EXCERPT A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
The following story actually happened, unfortunately.
My father bought a barn for a measly 800 dollars; he bought it from the
provincial government, whom acquired it (very cheap) in a forced sale, as they
intended to put a road through the former owner’s land. When my father won the
bid, they hadn’t bothered to mention (until he handed over the check) that they
expected the barn removed from the provincial land by a certain date, (about a
month and a half away) or they’d simply flatten his new barn with their
steamrollers and then charge him the cost of removing the debris. Yes, this is
apparently legal, it’s a provincial bylaw. They also hadn’t mentioned that due
to a confluence of factors, (tiny dirt road [yep, same one they meant to
improve], overhanging power lines and train tracks) that there was no cost
effective way for the barn to be removed, intact, from the land. In fact the
only way my father could possibly move it at all, was to take careful notes and
measurements, then take it apart piece by piece, move it in truckloads, and
rebuild it.
I wasn’t working at the time, so he asked me to help him. Of course he
also forgot to mention a few things; such as, there was no convenient source of
electricity to the barn; meaning we were going to do the job with hand tools,
nothing powered. Despite this, eventually we got started anyway, yes doing it
the hard way; we were out in the middle of nowhere. From the hayloft of my dad’s
new barn, I could see the following: perhaps twenty feet away, the house and a
shack that the province had also sold to the highest bidder, a few trees, the
tiny dirt road, and as far as the eye could see, rolling fields of honey gold
wheat glinting like pirate-treasure in the strong summer sun, (it’s called
artistic license, but I’ll try to refrain). There was absolutely nothing else
out there (sure there were farmsteads within a few miles, just as isolated as
the one the province had disbanded with their forced sale so motorists could get
to Alberta faster) as I said, I could see absolutely nothing else of interest,
we might as well be alone out there. In all the time we worked on that barn, we
had basically three encounters, one with a provincial employee (who used a
machine to finish in ten minutes a piece of the job we’d spent three days at);
one with the former owner who wanted her weather vane and; the encounter I’m
slowly working my way around to telling you about.
On the first day, we looked the barn over, talking about how hard it
would be, what exactly needed to be done, etcetera. On the second day we
finished looking the place over and taking apart things like light fixtures, and
taking careful measurements. On the third day, we spent all day rigging up
ladders and nailing benches (poor man’s scaffolding) to the barn, so my father
(I don’t do heights) could start taking off the shingles. On the fourth day, he
took off shingles and I stacked them. On the fifth day he took down shingles and
I stacked them. On the sixth day, he took down shingles and I began loading
stacks into the half-ton for transport, since we figured we could move them all
in one load. By this time he was working from the inside of the barn as much as
the outside, (as he went he was also pulling off and laying aside {tossing down
to me} the 2X4’s layered beneath the shingles which left the hayloft open to the
sky).
On the seventh day, we didn’t rest; the morning began the same as the
others normally enough. We went for breakfast, got coffee and stuff to make
sandwiches for lunch, and were out there (a two hour drive) by ten. Perhaps an
uneventful hour passed (at this point we had yet to see any sign of life around
the place, not counting birds and insects; of the last there were plenty {should
be a provincial bylaw against mosquitoes}).
My father was inside, out of sight, cobbling together a thing (no idea
what to call it) he could hammer to the ribs of the barn so he could perch and
reach the last few shingles and 2X4’s. Standing in the shade cast by the still
massive but slowly dwindling barn (it was about 30 degrees) I grabbed up the
litre jug of chocolate milk we were using to keep our energy up; finally
noticing a sound I had allowed to wash over me while it grew steadily closer. It
was a car engine, a normal enough noise, except that we hadn’t seen anyone in
the area for about a week (this was the first of those encounters I mentioned).
I opened the jug of chocolate milk, and waited. A moment passed, and then
a little white car came into view, driving down the dirt road. It came to the
gravel driveway, and I guess they didn’t know the house was unoccupied. The car
turned in, drove up to the house, and then seeing me, drove further.
