A Handicap of the Devil? (11 page)

"Aw. Come on mate, I thought you could've helped us out a bit."

Jonathan looked at the blank eyes and noted the slack jaw. He tried one last time. “We must save humanity from itself. Tex.... “He trailed off, his meek and mild nature reasserting itself. It was a big step for Jonathan to talk this way with anybody.

Tex snapped out of panhandling mode as he realised the situation was lost. He instantly became Tex the Towel-O once again. “You're off yer head, ain'tcha. Don't forget to tell Charlie about them towels."

He moved more quickly than usual along the hallway and went down the stairs to resume reading, at the kitchen table, the cheap paperback stories of the American Wild West that he favoured. Jonathan closed the door and slumped against it.

How can I convince people?

Later that night an envelope was slipped under his door. It contained a note from Mrs. O'Reilly giving him a fortnight's notice to quit her premises. The note threatened him with instant eviction if he once again broke her order not to mention his quest to anyone in the house.

When God heard that Jonathan was to be evicted, he moved the star to the area of sky directly over the building of Jones P. & Son. This started yet another journalistic rush. Jones P. Senior, being better connected than Mrs. O'Reilly, forced the journalists away during daylight hours. After all, the star was only there at night, wasn't it?

The 7.27 was about to leave Blofield West station, when the driver noticed the slightly vegemite smeared form of Jonathan run onto the platform. He was a kindly train driver who had no knowledge of why his train was three minutes early that morning. Jonathan was allowed to board before the driver blew the whistle and the train chugged off towards the city—fifty minutes and eighteen stops away.

"Nearly missed her.” The white haired man looked up from behind his paper.

Jonathan was puffing too much to respond aurally. He nodded, gratified that someone on the 7.27 had actually spoken, which was a rare occurrence indeed. It augured well, for Jonathan had decided to speak at some length that morning to a captive audience.

He found himself a strap to hang on as all seats were taken. They often were every second Tuesday as this was pension day. Many pensioners caught the early trains into the city, even though they didn't get their usual off-peak discount fare. They did this because they wanted to be able to draw money from the bank as soon as it was deposited into their accounts. Then they might be the first people at the casino, and this meant they could get their favourite machine and so spend the day contentedly losing all or most of their pension. They got a cheap meal of roast meat and vegetables at lunchtime, and could worry about where the food was coming from for the next thirteen days later on. For many of them, the next decent meal would be the next cheap lunch at the casino, which for some reason only had cheap lunches every second Tuesday.

Jonathan was not thinking about this as he hung on his strap. Indeed, it is doubtful that he knew these details of pensioners’ lives; although he was due to join their ranks in eight and a half months time. No, he was thinking about when he should start preaching. When would the maximum amount of people be in the railway carriage? It was good that his decision to preach on the train had been taken on pension day, as that guaranteed a full house. Would it be better to leave it until after the last stop before the city? Would that give him enough time? Perhaps he should start right away and give himself time to work other carriages in the train? He fingered the manila envelope full of pamphlets that he carried this morning along with his briefcase.

Jonathan was in an agony of indecision. Twice he braced himself to begin speaking and twice he pulled back. He was afraid. Here he was on a mission from God and he couldn't get up the courage to speak, to give people the message he was charged with giving. Jonathan didn't know, and would have been surprised to find out, that the three things in descending order that people are most afraid of are death, spiders, and public speaking.

On the third try he managed to do it.

"Ladies and...."

He tried to hold up a pamphlet, but found he was unable to do this as well as hang onto his briefcase and manila envelope and hold onto the strap. He put the pamphlet back into the envelope and began again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you.” His voice could scarcely be heard above the noise of the train. As he had never been required to speak in public, his voice had not developed any particular carrying power. He tried again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, can I please have your attention...."

The train went into a long tunnel and all was black for a couple of minutes. This was more difficult than he had imagined it would be. The train emerged into daylight and he started again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, can I have your attention?” One or two people lowered their newspapers to see what was going on. Several newspaperless people turned towards him to hear what he had to say. Most people retreated behind their papers or into their own thoughts and ignored him.

An elderly lady pensioner on her way to poker machine heaven at the casino, who, widowed three years, lived a boring life in a one-room bed sitter, and whose children had abandoned her, and who rarely had anything out of the ordinary in her life, and who lived vicariously through television soap opera, called out. “Speak up. We can't hear you down the back."

Jonathan thanked her and attempted to increase his volume, which simply sent his voice into a much higher pitch and did not increase the volume at all.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am here this morning to bring you a message from God."

"From who?” Called the woman at the back, who had a much louder and better carrying voice than Jonathan.

"From God, thank you, madam,"

"Did he say he's got a dog? What do we care if he's got a dog?” The woman was indignant at the lack of drama. This would have been much more exciting if it happened on ‘Neighbours'.

"I said God, madam, not dog. I don't have a dog, thank you."

"What did he say?” The woman nudged the man next to her.

"He said he doesn't have a dog."

"Then what's he talking about a dog for? Whose dog is it if it isn't his?"

"No, no, he said he's got God,” shouted the man next to her.

"Has he? He doesn't look like he's got God to me. Nor a dog for that matter."

Mercifully the train pulled into a station, and Jonathan dwelt a pause as several people got on and joined the rest of the straphangers. The carriage was now quite full, and it was impossible to see everyone from where Jonathan stood in the centre of the carriage.

Jonathan was casting about for ways to begin again, when a pimply-faced young straphanger solved the problem for him. “You say you've got a message from God,” he called, causing a number of people to groan and one avid reader of the sports section to call out ‘shut up'.

"Yes, thank you,” Jonathan shouted back. “I'm on a mission from God, actually. He has told me to tell people that we all have to live better lives, or he's going to end everything."

