not impressed. Still he was desperate.
"So Old man, what do you want to fix my window."
"First of all why is it so important that every brick be perfect?"
A youngish man in a sweater and khaki slacks said, "We have a stained glass window from a cathedral that burned. The window is round and it was a miracle that it survived. It can not be placed in anything that is less than perfect." He looked skeptically at Martin. Martin just nodded.
Martin looked at the plans for some time, then at the hole left in the wall. No one had ever seen a mason do what he did next. Martin stood on the ground as he counted the bricks. When he had figured the number of missing bricks in his head, Martin knelt down and he prayed. Nobody ever knew what he was praying for, but he prayed quietly. The whole job site stopped. Even in the back of the building where they could not see the old man on his knees. Somehow they knew because they also stopped their work.
When Martin rose from his knees, she smiled at the skeptical pastor who suddenly smiled back. The pastor, who had been pacing about, took a seat on a sawhorse to watch.
Check next weeks advertisements for the conclusion
Continued from last week.
Martin struggled onto the platform. His arthritic joints suddenly seemed to stop bothering him. He could work through the pain, or maybe there was no pain. No one knew what had happened, but Martin moved like a man of twenty five.
He began by carrying his own mortar onto the scaffold. He squinted then began laying bricks. "Now I wasn't there myself but my daddy was. He said Martin chipped those bricks with that old brick hammer and they just fell into place. Not a single ragged end anywhere. They have saws now to do that but in those days it was a deft hand on a brick hammer. No man ever broke, chipped and laid bricks any better. At least that is what my daddy said. When the window frame was finished the preacher looked at it from the ground. The only man on that scaffold was Martin.
"You done the best job any man has ever done on that window, but there is one brick that stick out a bit." The preacher wasn't angry he was actually curious.
"That is true, and it will remain just like that. That brick is like that to remind me and everyone else who sees it that only god is perfect." Everyone held their breath until the preacher nodded.
"It is a wise man who understands that he is not perfect," the pastor said.
"And a wise man who knows god does not expect us to be."
"So everybody was happy." The storyteller stood to leave.
"Wait a minute stranger, did he leave the brick crooked on purpose or did he shine the Reverend on?"
"How the hell would I know, I wasn't there."
"So Betts, you ready?"
"I am Deacon." With that she walked to the counter, then poured her shoplifted bounty onto it. "Since you were so involved in the Deacon's tale, you really should carry our line of Cds." She immediately removed the bundle of CDs from her large pocket book. "You can't deny that he is spellbinding."
Everyone laughed as the owner opened the register to hand her a twenty dollar bill for the four packs of CDs.
