Coffee and Sugar, C. Sean McGee [highly recommended books txt] 📗

left arm into the air calling the car back towards him.

He continued his grumbling but was drowned out by the sound of beeping and a utility reversing as within a second the headlights came into view and a hornlike tow bar pushing out through the centre as the vehicle came to a stop, the driver’s door slammed shut and standing there; haloed by the light of the sun, was a colossal looking shadow that paused under the men’s captured awe and then demurred; the light thinning the shadow, as a small woman with quickly judging eyes shook her head in disbelief and stepped down on one knee as she tied off the rope in her hands against the tow bar and the other end around the head of Jesus.

“This some kind of kinky religious thing?” said The Lady Driver.

CHAPTER THREE

“Hold on” said The Lady Driver as her right foot pressed on the accelerator, the deafening roar of the engine shooing a hundred crows from their perch just above the muddy swamp where Joao and The Bishop had found themselves imprisoned for the night.

The two men clung steadfast to Jesus as The Lady put the utility into gear and pushed the car forwards, dragging slowly but not gently, the ceramic statue out of the muddy waters and onto the dry land where the two men; holding on for dear salvation, unravelled their arms and rolled themselves onto their backs, staring up at the morning sun while the mud that covered their arms and faces crackled under the morning light.

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?” asked The Lady.

The Bishop took a minute to compose himself; looking out at the wreckage and feeling a wave of shame wash over him like a bucket of warm piss. He pulled his knees up to his body, looking castrating and convicting at his docile son Joao whilst cursing his own name over and over in his mind for making the impossible, something that they will never ever mention to Mother.

“My name’s Joao, what’s yours?” he asked The Lady Driver.

“Is there anything you want to bring? There’s no space in the tray but you can try to swing some things on the roof if you like. I’m headed south. You headed to another farm?” she asked.

“We’re moving to the city” said Joao excitedly.

“Is that so? Well I might be able to take you as far as you need to go then. Hop in when you’re done affixing yourself” she said, turning away from the Bishop who still sat foetal near the belly of Christ, his chin settled in the valley between his two knobbly knees.

The Bishop eventually pulled himself from the ground as the utility’s engine roared like hungry a lion and a puff of black smoke burst out of the exhaust filling the air with the smell of diesel. Joao went to his side and offered a hand to which his father pushed away sending him stumbling back towards the car. His face was bitter and his eyes were mean and he scratched at his throat in disapproval, spitting in the direction of his sinking beetle that swallowed with it, their clothes and their food.

“Isn’t this fun? We’re hitchhiking” said Joao.

“Shut up and give me a hand donkey” said The Bishop, wetting the boy’s enthusiasm and groaning as he leaned down, wrapping his arms around the ceramic Jesus with Joao lifting from the statue’s feet.

The Bishop dragged the statue over to the car and rested it against the rear of the utility. As he reached his hand down to undo the elastic straps for the tray, the car jumped forwards and he and Joao fell over each other and the statue; Joao hitting his face against a rock and cutting his upper lip and The Bishop, coming crashing down on him like a moral objection, taking his breath away and breaking one of his front teeth.

“What the hell is wrong with you lady?” yelled The Bishop.

“I told you. The tray is full. You got mud in your ear?” she said.

“Lift the legs donkey; we’ll tie it down to the roof.”

“That won’t do. Your statue will tear through my tray top. Find another way or leave it behind. Now hurry, I’m late” she said in a strangely inappropriate and unnerving, affectionate tone.

The Bishop wiped away a sweat ridden line of dirt from his eye and cursed under his breath as he sat on the floor.

“I got an idea. Get in that mud donkey and tie off around the cross. Bring her back up an inch” he said hitting his palm on the back of the utility yelling to The Lady Driver who was admiring herself in the mirror and watching The Bishop’s hand press against her precious tray; flirting with punition.

The Lady Driver slowly backed the utility up to the edge of the road while Joao prepared to lower himself into the cold thick mud to secure the rope around the crux of the crucifix.

“No need to be fancy, donkey, it’s not the ballet” said The Bishop; as Joao eased one foot delicately into the mud, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and the belt on his pants and throwing him through the air so he landed like a dead frog in the middle of the muddy swamp.

Joao pulled his face from the mud and dragged himself along the last meter or so until he was secure around the crucifix where he tied off the rope and clung for dear life as The Lady Driver revved the engine and dragged the white wooden cross from the middle of the muddy swamp, up the bank and onto the road.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Joao as he tied Jesus’ arms to the crucifix.

“We’ll make another. Jesus is a once affair. Check your knots” said The Bishop tying the end of the crucifix to the tow bar with little slack so that it would pull neatly behind the utility as they drove.

