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Nel and The Bible Salesman
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Nel and The Bible Salesman |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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(this is a segmant from a larger work) Nel and The Bible Salesman Looking through a window from of her childhood house was where she had first seen Patrick. She was living in Georgia in that same house with her mother. It was a summer day, so hot and humid that all the windows in the house were open and the fans were going. She had been standing in front of the window fan looking out and letting the air blow against her face. She had an ice cube in her hand that she was rubbing up and down her arms and around her neck. She closed her eyes and she remembered just what she was thinking about. She was thinking how much she wanted a man to run his finger up her arm like this ice cube, making goose bumps, then there was a knock on the door and she jumped, feeling somehow guilty for her thoughts. She could see the front porch from where she stood. A man stood there. He was tall, with short sandy colored hair and lots of freckles. He was looking at her and grinning. She went to the door and opened it. He was selling Bibles. She hadn’t really paid much attention to what he was saying, she just watched his face, the way his lips moved, the straight line of his teeth, the crease that appeared by his eyes when he smiled. She wondered if this was fate. She had been wishing for a man and this one had appeared. He told her he was going to college and was selling Bibles door to door to support himself and to help his family. He told her about his three younger sisters and one brother and how his mom was sick and his dad was having trouble making ends meet. She bought a Bible of course, although, she didn’t have much money herself and was trying to get through beauty school and help her mom with a part time job at the local department store. She bought a Bible, even though she already had one. How could she not buy a Bible from this man. It would be almost sacrilegious. The truth was, she would have bought anything from him. She had never been tongue tied. Usually, words flowed from her like music from an early morning song bird. She wanted to say something to make him stay longer. As she went to get her money she tried to think how. She could offer to cut his hair, she thought then realized how stupid that would be. Then she looked down at her hand where the ice cube had almost disappeared. Ice tea, she thought. "Would you like a cold glass of ice tea?" she asked. "You must be awfully hot." He had stayed drinking ice tea with her on the porch for more then two hours as shadows fell on the day and the afternoon breeze curled the pages of the Bible that lay on the table between them. That had been the beginning of togetherness for Nel and Patrick until he was drafted. They had been walking hand in hand through the park when he told her. She hadn’t thought that there could be a force that could take the enchantment from her heart and turn it to dread. She had tried to pretend that everything would be fine, that he would be fine and would return to marry her as he had promised. They exchanged long and passionate love letters. He told her of his suffering. Killing was not in him and he was sick inside constantly from the fear of it. He told how he had seen his friend walk into a land mine and disappear and how, after that, he kept to himself, afraid that friendship would breed more pain. Then one week she hadn’t heard from him as usual. At first she tried to believe that the mail had been delayed, then she knew the truth and her world collapsed. First she screamed and sobbed, then she spent days in bed in a kind of protective lethargy. She lost weight and couldn’t eat without throwing up. She couldn’t talk. Words seemed so pointless and she was so angry at the kindness Rose showed her. She tore up the notes and cards that friends sent. She couldn’t stop the pictures in her mind. She dreamed Patrick’s last moments in Technicolor. She would be there in the trenches with him watching in the quiet of the morning. She could even hear a bird close by. She heard Patrick’s loud breathing and frantic heart beat next to her. She tried to tell him to be still, that they would be able to hear him, then he was running towards the top of a hill and she knew, that was where death was. She tried to call to him but had no voice, tried to run after him but had no legs, then the hill exploded and blood fell around her like red rain. So many days then months and finally years had passed before she could leave Patrick behind in the jungles of Vietnam. It had taken her a long time to laugh without feeling guilty or to take pleasure in the beauty around her. Even her own breathing seemed a betrayal. Nel stayed in Georgia for a while, renting a space in a local beauty shop. But, it wasn’t until she moved to California that she truly began to heal. She had saved a little money and her mother helped her with the rest of a down payment on a beauty shop of her own. Nel liked to talk, but she was also a good listener. She listened to the women that sat in her chair looking for a new beautiful self in the mirror in front of them. They told her about how bad or how good their kids were and about how bad or good their husbands were. Nel felt like she was the keeper of many secrets for she believed that gossip was evil. The things that were told to her remained with her. Nel’s life was lived in this vicarious way, through the lives of others. She didn’t have a car and she lived close enough to walk to work and to the market. She felt safe in her little world where everyone loved her. It was only on some nights, when the window was open perhaps, and owls hoot-hooting to each other across backyards from neighboring trees, that loneliness hit her hard and she wished... |
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| © Copyright 2000 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
Wow. This is a great piece Martie. The only suggestion I have is in the beginning of your story. The short sentinces give the entire flow a choppiness. It is an uncomfortable read until they are sitting on the porch. If you would like me to give some ideas on how to smooth it please e-mail me.  |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Good! Liking it, and find it interesting living through another's life! Perhaps that's what I should try, baing so bored half the time anyway...LOL |
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merlynh Member
since 1999-09-26
Posts 411deer park, wa |
I read all of this because it seemed worth my time to do so. Keep it up. |
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