THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN
By John Abbott
Note to reader:
Regular readers will recall the short flash
entitled ‘S’. But I did not post the full story so, for those
who read ‘S’ it is repeated in pink, you can glance over it to refresh your
memory or ignore it as you please… ENJOY!
S
The old man was dressed in a dark, threadbare suit,
which, like it's owner, had seen better days. He was standing, trying not to
look too
dis-spirited about his plight. His battered, old cap was upturned on the ground with numerous shiny coins within.
London's pedestrians passed to and fro, some cast only glances, whilst
others, on occasion stopped.
The little girl was dragging slightly behind her mother, who was gently tugging her left
arm to persuade her into more ardent forward motion.
“ Mummy, mummy, can we give the man some money ? “ The mother
accepted the inevitable without repining.
“ O.K., O.K., yes. “ as she delved into her handbag.
Releasing her young off-springs hand for a moment, she dipped into her purse. “ Stay there, Trudi.
“
She found a small golden coin and passed it to her daughter.
“ Give the man
the pound, Trudi. “ she said as she bent her knees to move closer to young
Trudi.
Trudi carefully placed the pound coin into the old man's cap. The old man gave
his usual response.
“ Thank you and may God bless you. “
He smiled at the little girl, knowing that this universal
gesture would achieve the necessary effect. The girl with her blonde pony-tail
smiled a friendly, toothy grin back. This old man had
seen it all. Hell and heaven, life and death ... and still he found the gift of a
smile.
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN
A huge tapestry of past events flooded his mind. When he had been
very young, his dreams seemed very straightforward. His original choice of vocation turned out to
be an unfortunate one.
He had always wanted to be a soldier, and when the opportunity arose in his late
teens, he had jumped at the chance. It all seemed a long time ago, when as a fledgling soldier,
he was to visit a small group of islands, not greatly dissimilar to Dartmoor or
Wales. After a few weeks of hard, damp warfare, he came to realise what life was really
about. On a chill, May morning, cloaked in mist, he had carried a wounded friend out of a firefight, and down the side of a wet, grassy hill. His burden was treated by a medical team and
managed to survive the war. So did he, but not without another traumatic experience. Two days later, a small band of his comrades
were blown to pieces in an enemy mortar attack. Luckily, John was only to
receive minor shrapnel wounds. Minor they might have been, but, they effectively ended
his career within the military.
His last real job
was as a financial assistant for the BBC. He couldn't quite remember where the
roller-coaster really began, but his memory somehow sucked the details together.
A renowned television presenter had got involved with a child-abuse case on her live TV show, resulting in a small group being formed to find some way to help the victims of these heinous crimes. He submitted the idea of a free telephone helpline,
with sympathetic
listeners on the other end, who could offer helpful advice whilst maintaining
confidentiality. He involved himself heavily in the setup of the service and
managed to make it a national helpline service. Alas, all this detracted
enormously from his normal employment. His employers, with all their usual
benevolent wisdom, decided that they could not financially support a man who no longer carried out
the duties for
which he was originally employed.
Hence, the joys of unemployment were to follow.
Some weeks later, he was employed to do some relatively ordinary tasks for the local
council. One particular occurrence from a sunny morning last July, sprang to mind.
The road-sweeper, in his gaudy costume of green trousers and
yellow polo-shirt was vigorously pushing his large, wide broom along the
litter-strewn gutter. Approaching him, a young mother and her very young son walked
happily in the
opposite direction along the pavement. The young boy, who was certainly not
more than four or five years old, relinquished his grip on his mothers hand,
and facing the road-sweeper, stopped. He began to grin and wave wildly at him,
whilst calling out, “ Hello! Hello!"
The road-sweeper glanced up and instead of simply ignoring the boy
and continuing with his mundane duties, he also stopped. He returned the boy's
waves with his own exaggerated and extravagant hand gesticulations. His deep
voice raised itself a couple of octaves and he cheerfully said “Hello” as well.
This appeared to delight the young lad immensely, and the mother’s reaction was
a gleeful smile. She thought it wonderful that someone should take the trouble
simply to give
joy where it
was possible. In fact, to her, at that moment and for a couple of hours
afterwards, the whole world seemed a much more
cheerful place as the
sun's rays
warmed her heart. It had renewed
her faith in the goodness of humanity.
Unfortunately, spending cuts in the Council's budgetary plans were soon
announced, and everyone knew the old rule ... ‘Last in, first out.'
He also
remembered an occurrence on a rain-soaked Monday morning. It was early,
sometime before six. The stark, rain-filled outlook from the bridge
was heightened only
by the splash of obscene, reflective colour on the young man's rainwear. The shabby-looking,
stubblefaced youngster was standing on the thin wall of the bridge, blankly
looking out east across the dismal grey sky towards the dome of St Paul's. He
was hurting bad, despairing of this short span that most would refer to as his life.
The rain was not heavy, but its damp crawl still gripped his consciousness. His
wish was very simple,
he wanted to end the misery, all the mental anguish, and most of all, he wanted
to stop the hatred, with which he had tainted so much. All that was now
required was that final act of courage, to condemn himself to a dank and watery grave.
“Matthew, do not do it." A voice said suddenly from behind him.
He turned
his head and looked behind him to the right. He saw a well-dressed man in a dark suit and tie, his
hair cropped short and slowly getting wet, yet the man was smiling.
“ Matthew. What a waste, don't do it,” he pleaded.
Matthew was perturbed by two things. The first was, why on earth
would this gent want to spare any thought for me? The second came as a shock; how on earth did he
know my name?
“ Who are you? Leave me alone, will ya!" shouted Matthew.
The gently smiling man ignored this request and approached Matthew calmly.
Matthew became agitated and shouted again.
“Look! Sod off! Leave me alone!"
The man in the suit simply leant on the wall, next to Matthew.
“ Matthew, why do this? Nothing is quite this bad, surely?“ He introduced himself as he offered his hand
in a gesture of friendship. “My name is John. “
Matthew suddenly, without thinking, made a show of attempting to
throw himself off the bridge, but instead found himself sitting bestride the
wall facing John. He gazed at the sombre suit and began to explain.
“ Well ... “ He never got the opportunity to even get into the first sentence, when the
man called John interrupted him.
“ Matthew ... I care not for your problems, I only want you to live, maybe even to smile occasionally, that might help. “ John continued on, “
I will not preach to you. I feel certain that your problems are many and have an infinite
variety, but think of
how those problems
will be multiplied if you were to thrust yourself into this venerable, old
river. You would hurt a lot of people ... In fact, all who know you would feel
the weight of the burden, regardless of their feelings for you. So do not
commit this act. Come down, what do you say? “
Laugh if you will, but Matthew felt cleansed, he swung his left
leg over to the pavement and stood on the bridge itself.
“ Come Matthew, let me buy you a cup of tea. “ said John. “ Who
knows, the sun may even come out later? “
The two men, distinctly different, one shabby, one smart, one old, one
young, strolled off south down the bridge, chatting happily, leaving the
bleakness of the Thames
behind them.
* * *
With her small
hand still firmly pressed
in her mothers grip, Trudi looked up and appealed to her mother.
“ Mummy, mummy, look. That nice man is floating on air. “
“ Yes, yes dear.
C'mon, hurry up,
we've got to get home.“
replied her mother, inattentively.
Carefully
he shrouded the brilliance of his light that he might not blind her; and
calmly placing his feet upon the ground, entered once more, for a little while, into the habitation of
man again.
Copyright John Abbo
