Close Encounter
Terry is of an indeterminate age – somewhere around 45. He’s nondescript, walks with a slight limp, and has a look somewhere between pious and pained. There is the sound of a Grandfather clock ticking.
Terry enters, stiff-legged, slowly, carrying a washing-up bowl filled with steaming water. He sits, rolls his trouser-legs up, and puts his feet in the water. He is in the kitchen. On the table are a tea-pot, cup and saucer, milk-jug, sugar bowl, a small plate of biscuits, a Bible, a scrapbook, a small note-book. He pours himself a cup of tea, puts 4 lumps of sugar in, stirs, and begins…
You have to have tactics to be a good salesman, so I’ve devised a few of my own. First I ring the bell – just a quick jab. There’s nothing gets people’s backs up more than a demanding ring. When someone comes, I say, “Are you Mrs Jones? ” or, if it’s a man, “Mr Jones,” – and when they say, “No”, in a suspicious kind of voice, I give them my ‘really disappointed’ look, as if I’d come to see them – you know – ‘especially..’ which usually keeps them from slamming the door on me straight away. “Oh dear!” I say, “I must have taken the address down wrong on the phone.” Then I show them their address with ‘Mrs’ – or ‘Mr’ – Jones written by it, in my special notebook – ‘Mrs’ in the front, ‘Mr’ in the back, so I don’t mix them up. “Such a pity,” I say, sounding really crest-fallen, “she-or he- telephoned and asked me to drop one of these off to her (or him).” Then I flash them a glimpse of my leaflet – the one with the sunshine on the front and the picture of Jesus in the garden, standing outside the tomb talking to Mary before she realises who He is… It’s symbolic you see. Me – God’s messenger – at the door – tomb – and her (or him) – Mary… Get the picture?
At this stage they’re either curious or they get all uppity and slam the door on me. If I detect the tiniest spark of interest, I say “Would you like one? ” making it sound as though I’d only just thought of it. I can usually tell if they’re the sort I can win round – they stand there looking like a guard-dog being bribed with a bone – wary, but keen. “It’s all about the greatest Man that ever lived,” I explain, giving them my best smile as I hold up the front page for them. That stops their face in its tracks! Long enough for me to say, “Do you know Him?” by which time we’ve built up a bit of a relationship, so it’s harder for them to be rude… Then I’m home and dry! It’s called ‘sales technique’. I’m a salesman – a salesman for God – and His charming son Jesus – so I like to think I’m doing the best job possible…
(Drinks tea, eats biscuit. Does this periodically throughout piece.)
Of course, I’ve had a few problems – Jews and Arabs, a couple of witches, Catholics and such like – particularly at the beginning, when I was just a novice – all enthusiasm and no technique. Used to try and convert them, but I’ve learnt to leave well alone after a particularly nasty encounter with a Satanist – at least, I think that’s what he was. (Melodramatic) He dragged me inside his house and shut me in a terrible room filled with skulls and other… (shudders) unmentionable objects. I was frozen to the spot, I can tell you! Then, after about an hour he released me with a warning, “Don’t ever do that again, you weedy, insignificant, pious pouf!” Had me pinned against the wall, he did! Spat each word out in my face, accompanied by revolting bits of chewed tobacco that stuck to my skin. I can still remember the smell of his breath – like rotting cauliflower. (Shudders) Then he picked me up by my collar and chucked me out of the door and down the steps. I couldn’t help noticing his hands. Covered in tattoos they were – evil faces, with pointed teeth and blood dripping from them… Of course, I prayed for his soul. His sort need nothing short of a miracle from our Lord, to be saved! As I made off, I saw the leaflets I’d left in that hideous room, being fed back through the letter-box in minute pieces. Some of the bits blew after me. It was as if the spirit of Jesus was running from him too…
The funny thing is, I saw him again a few months’ later. Oh, he didn’t recognise me. I’m not the sort that folk remember. It was in the doctor’s surgery. I was there on account of my veins (indicates his legs). Dr Forbes puts a special elastic thing around them – says it’s the best he can do ‘til the op. I’m on the list, but stripping veins is not high priority, he says. Of course, the job doesn’t do them any favours, not that I’m complaining. I mean, what’s a bit of pain in the legs compared to our Saviour’s suffering? Sometimes, after a long day out on the job, when the pain’s at its worst, it comforts me to think that I’m suffering ever so slightly like Him – makes me feel closer to Him. After tea, I get out my Jesus Scrap-book, and go to the Crucifixion section. I’m particularly fond of the picture where His ribs are sticking out and the blood’s pouring from the spear-wound in His side – poor lamb! They must have starved Him in prison – there’s not a scrap of meat left on Him… (Eyes watering) Makes me have a good old cry – then I feel much better. (Pause for a swig of tea) After all, I have met Him personally. Not that anyone believes me – only – I know it’s true – and Jesus, of course. That’s what counts, really – isn’t it? (Stares for a few moments out front – “seeing” Jesus. Shakes himself out of reverie with more tea, or closing and putting scrap-book down)
Anyway, there I was, reading my favourite parable – The Good Samaritan – when the Satanist came in and sat across from me in the waiting-room. Really tense, he was, biting the skin round the edges of his finger-nails – which, by the way, were filthy – not that they looked out of place with the tattoos and the black leathers. With him was a female – I honestly couldn’t say how old. Her face was all plastered in white with mauve lips and stuff round her eyes. I was in the process of praying for them both, when I heard her say, “What if you ‘ave got it?” Such a coarse voice! “I dunno.” he replied, and he gave a revolting snort, like he’d got a pound of slime stuck in his gullet. Then she said, “I mean – like – remember what ‘appened to Max Big-un?” and she gave him a sideways glance. Ooh, he was onto her in a flash! No warning – just like with me – grabbing her wrist and twisting it. “I ain’t going to ‘ave ‘em off for no-one!” he shouted. He sounded so angry. I could see his muscles straining through his leathers. Couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever been in the ring… Not a peep out of her. She just glared at him ’til he dropped her hand and it slapped back in her lap, like a dead fish. Then the receptionist called my name…