Transferring easily from the gravel drive to the wide dirt road leading from
what the former owners of the property probably considered their ‘lawn’ as
opposed to what was clearly meant as pasture surrounding the barn (as I said the
barn was only twenty feet or so from the house on the edge of a few acres of
pasture). I drank some milk as the car pulled to a stop, its engine died and
four little old ladies got out. I was hot and thirsty, three of the little old
ladies hung back, I took another sip as the 4th bolder and younger at around
sixty, approached me with a warm grandmotherly smile.
“Hello.” She said, in a grandmotherly tone. “Have you given yourself over
to the lord Jesus Christ in all his humble glory?”
I literally sprayed chocolate milk all over my shirtfront, wiping my
mouth I hastily capped the jug and set it on the tailgate of the truck; trying
to think up a response. “Uhhh, um.” (I know, clever).
It was eleven AM, on a Tuesday, four little old ladies who looked like
somebody’s grandmother, the youngest perhaps sixty the eldest looking about
eighty, had just appeared from nowhere, in the middle of thousands of acres of
farmland. In retrospect it probably shouldn’t be a surprise, I’m sure there’s
lots of Jehovah’s Witnesses (I found out that’s who they were) out there. She
was watching me with a beatific smile, waiting; the other three appeared to be
relaxing, leaning against the car. My father doesn’t like religious discussion,
he had stopped hammering, he couldn’t be seen from where we were outside; I knew
he was listening though, he’d stay quiet.
“Uh, well.” I temporized in a stroke of genius (yes well it’s my story
and if you don’t like my poetic license {or my humor} stop reading).
She was waiting. “I’ve been working very hard for the last week, I’m very
tired and I’m still working on my first cup of coffee of the day.” (It was
keeping warm in the sun there on the hood of the truck, the only danger was my
thick plastic cup melting in the heat. “I’m really not up for a religious
discussion.”
It could have been my imagination, but did her smile widen, a predator
sensing weakness? “Of course,” She oozed sincerity, yet at the same time it was
obvious she didn’t believe me, “I understand. Perhaps you’ll be a little more
awake in an hour or two?”
“Um, we have to get this barn down in under a month, it’s going to take a
lot of work; I really don’t have time for lengthy discussion.” (Okay, I perhaps
wasn’t that smooth, but this is how I remember it, I certainly said something
along those lines).
She nodded sympathetically, sounding skeptical; “I see, is there anyone
else here I can talk to? It’s really important you know, the state of the soul.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re both very busy, we really can’t talk right now.”
She nodded, “Oh, of course dear, don’t let me get in your way. Maybe I
can talk to someone over at the house?” Her hand fluttered to indicate the empty
domicile behind her. She looked like a raptor waiting for the proper moment to
strike. She knew I didn’t want to discuss religion with a nut who drove up from
nowhere and she knew I knew she knew it too. She didn’t care; she was here to
save somebody’s soul, anybody’s. I just happened to be the guy standing
there.
I shook my head, “The house is empty, this is government land you know.
They bought everything from the previous owners, we’re just here to take the
barn down.”
“Oh, it’s government?” Her eyes seemed to glitter.
Helplessly, I nodded. She nodded back, “The provincial government I
guess?”
I nodded again, “Yes that’s right.”
“Why did they buy it?”
“They want to put a highway through here.”
She nodded again, “Tell me, are you a good Christen?”
I hesitated, but nothing could be lost by the truth; visions of 15th
century forced baptisms followed by burning at the stake for heresy ran through
my mind (okay, so I read a lot). “I’m Jewish actually.”
I braced in case she pulled out a phial of holy water and began chanting
a blessing in Latin while the other three rushed me (okay I didn’t, but again
artistic license).
