by Eben Le Roux
Chapter 6
Standing with the phone in his hand, Peter was making the call he had promise to do. The woman meant something to him. That day in the car, he could see all was not well with her. The manner in which her husband had spoken to her nearly made him leave. Her courage to get out of the car in that rain was his reason for making this call.
Ismail had shown surprise to see Peter so early at his shop as he would only come around eight o’clock every Wednesday and Friday night. It was customary for him to wait for the last customer to leave before he cleaned the shop and thereby earned a plate of food.
Ismail could still remember the day when he tried to reimburse Peter for work done and was surprised at the strange alternative Peter suggested to him. “I will open a funeral policy; use that money to maintain it for me please. I do not want to end up in an unidentified grave. That way my family would at least knew what happened to me. Also, by you paying me, you will own my time and you see, I do not want that.’ Like many people, Ismail was fascinated by this man’s view into life. As a bonus, he got all the wisdom in the world right next to him.
‘Who is this woman, Peter . . . and dressed up like that? I think there is much more than a snake in the grass.’
Ismail said jokingly, referring to the new clothes Ray had bought his father. Not answering immediately, Peter dialled the number from the piece of paper.
‘I think you will know much more about me very soon, Ismail,’ he said, waiting for someone to pick up.
The voice on the phone said, ‘Hello, Kathy Atkinson.’
‘Mrs Atkinson, good morning to you.’
‘Good morning, who am I speaking to?’
‘It is . . .’ He was not sure if she would remember his name. ‘It is . . . the beggar.’
‘Peter! Peter is that you? Oh, good Lord, it is you. Where are you? When can we see you?’
He instantly realised that this was no ordinary person. She had remembered his name. She had remembered a beggar’s name.
‘Mrs Atkinson, please, you are making me feel uncomfortable. I am just calling because you asked me to. Please allow me to thank you and your husband for buying me that ticket.’
‘Peter, I would like to speak to you again, I want you to come for dinner. Can I pick you up somewhere?’
There was a long silence. It was as if his heart had stopped and he started to realise the consequences of his actions the previous night. Everybody is now after him, his son, the television producer, Kathy Atkinson, and who else after this . . . but his thoughts were interrupted.
‘Peter, are you there?’ Her voice was full of concern.
‘Yes . . . Yes, Mrs Atkinson.’
‘Good. We have dinner at seven. Where do we pick you up?’
‘Mrs Atkinson, when I said yes, I meant I was still on the phone.’
‘Oh!’ She sounded like she had a disappointment.
‘Well, I would not be able to make it tonight, but what about right now?’ He said it only to please her.
‘Right now?’ she asked a bit curiously.
‘Only if it suits you,’ he said hurriedly.
She sounded thrilled; he could hear it in her voice.
‘I’ll meet you in about one hour . . . same place in front of the ticket office.’
‘Ma’am, best you come to Oscar Street, the one just before the stadium. Drive until you see Oriental foods, number thirty-six. I will be waiting for you there.’
‘I will be driving a blue Chrysler . . . Please wait for me,’ she said enthusiastically.
‘I have no problem with that, ma’am.’ He put the phone down and did not know what to think. He immediately started to regret on agreeing to meet her. Searching his mind, he could not find a reason for her desperation to see him again.
He did not wait that long, the blue Chrysler stopped in front of Ismail’s restaurant forty minutes later. Kathy got out of the car and started looking around. Although he was just meters away from her, she failed to recognise him. Peter could see the uncertainty on her face and moved promptly towards her. Kathy was even more surprised when the person suddenly started talking to her. She hardly recognised him with his new look.
‘I’m here, ma’am.’
‘I’m so sorry . . . I was not . . .’
He could see she looked discomfited, and wanted to rescue her from embarrassment.
‘I know, and don’t be sorry. My son bought me some clothes this morning, and I had a haircut. I feel much better. Please do not apologise as you did nothing wrong. Anyway, what was so urgent that you had to see me?’
She instantly knew she was right about this man in front of her. The confidence with which he spoke made her realise this man need much more respect than what was shown from the outside.
‘Peter, there is something about you, but I don’t know what it is. I am here because of my husband. Something tells me you can help him. Do not ask me how or why . . . God alone knows why I am so desperate to have you meet my husband.’ She was not shy to look into his eyes while talking.
‘Would you come to my house if I invited you?’
‘Ma’am!’
He was shocked by her request. ‘I am not what you think I am. I am not a religious healer.’
‘I know. He, I mean, we came for a miracle to that event. He is now even worse than he was before. He thinks God has forsaken him.’
‘Wait a minute, Mrs Atkinson. What is wrong with your husband, and what makes you think I can help him? Look at me . . .’
He stared at her, almost insisting on an answer.
‘I don’t know. I told you I do not know, but please just come to see him. I beg you, please.’
He could see people staring at them. ‘Let’s go inside, maybe you can explain better. I am totally lost to what you want from me.’
They took up seats in the far corner of the restaurant, each with a juice and some snacks that Ismail had brought over to them.