Well, when I came out, there was quite a commotion going on. The Satanist was in the corner effing and blinding and a nurse was trying to calm him down. The “female” was nowhere to be seen. I asked the receptionist what had happened. “I shouldn’t really tell you,” she said, in a stage whisper but, of course, she did. “He’s just got his tests back – and he thinks it means he’s got to have his-” and she leant closer and whispered in my ear (Terry leans forward conspiratorially, looks right then left, and mouths, ) “ – balls off.” She was smirking – rather nastily, I thought, so I gave her one of my leaflets and a sobering look and left. ‘Let ye who are without sin….’ I muttered as I went – loud enough for her to hear. Well, that’s what Jesus would have said…. isn’t it?…
When I got home, I went straight into the kitchen and put the kettle on, to calm me down. (Pregnant pause.) Being in the kitchen always reminds me of that night – the night of “The Encounter.” I like to sit with a cuppa and go back over the details. Gives me a thrill – remembering …After all… I don’t know what would have happened if they hadn’t come along just when they did…
You see, I’d not been sleeping well for weeks (Leans forward in the same conspiratorial manner as with “Balls off” business) – trouble with the waterworks – I’d just be dozing off, when I’d get this urge to ‘go’. Sometimes it’d happen as often as five times a night…. Lucky Maggie was no longer around! She used to wake at the merest hint of a noise – until near the end, that is, when she was all drugged up. Slept like the dead then….still, best not dwell on that…Dr Forbes said it was an accident; that it could have happened to anyone in my stressed condition. He said, “You’ve done a marvellous job, Terry,” like he was praising me for painting the Sistine chapel, or something. Well, I couldn’t see what was so ‘marvellous’ about it. I was only doing my duty. After all, I did promise Mother. Maggie was born with something not quite linked up in her brain. (Dead voice.) In the end, though, it was the cancer that got her. Used to howl with the pain, like a wounded animal. Poor thing. Hadn’t a clue what was going on…
Anyway, I’d had all this trouble sleeping – what with Maggie’s death and having to go out and look for a job for the first time since I was 21. I mean, 23 years is a long time, and everything’s PC this and PC that these days… So, there I was with my pan of milk, when I heard a voice say, “Come and work for us, Terry.” Well I nearly jumped out of my skin! Down went the pan and the milk skidaddled all over the floor as if it were looking for somewhere to hide. “I beg your pardon?” I said, frantically trying to locate a body to go with the voice, when it spoke again. “My son and I are well pleased with you.” Now, if I’d known my Bible, which I didn’t then, I’d have picked up on the reverential reference. “Who are you?” I demanded, edging my way to the drawer where I kept my sharp knives. “I am the Father, and this –” and on the word ‘this’, a curious sepia light began squeezing itself through the plug-hole in the sink, “– this is my beloved son, Jesus.” As I gawped, the shape of a man appeared in that strange light. I remember shouting –– “Please! I didn’t mean to kill her!”
(Back to a less histrionic tone.) Everything went quiet for a few seconds, whilst the golden man grew clearer. Well, I came over all hot and clammy and my arms began to tingle – like they do when I get over-excited. “We haven’t come about that –” God said, and His son gave me a winning smile. I remember thinking, “He’s got lovely teeth.” And then God said, “We’re on the lookout for a new salesman, and with your track record, Terry, you’re just the man for the job.” I couldn’t take my eyes off Jesus. There was something about him – the way he looked at me – as if I were, you know, ‘special,’ or something. Reminded me of someone…at first I couldn’t think who. Then I remembered. Mr. Taylor! That was who it was – Mr. Taylor – my old English teacher! He said I was ‘special’….Used to give me extra lessons after school. I’ve never forgotten him. So kind.. …
And that was when I broke down and wept and wept and wept. Great gulping sobs. “I’ll do anything for you, Jesus,” I said. He nodded approvingly, and turned His eyes full on me – like liquid gold they were. “Good,” said God – rather briskly, I thought. “That’s settled then. Welcome to Heaven’s Helpers Ltd.” I remember Jesus leaning down, coming towards me…“ Thankyou!” I said, between sobs. “Thankyou! Thankyou!” Well, after that there was a sort of whirlwind in the kitchen – you know, blinding flash, thunder, rushing wind – that kind of thing. I must’ve passed clean out. When I came round, I was lying on the floor, face all sticky in the milk. “They” had gone, and everything was neat and tidy – like nothing had happened. So I got up, went over to the sink, looked down the plug-hole. “Jesus,” I called. “Hell-o-oh? Are you there?” The tap was dripping ever so slightly, just like it always does. “Jesus?” I called again, but no-one answered… (Gazes dreamily out front.)
(Takes towel from back of chair and dries feet throughout next section, putting on slippers.)
So that was it. That was the night I fell in love with Jesus and, even though I’ve not seen Him since, nor heard His Father’s voice, I know they’re both here with me, as clear as on that night. I’ve read and re-read every word of ‘The Testament of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ’ over and over…and though it has its ups and downs, I love my job. (Picks up bowl, rests it on lap,) Besides, with my prospects, what else is there for me ….? (Gets up, walks carefully out with the bowl to the sound of the Grandfather clock ticking.)
