Pastor X Page 3

After a long while, one Prado slowed down behind his own Prado and stopped. The driver came out. It was none other than Dono, himself. He had noticed Pastor X too late to stop at the robots and following traffic would not permit a safe stop on the inner lane. So he had driven all the way to the intersection and turned back to see what had befallen Pastor X and his Prado.

  “Hi, pastor,” Dono said smiling widely. “What has happened to Prado? Had an accident?”

  “Hello, brother. It’s a puncture, really. It’s being attended to. Where are you going?”

  “Actually, ‘coming from’ would be more appropriate. I have just come in from kumusha, the rural areas. I saw you too late to stop on the other side. So I drove up to the intersection and came back. You looked as if you were in a quandary. Is there something I can do? I would be glad to help!”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m stuck here. I got a puncture only to discover that my spare wheel had been deflated. I sent someone to the station - Engen over there. He hasn’t come back, yet. Then as I was relaxing in the Prado, the jack gives way. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Praise the Lord. He has sent me here, you see. Look, why don’t we jack up Prado, retrieve the tyre and let me take you to the station. My man will guard your car here.”

  “You are so kind; so very kind of you!”

  His man, Fred, got the jack, set it neatly on firm flat ground and a minute later, Prado was up and the wheel retrieved from under it. Fred put it in Dono’s Prado and off they went- Pastor X and Dono. They got to the station soon enough. Upon enquiry, they were told that nobody had brought that kind of wheel there that day.

  “And nobody by the name Gladwell Tendai came here,” said the mechanic, Dominic. “I have been here since nine in the morning.

  After a bit, Dono turned to Pastor X. “Do you know him well, this Gladwell Tendai?”

  “No. I met him here, I mean there.”

  “Do you have his phone number?”

  “No; I don’t think he has a cell phone.”

  “So, how could you trust him?”

  “He said he was a Christian. He sounded very sincere. Come on, Dono, I know people. It’s my job to know my sheep.”

  Pastor X had habitually trusted his own first impressions. Today was no exception.

  “Forget it, pastor,” said Dono. “You gave him money and a wheel for his scotch cart. A total stranger!”

  All the while the mechanic was busy extracting the tube from the tyre, unsupervised.

  “Why don’t you buy a new tube?” he shouted, holding the tube up. “This one has too many punctures.”

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “I thought it was only the valve that had a leak.”

  “Well, come and see for yourselves,” he said splashing water on it.

  “Ok. Get me a new tube.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better to buy a second hand spare wheel, as well? I mean, look at the sky. It could rain later today.” Almost from nowhere, the sky was invaded by scattered clouds, some of them quite menacing.

  “No, no. I’ll buy a new one tomorrow. In any case, I think we just missed Gladwell Tendai. He may have gone to another garage.”

  “Two is better than one,” said Dono. “I know your constraints, too. This one is on me.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, brother,” said Pastor X.

  “Then don’t, I’ll be quite happy like that.”

  And so Dono paid for the spare wheel for Pastor X. They got back into Dono’s Prado to return to the robots.

  “So, what are you going to do with all that loot?” Dono asked by way of conversation as he started the car. “Buy a new Prado, like this one of mine?”

  “We have lots of projects and programs,” replied Pastor X. “We are never short of those. You know, community projects, outreach programs, pamphleteering, you know, that kind of thing. We take the Word of God to the people as in the old days. You know, like I say, we have Projects XYZ. When we complete X we move on to Y and then to Z. Or we might take on all three, XYZ, that is, and just keep pushing towards finalization, completion, call it what you will. But we are awfully busy all the time. Like, you know, I was supposed to be way out there in the locations, ministering. But then Prado decides otherwise. Nonetheless, I can say Prado has served well, it has. It’s taken me to ABCD, you see, wherever we have projects; and then to XYZ for programs. Between you and me, Prado is a work horse, an excellent servant of those who know how to treat it.”

  “I hear you are going overseas- do you have projects there as well, international projects?”

  “Oh, yes. We have those as well. As you know, projects require quite a bit of dough, you see. And we can’t always raise that here. So we have these projects XYZ, if you don’t mind my saying so, to sensitize people out there- potential donors, you see, to tidy things up. Those are awfully crucial to our task here. Mishaps like this one are awfully costly, in terms of time consumed away from our mission.”