‘My husband suffers from a very strange illness. Sometimes, it seems as if he has lost his mind. He will go into a rage for the smallest of matters and even our friends are too scared to visit us. They are even more scared to invite us to functions. He gets these moods where he just starts to shout and argue with anyone . . . and no one dares to oppose him.’
‘You have money. Why don’t you take him to a doctor or what do they call them . . . a psychiatrist?’
‘We’ve been to plenty. All say there is nothing wrong with him.’
‘So what do you expect me to do?’ More confusion was starting to grow within him, and his questions were more than statements. He wanted to let her know that she was wasting her time.
‘I am sorry, ma’am. I would not know what to say to a man I do not even know. I would not know how to help a man that all doctors failed to help. Look at me, how do you think he will address me, let alone his letting me into his world, and I know . . .’
‘Mr Johnson . . .’
Her voice was one of despair. ‘Before God had placed you on that stage, he had sent me to cross paths with you. Whether you like it or not, I know you can help him. I want you to tell me now, Do you know what made you to go onto that stage last night . . . do you? Well then, ask yourself why I am putting my beliefs in a homeless man. We were made to cross paths, Peter Johnson, whether you like it or not. You have my telephone number. Phone me when you are ready . . . and trust me, I know you will phone me!’
‘Ma’am, I would not know what . . .’
He had no chance to finish whatever he wanted to say. She was already walking to her car, and her following words turned him into stone. ‘Remember what you said from that podium last night? Who said God is not planning with you to be the miracle in someone else’s life?’
She then turned around and left him standing like a statue. No words, not even a goodbye could pass his lips. He lifted his hands to say something, but he could not utter anything. He just stood there watching her drive away, his arm still lifted, and his mouth hanging open.
Still standing in that posture, he heard two car doors close in succession behind him. He turned to that direction to see Sean standing next to Bruce Ashton. Behind them stopped another car with two more men in it. They all started to walk in his direction.
Bruce addressed him while still a short distance away. ‘I did not know you knew Kathy Atkinson,’ he said with a little amazement on his face.
‘Do you know her?’ Peter asked as if he expected all the answers from this man.
‘Fantastic woman, very rich though, very rich . . . but now . . . I don’t know how to say it. She is going through a tough time.’
Bruce was too happy to talk about Kathy Atkinson as it made it easier to break the ice with the man he had insulted less than a day ago.
Peter, on the other hand, was too fascinated to know more about that woman. So astounded was he, that he was literally staring at Bruce. So intense was the stare, Bruce had to alert him of his doings.
‘Sir, why are you staring at me like that?’
‘Oh . . . I’m sorry . . . I . . . Could you tell me more about that woman, please?’
‘Well, if you insist . . .’ Bruce started as they walked back into the restaurant. ‘Eighteen months ago, she lost her twin daughters in a car accident. They were to marry a month later with everything already planned. It destroyed her family enormously. She seemed to get over it in a way, but for her husband . . . I do not know, he just went backwards in mind. She had to sell her businesses . . .’
‘Businesses...?’ Peter asked.
‘Yes, they owned a string of restaurants in three cities . . . four or five, could be six, but anyway, he was one good business-minded man before that tragedy. Everything changed after that...especially for him. They still have a little daughter and a son who is at varsity now. He is the apple of his mother’s eye and very close to his father. However, he does not spend much time at home any more, not even during holidays. That boy is slowly becoming a loner, and I think he cannot take his father’s emotional outbursts anymore. These things are having a negative effect on Kathy. That woman is a fighter and she does not give up easily. Take my word for it; she really is strong. The world should be proud of women like her. That is all I can tell you . . . for now.’
Peter was lost in the short story of Kathy Atkinson. He turned his head to where her car was parked but the parking was empty. With a perplexed mind, he followed the others to a table wanting Bruce to tell him more. Instead, he got another surprise that nearly stalled the blood flow through his body.
‘In case you wondered why I’m here . . .’ Bruce said seriously, as he locked eyes with him. ‘I want you to be on that stage on Friday night.’
‘Say it again!’ Peter’s voice was like someone who had just heard he had lost a million dollars. In his surprise, he spilt more than half the tea from his cup.
‘What is it with all you people? Who in heaven’s name do you think I am? Kathy wants me to fix her husband. You want me to do miracles and cure people. Mister, I heard you when you said I was making an arsehole of myself. Maybe you were right.’ As he was standing up from the table, he said, ‘I think I’ve had enough of this. Now, please, I want all of you to leave me alone . . . this is getting too much now please just go.’
‘Mr Johnson, just give me ten minutes of your time, sir. Just hear me out. I promise I will not waste your time.’ Bruce was quickly rising from his chair as if to stop him from leaving. ‘It is my turn to say please. So, please, just listen to me. I promise I will then take your decision as final and not bother you again.’
Very slowly, Peter moved back to his chair, eyes fixed on Ismail, who smiled at him, nodding that he should listen.
Bruce turned to the other men saying, ‘Gentlemen, I need some privacy with Mr Johnson, please . . . uh . . . Sean, you can stay.’