The two finished tying off Jesus to the crucifix and the crucifix to the back of the car so that the ceramic statue was dragging behind on a wooden sled hanging precariously above the red hot bitumen.

As they were about to pull away, a loud bang coming from the tray startled Joao and he reached to the door opening the handle and jumped over his father to escape out of the car, running back towards the muddy swamp.

The Lady Driver looked in the mirror nervously.

Joao looked back over his shoulder for a moment and dived back into the muddy water and dragged himself along until he reached the old Beetle. The passenger window was open so he leaned his body over the door and brushed around with his hands in a desperate flurry.

“What’s with the boy?” she asked.

“He’s retarded” said The Bishop.

As they spoke, Joao was back in the mud and wading through with momentum and vigour. He pulled himself up the bank on vines and roots that shot out from the lush earth. When he entered the car again his father slapped him across the back of the head and cemented him in the middle seat. Joao sat still with a mammoth grin and handed his father his black leather case with the black leather straps.

“Nearly left it behind sir” he said to The Bishop, panting away.

The car pulled away from the bank and headed south on the highway, the thoughts in their heads and the uncomfortable silence overrun by the roar of the engine revving and the sound of a wooden crucifix splintering whilst being dragged along the bitumen, lifting into the air every time they passed a bump in the road or some loose gravel.

“So what do you do? You don’t look like a farmer. You selling stuff?” asked Joao to The Lady Driver who sat with conditioned eyes, locked on the curves in the road, blinking only occasionally, maybe to prove she were real and not a crudely drawn sketch of a woman.

“We’re moving to the city. The Bishop here is gonna be famous. He’s gonna get his own television show and he’s gonna be the best preacher the world has ever seen. Isn’t that right sir?” Joao exclaimed rightfully looking up to his father who responded only by staring straight out at the road ahead and in the corner of his eye, seeing how The Lady Driver would react; in his mind playing famously cool.

“The Bishop is the most famous preacher in all of town. Folks come from all over to hear him talk about Jesus. I’ve seen it too, he’s really good. Do you like Jesus? Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus?” asked Joao.

“No, no I do not” she said.

“That’s too bad. Maybe later The Bishop could tell you about the good book” he said.

“I think for now I’d prefer to listen to the sound of the wheels turning” she said.

“We have a church, in the city. It’s waiting for us. What’s in the tray? Is it the stuff you sell?” he asked.

“You could say that” said The Lady.

“What are these?” asked Joao picking up a pile of scattered papers from below his feet.

He shuffled the papers in his hands as if her were about to deal a winning hand, patting away at the sides while gently tapping the bottom of the pile against this lap making it straight and ordered.

The Lady Driver; with her eyes married to the road ahead, reached across with her left hand and snatched the pile from the boy and tucked them snugly in the compartment on her door.

“Are they your boyfriends?” asked Joao.

The Lady didn’t speak; she just kept her eyes locked on the road and ignored the young boy’s snooping.

“Don’t be rude” said The Bishop slapping Joao on the back of the head and fasting his hands down to his sides, giving him some of his fashioned pitchfork paternalism, tossing the boy around in his seat until he finally came to rest in a less cumbersome and obtruding way.

“Sorry sir, I remember. A good boy should see only of what he’s been shown” said Joao, sinking into an apologetic defeat and locking his inquisitive, tentacle like hands between his knees, willing himself entirely to focus his eyes on the white line of the FM radio and not wander around the foot of the car.

For the rest of the day’s drive; all eleven hours, not a word was spoken between the three. The Bishop and The Lady were comfortable inside their own thoughts, neither itching to know about the other whereas Joao; for eleven hours, it was absolute hell.

At the end of the day they pulled into a small roadhouse and snuck their car as close to the main gates as possible pretending to be paying diners but instead using the safety of their secured parking to get a few hours of sleep before continuing their journey.

“You can get a room if you want, but we’re only resting for a bit. There’s a long hike ahead so I just wanna see the back of my eyelids for a sec, I appreciate my leg room so if you’d please” she said, ushering the two men out of the car.

“I’m getting a drink. Don’t touch anything and do go anywhere” said The Bishop, pushing Joao against the car’s tray with his index finger and stamping off through the dark parking lot with his annoying feet slapping against the pavement and his leather case draped haughtily over his shoulder.

Joao rested against the tray and looked down at the crucifix lying behind the vehicle. The wood was almost completely worn away close to the end making it look more like a giant stake than a simple cross. Without moving, he examined the ceramic Jesus and apart from the missing left forearm, he was in perfect condition still hanging on to the crucifix.

He sat in the darkness imagining The Lady Driver, thinking how mysterious she was and how lucky they were that she came along. They could have been stuck in that mud forever had she not turned up with her truck to pull them out. And if she