Lots of mail last couple of days. You know what that’s about: folks who mistake religion, *any* religion, for causality. I try and explain that it’s not religion, it’s all about the *interpretation* of religion, that Theocracy is thinly disguised Holy Fascism. Not any different if on a global scale, or micro-viewed ... see Leelah Alcorn. My brother, Joe R. Joe Lansdale, and I have discussed Christianity many times. We agreed that if the rule was “do unto others,” we’d both sign up. Those conversations became this: Her house smelled a little bit like lemons. She took me through the living room. All of it was wood, dark and light, and it all shined like new. There was a big Bible, lying open on one of those things a preacher stands behind when he preaches. The old lady told me to sit down in the kitchen. She brought me a cup of chicory coffee, and took one herself. “Now,” she said, “what is all this about my husband’s car?” “It’s worth a lot of money,” I told her. “I don’t know how much, exactly, but more than I could pay, that’s for sure.” “More than the thousand dollars that other young man offered me?” Her eyes were brown. Bright and sharp, not filmy, the way some old people’s eyes get. “A lot more, I think,” I told her. “There’s places you could find out from.” “What places?” “Well, I don’t know, exactly, myself. There’s magazines about old cars, for people that collect them, that would be one place. I don’t sell cars; I only work on them.” “But you’re sure it’s worth more than a thousand dollars?” “Ma’am, I absolutely know it is. There was this one guy, he had a car like yours–not exactly like it, his was a ’57–and he paid twenty-five thousand dollars for it. Of course, his was all in perfect condition, but, still...” “Are you a Christian, young man?” “I ... I guess so.” “What do you mean, you ‘guess so’?” “Well, I’m not nothing else. You know, like a Jew or a Arab or anything.” “Are you a churchgoer?” “No, ma’am.” “You mean you don’t go regular, or you don’t go at all?” “I don’t go at all,” I said. “Hmpf!” she said, kind of to herself. “I was sure you’d turn out to be born-again.” “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “Thank you for the coffee.” I got up to go. “Hold on a minute,” she said. “Would you pay a thousand dollars for my husband’s car?” “Ma’am, I already told you–” “And would you want it to be driving it yourself, or to sell it?” “If I had a car like that, I wouldn’t ever sell it,” I said. “All right. Let me go and get the papers.” I was still trying to figure out what was going on, when the old lady came back. “Here’s everything,” she said, handing me a shoebox. “My husband kept it all in the same place.” “Ma’am, I don’t understand.” “My husband was taken by cancer, young man. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. His spirit was strong right to the end, and he died right here, in his own home. We had a lot of time to talk, then. A long twilight before the night came. I got to understand my husband better in that time than in the fifty-four years we were man and wife. And do you know what he said about that car of his? He said, ‘Ruth Ann, I want you to sell my little jewel,’... that’s what he called it, sometimes ... ‘I want you to sell my little jewel to someone who is going to love her. Someone who will drive her around and show her off. Have pride in her. Not some merchant, now. And not somebody who is going to make a hot rod out of her, either. That’s what she deserves.’” “Well, I said to him, ‘Hiram, how in the world am I going to read a man’s mind? You know how people will dissemble when they want something.’ And he said, ‘I’ve been praying over that one for some time. And the Lord sent me the answer. Ruth Ann, that little car is worth a lot of money. And that shall be the test. I want you to put my little jewel up for sale, but don’t you put a price on her. And I want you to sell her to the first person who doesn’t try and cheat you.’” “Well, I did solemnly promise Hiram, young man. But I couldn’t bring myself to sell his car for a long time. I was frightened that I wouldn’t be able to tell when someone was trying to cheat me–I’m not sharp in those ways. So I did what my husband did. I prayed on it. I didn’t get a direct answer, but I was told that, when the right person came along, I could count on the Lord to alert me.” “And that’s what happened. Every single man who has come to my house and taken a look in that garage has tried to buy my husband’s car. Some of them asked me what I wanted for it, but I always said I wasn’t sure. Not one single person ever so much as hinted to me that my husband’s car was worth a lot of money.” “Then you come along and you say the truth. So I know you’re saying the truth when you tell me you will drive my husband’s car and keep it like it should be. Now, do you have a thousand dollars?” “Not with me, ma’am. But I do have it. In fact, I have almost seven thousand dollars put aside.” “Never you mind that,” she said. “You come back with the thousand dollars, and you take Hiram’s car away with you.” Her bright brown eyes were a little damp, but she didn’t cry. I was jealous of Hiram, then. vachss/getaway_man/index.html
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 16:13:48 +0000
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