THE TOURIST (EPISODE 5)

 

Maybe what we should pray for
Is not life, but a quick death.
Life is always there,
A means to an end: death

A lanky boy walked towards the church on the end of Park Road. His eyes were bloodshot like he had been drink before. The sun was preparing to slip under the blanket of the horizon and practiced with the cloudy blanket. It looked like it was going to rain. The sun would slip into a cloud, then slip out after some time like it were a spy that does not want to be seen, observing the boy.

The church’s gate was open when the boy got there. He simply walked through it, limping. His limp meant he could not work fast. Sighing, he walked up to the door of the clergyman that lived in church and knocked.

“Who’s it?” came a voice from inside.

“Me,” the boy replied.

“Who are you?”

“Igwe, I go to this church.”

Somebody moved inside the room, a lazy movement while Igwe waited outside the door. The door opened to show the expressionless face of the clergyman.

“Son, today’s my resting day,” the man said.

“Sorry sir. I’m just afraid I’m about to make the wrong decision. I can go if you can’t attend to me.”

“Come inside.”

Igwe moved in and the man shut the door.

“What will you drink?”

“Coke.”

The man of God called a househelp from inside.

“Get me coke from the kitchen,” he said.

The bottle came and Igwe poured it down his patched throat while the man regarded him. Igwe could already see that the man regretted opening his door for him. He probably thought it was one of his rich members.

“What brings you here, son?” the man asked, masking his anger.

“My faith is threatened.”

The clergyman walked away from the door and found a seat, which he humped down on tiredly. He was clearly not in the mood for spiritual advice, but he had to live up to his reputation as a man of God. So he sat there and observed Igwe, his face bereft of any feelings except the plastic encouragement he tried to wear.

“How, son?”

“You know the Bible says ‘thou shalt not kill’, right?”

“That is true.”

“What if you can kill the agents of the devil? What if that work has been given to you?”

“Judge not that you may not be judged.”

Igwe was quiet for sometime, looking down at his fingers. When he looked up, there was fire in his eyes.

“But we judge the devil, we judge demons and we kill them with the power we think we have.”

“We don’t think we have, we have it. Demons are not people, they are condemned…”

“Stop!”

Shocked, the clergy man started. He looked at Igwe disbelievingly. How dare him? How dare him interrupt a man of God?

“You’re contradicting yourself, pastor.”

“Be quiet!”

The clergyman struggled to get his mood under control, and managed a smile. “You don’t understand the workings of the word of our Lord.”

“I understand enough to know it doesn’t exist!”

“Then why are you here?”

Igwe thought for a while, staring intently at the wall.

“I won’t kill you now,” he said.

Before the clergyman could say anything, Igwe limped through the door and hurried away.

THE TOURIST 4

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