All she said was “Ah.” As if she was Freud and I’d just told her I
‘relieve’ myself with pictures of female family members while thinking furiously
about hacking apart older male relatives… and chewing gum (that’s called oral
fixation).
I was desperate, “Look, I really do have to get back to work.”
“Of course dear,” Unspoken, between the lines I heard, just as soon as I
add another soul to my score card; or perhaps it was my imagination, and she was
nothing more than a good humble Christen woman who wanted nothing more than to
do good works, with no thought of herself. “Just one more thing. Do you think
the government would mind, if we sat over there” she gestured vaguely at the
acres of empty pasturage due to be steamrolled over in a few months, “and had
lunch? We’ve been driving ever so (Yes, I’m sure I heard her say ever so) long,
doing the Lord’s work you know. And it’s so hot, we’d love to just sit in the
open with whatever cooling breeze the lord chooses to provide (I repeat, this
happened; although I’ll admit this might not be exactly word for word, it is
close) and ate our lunch under this bright clean sky.”
“Um.” What could I say? “I don’t think anyone will mind, I haven’t even
seen a government person out here. And I doubt they’d mind anyway.”
She nodded humbly, “Thank you. Do you mind if we prey, (nope didn’t
misspell that) we’ll do it quietly?”
I backed away, casting a glance at the barn, where no work was being done
as my father listened and let me deal with the Jehovah’s Witness. “Uh, it won’t
bother me.”
“Okay, thank you.”
She turned to go back to her, sisters? Friends? Siblings? I don’t know, I
never found out. In any case I quickly went inside the barn, my father and I
quietly returned to our work, which was arduous slightly dangerous and certainly
consuming. We worked quietly but steadily, speaking only as necessary. When noon
came by unspoken decision we put off our lunch, continuing to work, being very
careful of the ladies. For their part they stayed well out of our way (we were
tossing the last of the 2X4’s to the ground as we prised them off with
crowbars).
They spread out a frilly white cloth on the ground, and the quartet sat
perhaps thirty feet away from the barn, out in the pasture which had foot high
grass, no longer being kept down by horses. They ate their lunch, chatting
quietly with each other relaxing and I guess doing whatever it is they felt like
doing. My father and I didn’t pay much attention except to note they were still
there and they didn’t seem to be paying attention to us. Finally, not wanting to
go downstairs yet despite our deadline; and without discussing it with each
other, we were reduced to taking out small nails in the roof beams with hammers.
Things we would have ignored normally, carefully taking out little staples,
sweeping off the floor, etc. Finally the women gathered up the remains of their
lunch, putting things back in their car. When they were ready to go, the eldest
three climbed in, while the one I’d spoken to before returned to the barn.
Foolishly I’d descended, thinking they were leaving and wanting to start loading
the 2X4’s, after all the sooner it was done…no point putting off for later…(yeah
so I have a work ethic, sue me). Realizing she was standing there, I swiftly
turned, heading for the back of the barn like I had important work to do.
She was standing near the barn’s open double doors, she called out,
“We’re leaving now, I just wanted to say goodbye.”
I waved, ducking into an empty horse stall and staring intently at the
door as if I was carefully figuring out how to take it off (we knew exactly how
it was coming off, and it was 3-4 days away before we planned to get to the
horse stall doors).
“I’m leaving you a magazine, I think you’ll find what it has to say very
interesting.”
“Alright.” I said, staring intently at the large steel sliding door of
the horse stall (they were sons of _ _ _ _ _ to get off).
They drove away, the four little old ladies who wanted to swell the might
of the army of god with fresh converts. They left us, sitting on the tailgate of
my father’s truck, a copy of the Watchtower, a religious magazine; my father
used it in his stove, paper makes good fire starter.
As for the barn, it’s apart now and still, the pieces sit very near where
my father plans to put it up, any day (read year) now…just as soon as he (add
your own list of farm work here, then add to it until you drop from exhaustion
just reading it).
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Children`s Fiction
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