When all three of them were seated, Bruce wasted no time in starting the subject. ‘There is a lot depending on what I am about to say, so I will talk straight. You see, Mr Johnson, I am a very successful television producer and have been so for the last twenty-three years, producing dozens of successful shows. TV bosses are fighting to have me working for them, but yesterday, I lost my job because of you.’
Peter responded quickly by saying, ‘I thought all the surprises were over, yet I get knocked out every second minute . . .’
‘Mr Johnson . . .’
‘Peter, call me Peter.’
‘Okay Mr . . . Peter, I know who you are and what happened in your past. I also know that behind this hobo is a very talented person. Both you and I know that you are wasting your time being like this. That is why I am here, to take you back to where you belong; the masterful teacher you once were. Most of the people in that crowd must have thought you were some sort of a joke when you took hold of that microphone, and I was one of them. Well, that was until you started talking. I was watching over the faces from where I was sitting. Those comical smiles disappeared within minutes. Now, you tell me, how many people left that stadium during that speech? The answer is none. Not a single person left while you spoke and I took note of that. If it is my job to make you realise what an impact you made last night, then I will be that one. Every newspaper has you covered on the front page and right now, there are many radio stations having talk shows about you. The world is hungry for the truth, and this is exactly what I want you to do, to tell the truth. I do not want you to do any sermons Peter, I only want more of those speeches; the truth straight in everyone’s face. We can reach over twenty million people in the same hour in one night and you will not have to perform miracles. You have a gifted voice, you are gifted with words, and you speak so direct that you touch the soul of every person who hears you. You are not scared to say what preachers fear to say. Mister Johnson, you were not born to be a hobo, becoming a beggar was only part of your destiny. God might have put you there but He was not going to let you die on the streets of this city. Think about that. He created an opportunity for you. Are you going to let him down now . . . are you?’
With a stern look on his face, Peter stared at the man in front of him. Here was a man speaking with the same understanding of life as his. Only, this man’s request was weird, so weird he was not even going to give a thought.
‘Mister I don’t think you know what you are asking from me. Placing me on television and do what? Proof to the world that I am really the fool you said I was?’ Peter asked starkly.
They both turned to Sean when he suddenly hindered into their conversation. ‘You need to look at 2 Corinthian 8, verse 10, Sir . . . 2 Corinthians 8, verse 10–11.’
They both looked at him in confusion.
‘What?’ they both asked at the same time.
‘Should I quote it for you?’
‘Yes, please,’ Bruce eagerly demanded.
‘It is written, and I quote,’ he started, ‘This is my advice about what is best for you in this matter. You were the first, not only to give, but also to have the desire to do so. Now finish the work, so that your eager willingness to do it may be matched by your completion of it. For if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, and not according to what one does not have.’
They were both dumbfounded, and Sean thought they did not believe him, but his words sounded like a revelation inside Peter’s mind. Is this the way his faith had been rewarded? Is this where all hope ends and the commitments starts? Is this where his willingness was being called upon? The questions rushed his bloodstream to nearly twice the normal flow. Still, he was not sure, yet he felt some desire to do so.
‘What, you don’t believe me . . . ?’ Sean looked from one to the other.
‘Should I bring a Bible and show you where it is written?’
‘Is this a plot to get me back on that stage?’ Peter ignored Sean’s question but turned to Bruce instead. ‘You said you got fired because of me? Why would that be?’
‘For twenty-three years I worked for Live Entertainment. The one time I stood f
or God, I was no longer good enough. You know what I was told – God does not sell, violence and sex is what people want.’
‘You mean . . .’ Peter looked angry, hurt, and confused which made him speechless. He sat looking at Bruce, unable to complete his sentence.
‘You came for a miracle to that event Peter. God give you the start and it is left for you to go after the rest. I had a meeting with James Mathews, owner of Channel 91. His network will cover everything, as well as the sponsoring. I want you on board Peter and we do not have much time.”
Peter was in a battle with himself. For too long, he had been hoping and praying for a release from this life. The urge to be a teacher again had never left him. If this was the closest he was going to get to becoming one, he knew instinctively that he should take it. Fool or no fool; he was going to rise to the challenge.
‘I have some conditions,’ he said in a very composed voice.
‘Let me hear them,’ Bruce said, trying to be as calm as possible. The excitement of hearing this man accepting was scorching inside him.
‘I will do things my way. No scriptwriters or any of that Hollywood stuff, and nobody is going to dress me. I will be nobody’s puppet, not even yours. The fool you saw on that stage last night is the same fool you should be prepared to work with.’
‘Are you saying yes?’
‘I need to find out if this is the miracle I prayed for, did you not say so?’
Bruce Ashton nearly jumped from his chair with enthusiasm.
‘Just see that the Atkinson family is there,’ Peter said, making sure Bruce understood that this request was serious.
‘I will send her that message within the next hour.’
As they walked to the counter to pay, Sean pulled on Peter and said, ‘you are going to be famous, sir . . . very famous.’
Peter answered him very assuredly, ‘Fame is for actors, my son, not for teachers.’
Sean looked at Peter in total disillusionment.