  He had more to say, his verbal flow ever so impressive. But then they had reached the robots and had to turn their attention to something else. “We’ll have to continue this dialogue upon my return from the current mission.”

  They got out of the Prado to face the other grounded Prado. Gladwell Tendai had not re-appeared, with or without the tyre.

  “I told you,” said Dono to Pastor X’s chagrin. “The man just conned you.”

  “Maybe he had second thoughts,” said Pastor X.

  Dono was about to respond, but realized he could not talk about second thoughts without owning up to his own. He was not ready to deal with that, yet. He also realized that Pastor X had not talked to the bank manager, yet.

  “It’s the opportunity, pastor,” he said, steering clear of second thoughts. “He got an opportunity and decided to utilize it to the maximum. These fellows are not that daft, you know? They know what an opportunity is when they see one.”

  Pastor X made a mental note of that. Dono sounded like a man who had read widely and thought deeply about opportunities. One day soon, he would dedicate a sermon to ‘opportunity to serve the Lord.’

  Once again, Dono’s man got to work. Minutes later, both men were exchanging jovial parting words. They had become real buddies, those two.

  “I will gave the subject serious thought and maybe one day dedicate a sermon to it,” he said, as he stood by the door, keys in hand. “Thank you so very much. I’m sorry I ruined your afternoon.”

  “Thank you, too, for giving me the opportunity to be of help. Take care.”

  “You, first,” Pastor X said, inviting Dono to move on. “I have to make a call before I set off.”

  “OK. Bye, bye!”

  Dono moved ahead, and changed back to the inner lane. When he got the green light he made the turn and sped off towards city centre.

  Pastor X waited awhile. He had no call to make; indeed, he could not make any call even if he had wanted to. He just wanted Dono out of the way. And so when he disappeared from view on the rear-view mirror, Pastor X inserted and turned the ignition key. Prado gave a yawn but would not start. He tried again. Just a faint rev and then it went silent. Unknown to him the hazard lights, which had been on ever since Prado first stalled, had drained the battery.

  “What’s this now?” he fumed. He opened the hood and checked the battery. It was dry. He looked for the bottle of distilled water. It was not there. Exasperated, tired, hungry and now angry, Pastor X prayed for the appearance of another Good Samaritan, a true one this time. Would God hear the prayers of an angry man? Why not? And sure enough a Good Samaritan appeared. He was a well-to-do farmer, driving an Isuzu 4x4, accompanied by two people- a man and a woman, all looking fairly prosperous when judged by their girth. Auspiciously, the newcomer had some distilled water but not enough to fill all the battery cells. Now all Pastor X needed was a cable to jumpstart Prado. The farmer did not have it.

  “Maybe a little push will do it,” said Pastor X, hopefully
.

  “Okay; let’s try it,” said the muscular farmer.

  Pastor X got into the Prado and turned the ignition key to ‘on’. A faint red light appeared. He slid the gear lever to Gear 2.

  “Ok,” he shouted out. “You may push.”

  And push they did, the muscular farmer and his not-so-muscular male friend. Ladies did not engage in that kind of exercise- not here anyway, mused Pastor X. ‘They would not admit that they were intolerant of discomfort.’

  “Push harder,” said Pastor X.

  They did. “Harder,” he exhorted them.

  He abruptly released the clutch and, to the immeasurable pleasure of the good pastor, Prado started. Only the pleasure did not last. Pastor X had not checked the robots to ensure that he had the green light. In fact, they were showing red when Prado ignited and jerked forward. Before he knew it, a Mazda car rammed into Prado’s left front panel. The Mazda driver had the right of way; the lights were showing green when he entered the intersection. He had tried to brake but it was too late. Once again Pastor X was grounded.

  Fortunately, neither vehicle had sustained severe damage. In truth, it was a minor accident, but it left Prado stalled once again and Pastor X in another quandary.

  In the midst of loud arguments between the two drivers, the farmer and his two companions slipped away and left Pastor X to his own devices. So did the small crowd of curious onlookers, when they heard the sirens of an on-coming traffic police patrol car.

