“Hey, how’s it going?” I looked up from my book at the person who had matched my stride as we crossed the quad. A glance was all it took: pale skin, a crop of red hair that seemed pale, too, and a suit with a tie under his jacket. He was looking at me with the vague empty look reserved for politeness between strangers. This guy wasn’t a classmate or an acquaintance. This guy was workin’ for the Lord. I returned to my book.
“What are you reading?” asked Red.
I could have ignored him. It might have been more proper and mature to ask him to please leave me be, thank you very much. But I didn’t; after all, I was working for a higher power too, and it seemed wrong to let this opportunity slip by. “Hemingway.” I flashed him the cover. “The Snows of Kilamanjaro.”
“Wow. Is it intense?”
I snorted without looking up from my book. “Intense? No, I don’t think so. Good, though.”
“Do you like to read?” Red’s legs were longer than mine and he was outpacing me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him advancing and returning to my side like a yo-yo.
“Ya know,” I said, “it would sure seem that way, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, actually,” said Red, getting to the meat and potatoes of the whole thing, “I’m a missionary from my church.”
Somewhere in my mind I had been waiting for him to say that. I looked up from the book and leveled what I imagined was a cynical gaze. I dropped my voice an octave and said, “No kidding.”
My sarcasm, unfortunately, was lost on Red. He still had that same polite, vacuous look. “Yeah, and I wanted to talk to you about a different book, the Book of Mormon. Have you heard of it?”
I didn’t look up. “Yep.”
“Really? Have you read it?”
“Nope. Thought I’d give Hemingway a fair shot, first.”
“Oh, well, I could tell you some reasons you might be interested in reading it.”
“I think we’re jumping to gun here.” I looked up for a longer moment this time. “Maybe you should read this book. Maybe there’s a lot to learn here, too.”
“Yeah? I think I might have read some it, actually.”
I smiled. “I’m sorry, what did you say you’re name was?”
“My name’s Nick,” he smiled back. His smile had the same plastic quality that his eyes had.
“What’s yours, man?” Man. Nick was making a friend.
“Ernest,” I said, “and I don’t think you have read this, Nick.”
“Well, I think--”
“Cause you asked me if it was ‘intense’, and I don’t think you would have asked me that if you had ever read the book.” We were at a crosswalk now, and it didn’t look like Nick would be crossing with me. The light changed. “Time’s up, Nick. Maybe next time you try reading more than one book.”
I had tried to make it clear that I didn’t want to be followed and good ol’ Nick, to his credit, had at least gotten that message. A few steps later I had that familiar pleasure/guilt creeping up inside that comes from being rude to a complete stranger. Shouldn’t I have been big enough not to have deviled him like that?
I shrugged mentally and returned, once again, to The Snows of Kilamanjaro. Hemingway, with expert timing, had his characters talking about the opium of the people:
“Listen,” said Mr. Frazer, “why should the people be operated on without an anesthetic?”
“I do not understand.”
“Why are not all of the opiums of the people good? What do you want to do with them?”
“They should be rescued from ignorance.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Education is an opium of the people. You ought to know that. You’ve had a little.”
Maybe that’s what it came down to: Red had his opium, and I had mine. Next time perhaps he’ll leave me to it.
“What are you reading?” asked Red.
I could have ignored him. It might have been more proper and mature to ask him to please leave me be, thank you very much. But I didn’t; after all, I was working for a higher power too, and it seemed wrong to let this opportunity slip by. “Hemingway.” I flashed him the cover. “The Snows of Kilamanjaro.”
“Wow. Is it intense?”
I snorted without looking up from my book. “Intense? No, I don’t think so. Good, though.”
“Do you like to read?” Red’s legs were longer than mine and he was outpacing me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him advancing and returning to my side like a yo-yo.
“Ya know,” I said, “it would sure seem that way, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, actually,” said Red, getting to the meat and potatoes of the whole thing, “I’m a missionary from my church.”
Somewhere in my mind I had been waiting for him to say that. I looked up from the book and leveled what I imagined was a cynical gaze. I dropped my voice an octave and said, “No kidding.”
My sarcasm, unfortunately, was lost on Red. He still had that same polite, vacuous look. “Yeah, and I wanted to talk to you about a different book, the Book of Mormon. Have you heard of it?”
I didn’t look up. “Yep.”
“Really? Have you read it?”
“Nope. Thought I’d give Hemingway a fair shot, first.”
“Oh, well, I could tell you some reasons you might be interested in reading it.”
“I think we’re jumping to gun here.” I looked up for a longer moment this time. “Maybe you should read this book. Maybe there’s a lot to learn here, too.”
“Yeah? I think I might have read some it, actually.”
I smiled. “I’m sorry, what did you say you’re name was?”
“My name’s Nick,” he smiled back. His smile had the same plastic quality that his eyes had.
“What’s yours, man?” Man. Nick was making a friend.
“Ernest,” I said, “and I don’t think you have read this, Nick.”
“Well, I think--”
“Cause you asked me if it was ‘intense’, and I don’t think you would have asked me that if you had ever read the book.” We were at a crosswalk now, and it didn’t look like Nick would be crossing with me. The light changed. “Time’s up, Nick. Maybe next time you try reading more than one book.”
I had tried to make it clear that I didn’t want to be followed and good ol’ Nick, to his credit, had at least gotten that message. A few steps later I had that familiar pleasure/guilt creeping up inside that comes from being rude to a complete stranger. Shouldn’t I have been big enough not to have deviled him like that?
I shrugged mentally and returned, once again, to The Snows of Kilamanjaro. Hemingway, with expert timing, had his characters talking about the opium of the people:
“Listen,” said Mr. Frazer, “why should the people be operated on without an anesthetic?”
“I do not understand.”
“Why are not all of the opiums of the people good? What do you want to do with them?”
“They should be rescued from ignorance.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Education is an opium of the people. You ought to know that. You’ve had a little.”
Maybe that’s what it came down to: Red had his opium, and I had mine. Next time perhaps he’ll leave me to it.
Comments
Outside of the strange Mormon coincidence, I was recruited by a secular Church recently. I always thought that was an oxymoron. I told them I already belonged to the Our Lady of Gaga holy order, so they let me be. Err... yeah that last bit was a lie. :)