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Book: Twisted Times: Son of Man (Twisted Times Trilogy Book 1) by Vincent de Paul
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Authors: Vincent de Paul
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sleeping and hypothetically talking in my sleep she had become more attached to me. She asked me to be attending their prayer meetings at the chapel if, and when, I had the time. It was just two weeks since then, and I was feeling that she was getting fixated with me to the extend of doubting her motives.
At the chapel, as usual, they read both the old and new testaments with two readings from the New Testament, the Catholic Church tradition, and as usual I slept during the sermon. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon when the Mass was over. She invited me over for lunch at her place.
“What do you think of an evening together? I would very much appreciate.”
She’s damn famished… “Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget I said.”
“I don’t know how to forget.”
“It’s not what I meant… I would like to, but I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ll do everything, even the talking. You just sit there and let everything happen.”
And I was of the opinion that OTTYs had working class men whom they had every week? I wondered what she really wanted from me. God, let it be not what I am thinking.
A rather sadistic thought crossed my mind; not just sadistic but carnal. If what I was thinking was what she was really thinking I felt as though I was in some kind of a porn movie.
Terry’s room was adorned with flowers and pictures of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, the Holy Family, and saints. There was a statue of the Virgin Mary dressed in white and pale blue on her study table.
“Ken, this is my...”
“I can see,” I said before she could say what she wanted.
“So, feel at home. I will be back in five minutes.”
She put the stereo on and the cool and snooze RnBs from Easy FM played. I felt at home. She shimmered away after pouring some juice in a wineglass for me. Five minutes or so later, she came back in black hipster pants and a sleeveless top. The church girl was erased, no longer looking like Mother Theresa. She sat opposite me, and looked at me straight in the eyes. She’s beautiful . She likes me .
She wanted to know me better according to her, how come I called myself Son of Man, my family background and generally my life.
“From the time you told me that you are called SOM I’ve wanted to know more about you. Could you be Jesus?” she asked jokingly.
Terry was jolly, chaffy, good-humoured and loquacious. All what she wanted was to have me in her Christian Union Society. Seriously! What a waste of my precious time. She said that she just liked me, I seemed to be a good guy, and she wanted to help me. Her help involved pulling me to her Christian club. I could not. My religious penchant by a long way changed when I left seminary.
I was sorry that I couldn’t. I just told her that I could not be actively involved.
Terry was a staunch Roman Catholic from the outskirts of Nairobi, from a family of four. Her father was a lawyer by profession and working in the Ministry of Finance, and her mother a business lady. She was the last born, the only girl.
She called me her brother and although I did not join her Christian encampment, she was good to me. She introduced me to her friends, but I was smart enough to put on my mask effectively. Could they know that I was a criminal?
She said, “Brother, if you need anything just tell me. I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you.”
“No. Do not fret yourself about me. I’m just fine.”
“Sure you are fine. How fine if you don’t even have a home to go to?”
“Believe me. I am fine.”
She did not buy it. She wanted to reach out and help. I officially became her benefactor, probably her charity programme, and her younger brother.
CHAPTER 31
His friends saw him through when Grace left. He almost lost hope, but in the middle of nowhere he saw how friends could be of help. They gave him his life back.
For the umpteenth time Job remembered the events of that fateful day with resentment.
At the chapel, as usual, they read both the old and new testaments with two readings from the New Testament, the Catholic Church tradition, and as usual I slept during the sermon. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon when the Mass was over. She invited me over for lunch at her place.
“What do you think of an evening together? I would very much appreciate.”
She’s damn famished… “Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget I said.”
“I don’t know how to forget.”
“It’s not what I meant… I would like to, but I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ll do everything, even the talking. You just sit there and let everything happen.”
And I was of the opinion that OTTYs had working class men whom they had every week? I wondered what she really wanted from me. God, let it be not what I am thinking.
A rather sadistic thought crossed my mind; not just sadistic but carnal. If what I was thinking was what she was really thinking I felt as though I was in some kind of a porn movie.
Terry’s room was adorned with flowers and pictures of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, the Holy Family, and saints. There was a statue of the Virgin Mary dressed in white and pale blue on her study table.
“Ken, this is my...”
“I can see,” I said before she could say what she wanted.
“So, feel at home. I will be back in five minutes.”
She put the stereo on and the cool and snooze RnBs from Easy FM played. I felt at home. She shimmered away after pouring some juice in a wineglass for me. Five minutes or so later, she came back in black hipster pants and a sleeveless top. The church girl was erased, no longer looking like Mother Theresa. She sat opposite me, and looked at me straight in the eyes. She’s beautiful . She likes me .
She wanted to know me better according to her, how come I called myself Son of Man, my family background and generally my life.
“From the time you told me that you are called SOM I’ve wanted to know more about you. Could you be Jesus?” she asked jokingly.
Terry was jolly, chaffy, good-humoured and loquacious. All what she wanted was to have me in her Christian Union Society. Seriously! What a waste of my precious time. She said that she just liked me, I seemed to be a good guy, and she wanted to help me. Her help involved pulling me to her Christian club. I could not. My religious penchant by a long way changed when I left seminary.
I was sorry that I couldn’t. I just told her that I could not be actively involved.
Terry was a staunch Roman Catholic from the outskirts of Nairobi, from a family of four. Her father was a lawyer by profession and working in the Ministry of Finance, and her mother a business lady. She was the last born, the only girl.
She called me her brother and although I did not join her Christian encampment, she was good to me. She introduced me to her friends, but I was smart enough to put on my mask effectively. Could they know that I was a criminal?
She said, “Brother, if you need anything just tell me. I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you.”
“No. Do not fret yourself about me. I’m just fine.”
“Sure you are fine. How fine if you don’t even have a home to go to?”
“Believe me. I am fine.”
She did not buy it. She wanted to reach out and help. I officially became her benefactor, probably her charity programme, and her younger brother.
CHAPTER 31
His friends saw him through when Grace left. He almost lost hope, but in the middle of nowhere he saw how friends could be of help. They gave him his life back.
For the umpteenth time Job remembered the events of that fateful day with resentment.
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