He stayed there for the rest of the day, as still as a stone. I wondered if he could tell I was looking at him, that everyone was now and then. I think he could, and whether or not it was because of him not being with us, or because Mrs. Pierce was on the warpath, everyone was quieter.
When it was time to go home, Mrs. Pierce said: “Neil Lewis, where do you think you’re going? We have an appointment, remember?”
Neil’s shoulders dropped. He said: “Oh, Miss, I’ve got boxing! My dad’ll kill me if I miss it!”
Mrs. Pierce said: “That’s too bad; you should have thought of that before you swore in my classroom.”
“But, Miss!”
“No buts,” Mrs. Pierce said. “Get your exercise book out.”
She went to the board and in large chalk letters wrote:
Neil stared at her. Then he threw his plastic bag down, flung himself into his chair, and slapped his exercise book on the desk.
“Three hundred lines. No mistakes,” I heard Mrs. Pierce say as I went down the corridor.
“YOU LOOK LIKE you’ve just won the lottery,” said Sue as she crossed me over the road.
“I’ve won something better than the lottery,” I said. I ran the rest of the way home. “It’s working!” I said, and I jumped up and punched the air. “It’s working!—And it’s better than I imagined!”
“How was school?” Father asked when he got in.
“Great!” I said.
Father raised his eyebrows. “Wonders will never cease,” he said.
More Knocking
AFTER I HAD gone to bed on Saturday night, the knocking began again. Father went out, but the boys had gone away by the time he got to the door. He went to the door four more times, but the boys kept running away. I watched from the window. When the letter box crashed a sixth time, Father went into the street, and Neil Lewis and Lee and Gareth and some other boys rode round him on bikes.
When Father came inside, I stayed awake for ages but I didn’t hear him come to bed. The boys ran sticks along the railings and threw stones at the windows. They laughed and did wheelies in the road. “Why is this happening, God?” I said. But God didn’t answer.
The next day, in the meeting, Father turned the scriptures in little jerks with his thumb and first finger. His head looked shiny and hot, as if there was too much blood in it. Uncle Stan gave the talk about being separate from the world. He said that the Brothers who were not striking merited the congregation’s support and that we shouldn’t give funds to the strikers. He said: “Our leader is Christ, not men.” A prayer was said for the safety of the factory workers, and Stan said we must have faith that God would help and we should not be afraid. Being afraid was just like faith, he said, but it attracted bad things instead of good. “If we’re fearful, we’re praying for the wrong things,” he said.
Afterward, everyone went to look at the new tracts we had been sent from headquarters. “It’s a new initiative,” said Alf. “We’ll use them next week.” Uncle Stan said we should preach in the main street.
I tugged at his sleeve. “Can I talk to you?”
I took his hand and led him to the side. I said: “I made another miracle happen. I wanted to punish someone. But something unexpected is happening.”
Uncle Stan shook his head. He said: “What is all this miracle business? I’m glad things are looking up for you, pet, but does your dad know you’re going around talking like this?”
I said that Father had said something to me, he had said it was nonsense but I thought that Uncle Stan would believe me.
“I do believe you, Judith,” he said. His face looked kind and tired at the same time. “At least, I think
I wondered whether to tell him about God speaking to me. I suddenly felt I couldn’t bear it a moment longer if no one knew. And then something strange happened. I heard God say: “DON’T,” very clearly. And it was peculiar, as if a bit of my brain had split off from the rest.
Uncle Stan frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes—”
“Are you sure?”
I put my hand over my eyes. “Yes,” I said and made myself smile at him.
Uncle Stan said: “Oh, by the way, love, I wanted to ask you if your dad was all right. With the strike and everything, it must be pretty difficult at the moment. We’re all thinking about him, but he never talks much. Is he OK?”
“Yes,” I said. “But he’s annoyed about the knocking at the door.”
“What?”
“There are some boys knocking at our front door.”
Uncle Stan frowned. “Your dad hasn’t said anything about that. Nothing serious, is it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s what I was trying to tell you, about what I did to the—”
And then God said: “STOP!” so loudly that I jumped.
“What’s the matter?” said Stan.
And then I jumped again, because another voice said: “All right?” and I looked up and there was Father.
He and Stan began to talk and I slipped away. When I looked back, Uncle Stan had his hand on Father’s back. I hoped he didn’t tell Father I’d been talking about miracles. Then I jumped a third time, because two fat arms grabbed me and a voice said:
A whiskery face with a mouth like a slash and creamy bits of spit in the corners was grinning. “You’ve been avoiding me!”
“No, Josie! Honest!”
“Hmm.” She eyed me suspiciously, then shoved a parcel into my arms. “Present!”
“Thank you.”
“Well: Open it!”
“A poncho,” I said.
There were more shells, there were more tassels, it was more orange than I could have imagined.
Josie’s body shook with laughter. “Well, I know how you like these little things. I’m so busy making things for this one and that one, but I always find time to make you something extra special. Try it on! It should fit, but I made it a bit big to be on the safe side.”
The fringe brushed my ankles. “Just right,” I said.
“Why are you taking it off?”
“Keeping it for best.”
I looked back to where Father and Uncle Stan were talking. Uncle Stan was talking and Father was looking serious.
“I want to see you wearing it next Sunday,” she said.
“OK.”
“Come on, cheer up!” she said. “Don’t you like it?”
I looked back to Father and Uncle Stan and they were laughing. Suddenly the world was brighter. “Yes,” I said, “I do. Thanks, Josie, I like it a lot.”
One Good Thought