  “You know it’s going to be your word against mine,” Pastor X said to Kutamba, the Mazda driver. The way he said it, left nothing to conjecture. He was the big man here!

  “So?”

  “So, I suggest we leave the police out of it. I’ll see to it that my insurers sort out the matter. You know me as you rightly said, and I will honour my word.”

  “But I have no witness. It is better for us to agree in front of the police. That’s the only way I can be sure.”

  “You mean you can’t trust me, a pastor?” he asked, with a touch of rancor.

  “Pastors are human; their word alone is not enough,” said Kutamba, savouring the fruits of skepticism.

  Pricked or miffed, Pastor X looked away and waited impatiently. Two minutes passed, slowly, interspersed with unkind words between the two stubborn drivers.

  Then the police arrived. Somebody had reported a major accident on this highway, so they expected a major traffic snarl-up. They found the two drivers still locked in intermittent argument.

  “Who had the right of way?” asked the team leader.

  “Me.”

  “Me.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No.”

  “Then both of you have to report at our station to record statements. Constable, please take their details. Have you called Breakdown people?”

  “No,” replied both drivers.

  “I say so because he agreed to repair the damage to my car,” said Kutamba.

  “I did not agree, officer,” said Pastor X. “I suggested it because I did not wish to waste time over small matters.”

  That stirred the hornets’ nest.

  “You call this a small matter?” charged the sergeant. “Do you know how many people have perished through road accidents? Thousands! This year alone we have had over a thousand die…No, my friend, this is a serious matter.”

  “No one was injured, officer,” said Pastor X. “Does that not count?”

  “It counts alright; but by then we know who was to blame for the accident. If you were to agree on that, we could consider taking note of the fact that nobody was injured. If you can’t, we will draw the sketch plan and take your statements at the station.”

  Pastor X knew he was the unintentionally guilty party. He could not afford to waste any more time than he had already squandered in argument. The bureaucracy employed to sort out a small matter like that was beyond comprehension, he thought.

  He conceded he was largely to blame.

  “Are you talking of percentages here?” asked the cop. “Well, you should know that we do not operate like insurance companies. We are talking of careless or dangerous driving here and failing to observe traffic signs and lights. And we don’t have all day!”

  Pastor X conceded more. He conceded total negligence.

  “Now we are talking,” said the policeman.

  He wrote a short report which Pastor X and Kutamba signed. It heaped all the blame on Pastor X who, by now, wore a long, frustrated and humbled face.

  “Okay,” said the officer. “What about us?” The way he said it made it crystal clear that the illegality of it troubled him not a whit! It was the norm, or so it sounded.

  Embarrassed, Pastor X knew what he meant. He proffered a $10 note to the cop.

  “I see you are not taking us seriously,” said the cop. The look on the eyes of the other cop seemed to be in total agreement. He added another ten dollars.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ the smile on their faces appeared to confirm.

  “Now, get your vehicles off the scene,” said the leader. “Sunday evening traffic is beginning to mount and we don’t want any more mishaps. Or a traffic jam.”

  Pastor X was even more embarrassed. His Prado had stalled again.

  “Don’t say that small dent has caused so much internal damage!” said the cop, rather maliciously. “What kind of vehicle is this? You have to call for breakdown services. Or should I call ours? It’s the cheapest best in this city.”

  “Please do. How much, you say?”

  “You’ll have to negotiate with the crew, but I know it’s the cheapest.”

  “Okay, you call them, officer. Thank you.”

  “They should be here in ten to fifteen minutes.”

  By the time the breakdown people got there- a good thirty minutes later, Pastor X had left. Another kind of Good Samaritan – actually a bunch of young men going home from a local football match marred by rain, had ‘for peanuts’ helped push Prado and it had started. He was on his way home to get the church keys, return to the church, retrieve the charger and then go back home to charge the phone- if power would have been restored- and eventually call his friends abroad. He no longer considered it necessary to call the bank manager. Dono had displayed no sign of having had second thoughts about the cheque for $50 000. Such generous man! Such exemplary manners! Such simplicity! Thank God. He drove on like a man possessed, overtaking dangerously, causing pedestrians to flee for their lives and braking to a near-stop behind slower traffic when there was no way of overtaking!

  Chapter 4- Gathering clouds