"What does he want us to do?” called out a lawyer in a suit two sizes too tight for him. He had collar length greasy unwashed hair and had not shaved that morning.

"Yeah.” The man sitting next to him, who was similarly attired and groomed, except that he had shaved, ‘though badly. “What does he want us to do? Stop listening to nutters on trains?"

There was a ripple of laughter through the carriage. It was not going well.

"Please listen to me. Let me tell you the gist of the message. You can choose to believe or not, but at least hear me out.” The train was rapidly approaching the next station. Jonathan knew he had to get his message across quickly or he would lose his audience completely, especially if more people joined the already crowded carriage.

"God wants me to tell you that unless things change, he won't wind the world up again.” Not many people heard him because of the noise, but those that did hear laughed. All except the two men in the badly fitting suits with the greasy hair.

"He demands that we all live better lives, stop the killing, the raping, the carnage."

"I don't kill no one,” called out a man in a brown sports jacket.

Several people agreed that it wasn't them.

"How can we stop killing and raping and whatnot if it ain't us what's doing it, eh?” The man in the brown sports jacket had never had an audience before and now he was warming to the attention. “What's he talking about, eh? Accusing us of murder and things. I never murdered no one, though I must admit I've thought of topping the boss once or twice."

There was another ripple of laughter as Jonathan tried to reassert himself. “No, he doesn't mean you personally. He means we have to stop the wars and all the violence."

"I ain't started no wars, neither,” shouted brown jacket.

"But don't you see? It all starts with us. If this carriage full of people goes away from this train and convinces everyone we know to lead better and more peaceful lives, we could eventually change the world if the message kept spreading."

"We lead peaceful lives already,” shouted a woman.

The man who was still trying to read the sports section lowered his paper. “We lead peaceful lives when there are no nutters on our trains."

"Give him a go and let him talk,” shouted the pimply youth. The woman next to him gave the pimply youth a shove causing him to tread on the foot of the man who liked the sport's section who let fly with an oath.

The woman who shoved the pimply youth was getting wound up now. She was a pensioner and no one had offered a seat. Her arthritic legs were giving her hell. “Tell him to shut up more like it. I've got my own beliefs, and I dare say we all have. Who's this idiot to tell us what we should and shouldn't do?"

"Yeah,” shouted her best friend from a seat nearby. “Who's he to tell us to be more peaceful. We're peaceful already. I don't go around murdering people, or raping them."

Jonathan was becoming desperate. “Please, it's a very simple message. No one thinks anyone here is responsible for all the evil things that go on in the world. But we must put pressure on our governments to live in harmony with people of other religions and other races. It's really simple. The message is that we must learn to love one another."

"I'd like to love you, sweetheart.” The man who hadn't shaved leered at a stunning looking green-eyed red head in a business suit sitting opposite to him.

"You shut your big mouth.” A biggish man strap-hanging near the red head knew her well. They worked in the same office, and he fancied her, although she never gave him the time of day. This was his big chance to impress her.

"Pull your head in,” said no shave, at which juncture the biggish man lifted no shave out of his seat and hit him, causing his nose to bleed. The lawyer sitting next to no shave stood up and kneed the biggish man in the genitals, causing him to double up in agony and fall into the pimply-faced youth who fell into the woman who had her own beliefs, causing a domino effect.

Jonathan, who had never thrown a punch in his life and did not know how to, managed to squeeze through the wrestling crowd and hid right at the back of the carriage with the old lady who thought he had a dog. Jonathan was frightened but not of being hurt himself. He was frightened because of the feeling, the passion, in the very air around him.

The red head, who had been in a bar-room brawl or two in her time, took off one of her stiletto heels and hit the shaved badly suited man in the eye with the sharp end of the heel. He cried out in anguish as he reeled back and fell onto the wrestling pile of bodies that was already down and trying to regain their feet. He managed to get up. Someone threw a punch and knocked him down again as the train flew around a tight bend and knocked even more people off their feet. Noshave punched the person who had punched his friend. That man's friend punched noshave. And so it went until the entire carriage was a wresting, punching and kicking mass of bodies that exploded from the carriage doors as the train pulled into the next station.

The fight spilled onto the station concourse. People waiting to catch the train from that station became involved by default as fists, elbows and knees collected them.

The train driver called the police on his emergency hand radio. He refused to move the train until they had cleared the station of the fighting and wrestling throng—who continued to hurl insults as they were taken away in the police cage wagons.

Jonathan and the old lady, who was still wondering about his dog, managed to make their way off the station and caught a cab to the city before the police arrived to break up the brawl.

And so it was that the 7.27—second carriage from the end of the train on the Blofield West and beyond to the city line in the morning—was never the same again. For more than seventy years the 7.27 had plied its way from Blofield West and beyond to the city with rarely a harsh word uttered and never a punch thrown. Now all that history of peace, goodwill and bonhomie went for nothing. Many people began catching an earlier or later train if they were able to work it in with their commitments. The pensioners to a man and woman caught a different train every second Tuesday. Some passengers got into different carriages on the same train. A number of people continued in the same carriage but apprehensively. Nobody in that carriage passed the time of day with anyone else after the events that took place on the morning Jonathan tried out his preaching skills.

To Jonathan it didn't matter much. He got into a different carriage on the few mornings that he ever caught the 7.27 from Blofield West again.

People arriving at the railway station in the city were surprised to find a tall, balding man handing out pamphlets near the southern exit. They were even more surprised to find that the pamphlets proclaimed the tall balding man to be the Messiah. Most people screwed the pamphlets up and threw them in the nearest rubbish bin, but a few put them in pockets to be read later.