THE BLESSED FOOL

                                                                     



                                                                            THE BLESSED FOOL







Donald Turner hummed a pleasant tune as he dressed for church. A beautiful day was shining outside the bedroom window and he could not wait to get out in it. Bright brown eyes and an elastic pink crescent bounced back at him from the mirror above the beaureau. Days like these were a blessing this late in the fall and Don knew he was going to enjoy this one.



When he had his paisley blue tie adjusted and the collar popped down, he slipped on the gray suitcoat. Then he plopped on the bouncy bed and fit his feet into the black dress shoes. Don shined his shoes every evening, usually while watching the late night news. It was a ritual that reminded him of his father and he doing that very thing years before. A smile flickered over his face as Don tied the second fine bow.



He skipped down the stairs, making childlike clops with his heels. A bit silly, acting that way, but he was filled with exuberance. In the foyer downstairs, he stopped himself on the way to the front door. Feeling sheepish, he hurried over to the dining room table and retreived the heavy red Concordance he had been studying the day before. How would that look, him showing up at church without his Bible? Oh, it would not really matter, they had plenty of regular Bibles. But Don knew Penny Lange and Robert and Mr. Olsen would all tease as he found his place in their pew emptyhanded. Chuckling, he made his way to the front door and out into the beautiful morning.



A sarcastic laugh greeted him outside on the porch, along with the light blue sky and the clean fresh air. It was John Jones next door, who thought it so funny that Don was into religeon. Sprawled out on that car seat he kept out on his porch, John taunted, "You're late! God's not going to like that, Don."



Don was not late, what he was, was not early. Usually he arrived at church a half hour in advance and walked the grounds around the tall gray stone building with Robert. Sometimes the two friends found papers and trash to pick up and sometimes they merely had a nice conversation. It was too bad Don had missed it on a beautiful day like this, but it couldn't be helped. He had spent the early morning hours writing letters to Pepe, Uit, and Jamal, the three children he helped support through Worldwide Love. A bit peculiar, perhaps, to go to so much trouble, but Don thought money could only do so much, and he knew his encouragement meant something to those wonderful children.



"Come on!" John hefted a Budweiser up in the air and popped it open. Foam spewed over his dirty tee shirt with a loud fizz. "Just once, I think you can take one Sunday off." He held up a second beer. "Come on, Don." The red and white can hovered in the air inside John's long filthy fingers.



Shaking his head slowly, Don moved down the steps and into his yard. This was one ritual he could have done without. Nearly every Sunday John was out there like this. It was a shame. And it wasn't the beer at eight-thirty or even the juvenile behavior that made it a shame, it was John's own unhappiness that Don found distressing. It showed, Don heard it inside the gruff voice. This man was hurting. And lonely.

Sighing, Don slowed halfway down his walk and turned. "You're welcome. If you'd like to come."



John hooted with laughter. "Me! I don't think they'd want me in there! I doubt that they'd let me in, Don."



Almost grave, Don replied, "Yes. They will, John."



"I don't think so." John gulped his beer with a churlish smile.



Don's voice dropped. "You can go there, or if-" He took a deep breath. "Anytime you're ready, John, you come knock on my door. I'll pray with you."



Now the braying laugh could be heard a block away. "Are you serious? Oh, Don! Why?" John slapped the black car seat and bounced his large frame, stomping a foot. "Why would you think I would ever be that stupid?"



Stiffening his back, not with anger but with pride, Don answered, "I won't argue with you about God anymore. You think I'm stupid and I won't even say I'm not. But just remember, my door is always open to you. And so is His, John."



"You idiot!" Angry, John shook up the second beer and opened it. A geyser of foam sprayed off the porch. "You think you're so much better than me. You think I'm a drunk! I work ten hours a day, six days a week, and I drink on my one day off." He cursed and spat, "-Don Turner!" in that same awful voice.



Controlling the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him, Don said, "I am not better than you. Or any man."



"That's right. We're all equal in the eyes of God."



"I believe that's true." Don started toward the street again. "Just remember, my door is always open, John."



"Sounds like communism to me. Everyone equal like that. Is God a communist?" John laughed! "Is that what you're telling me now?"



Don's shoulders heaved as he reached the sidewalk and moved in the direction of the church two blocks distant. He blinked at the sight of the tall spire and the gleaming golden cross. There was nothing he felt he could say to John, nothing he could do. Except, God, help this man, my neighbor. Please, Lord. He walked onward, trusting that God would take care of things in His way.

On his porch John was still chuckling. He sucked at the foam and threw the wasted beer onto his lawn. What the hell was wrong with Don, anyway? Didn't that fool know about the Big Bang and evolution and that religion was just a scam to make money? How could anybody be that stupid?



Dragging back into the house, John dove onto the couch. Now that the churchees had all gone past, there was no sense staying out there. He'd had his fun. That Mrs. Granger had gone all red and snooty today and what a kick that had been. And Don Turner, John had nearly riled him this time. Is God a communist? John guffawed at his wit. He would have to remember that one.



John laughed again as he fished the remote from within the swamp of bills and pornography scattered over the dusty coffee table. Go to church? He thumbed the TV on with a flourish. Not on a Sunday in October! "Ha Hah!" Yeah, go to church! He relaxed as the NFL Roundup began. Here was his religeon. If it was a choice between worshipping Jesus and a good running quarterback, John would pick the QB everytime. "Oh yeah."



Groaning, he shook his head, thinking about that fool Turner again. John would never understand how people could be such idiots. They were all trapped in there, in that church, hiding from the real world. They were so scared of facing reality they had to hide behind some myth. Fools. Every single one. There was no God! How could they not see that?



There was no God, and there certainly was no goodness in Man. People were just animals and they acted like it too. John popped open another beer, grinning wryly. Those churchees just thought they were better than everyone else because they were terrified of the real truth. You live and die and then worms chew you up. Life makes no sense and the universe is just one big joke. That was the Truth!



Inside the church that John believed was a trap for frightened fools, Don was at that moment sliding onto the pew between Robert and Penny. He felt a rush of excitement as he smiled and greeted his friends, "And how is everyone?"



"Good morning, Don." Penny smiled and sighed, her green eyes flashing.



"Missed you this morning," Robert chided mildly.



"Morning, John," Bill Hodges turned around and tilted his big happy face. Beside him in the forward pew, Mrs. Hodges showed half of a smile and waved her white gloves. "Don," she said.



Little Timmy Patersen's hand slapped at Don's shoulder from the pew behind and the boy hissed quietly, "Hi, Don." His parents also offered their greetings in hushed tones.



The service was about to start and Don kept his voice low as he told Robert, "Sorry. I was-writing letters."



Robert's thick white eyebrows bobbed and he said in a cheery whisper, "Oh, those children again. How many kids do you have now, Don?"



"They're not mine," Don kidded. "Three. But I don't actually . . . As you well know."



A tease fluttered inside Robert's voice, "Maybe some day." His blue eyes danced.



All around them, pleased faces and eyes sparkling with glee twitched at Don and Penelope. She had bright pink everywhere on her skin and he dropped his gaze, both terribly embarressed. She rolled her eyes with an almost invisible smile and squeezed his hand for a moment. His shoulder pressed, like the slightest nudge in the whole wide world, but she felt it.



The organ's strains wafted up into the rafters. All around the church there was a shuffling of feet and quick whispers. Palpable excitement shimmered through the air. Don gave Penny a shy glance. She sighed. It was wonderful for them to be there together, and among their community. In the Lord's house. It was joy and pride and togetherness. Don raised his eyes for a second. Thank you, Lord. He was truly blessed.