Tag: Englishman

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Insistent

The ambitious Brit puzzled his dilemma.

“If I’m to make my case that the book this naïve teacher calls holy is simply no more than a collection of fables chock-full of contradictions, I suppose I must fetch a copy for myself.” He mulled the idea. “By Jove, I shall”.

The San Antonio College I was drawn to came with a colorful history.

Young Leonard Coote had known where he was headed. Endowed with a keen mind and an appetite for adventure, Leonard set off from his English homeland for the islands of Japan. “Seize the moment”, he was urged. “Now is the time. Japanese business markets are ripe. Go. Venture out. Your fortune awaits.”

Lured by a Liverpool firm putting roots down in the Far East, he set sail. Other young Englishmen had blazed impressive trails, making it big, finding their fortunes. But a worry nagged at Leonard.

Those who hadn’t done well, however (their numbers were not few), had got distracted by party-going and the like. Many, it was rumored, wound up sidelined, addicted, chasing cheap wine to blunt the pain of their derailed dreams.

So, resourceful Leonard devised a strategy. “I’ll find living quarters somewhere safe”, he mused, “a place with better surroundings than those poor blokes managed.” This had led him to the man with the book.

“Yes”, the missionary offered, “we can make our spare room available”, adding, “and you’re welcome to join us for mealtimes.” They agreed to a suitable pay arrangement and a handshake settled the matter.

After a short while Leonard determined to challenge the Bible teacher on his faith – engage him in argument over the Scriptures, their validity. The missionary, smiling warmly, declined. “I’m happy sharing my story and what the Bible means to me. But debate it? Argue the matter? No, I am not your person for that.” This had brought Leanord to his dilemma, and his decision.

He arrived from work one evening with his new Bible – Old Testament, New Testament – King James Version. Having added a pen and a fresh clean ledger to his arsenal, Leonard smiled. “There now, all that remains is to read through it, registering its errors as I go. We will have that discussion”, he silently vowed, “and I shall be ready.”

What he didn’t factor in was a bold, terse phrase lying within the ancient text. Weeks of methodical reading, of note-taking – launching in from Genesis 1 – eventually brought him to the phrase. It was a declaration.

Nothing could have prepared him for the moment.
©2017 Jerry Lout

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BOOM in the Night

“Bwana, Kuja! Ona nyoka kubwa sana!”

The African voices clamored – yelling attention to the white men of Bukuria station. “Sirs, Come see! Very big snake!”

Art Dodzweit leapt from his chair. Reaching for his rifle and a fist full of shells he shouted. “Bud, come! Seems a cobra or python has paid us a visit.”

In the mid 1940s, friends Bud Sickler and Arthur Dodzweit had boarded ships to Kenya from the U.S. The agency had commissioned them and their new brides – identical twins, Fay and May – to preach, serve where they might, and start churches. Early on an administrator had greeted them.

“That hill over there, just in the distance. Its the place we’ve approved land for your mission. Shall we have a look?” The Englishman of Britain’s Crown Colony showed the Yankee newcomers the plot of land. Then left them to the work.

Kuria country was covered with trees, underbrush, and occasional patches of grazing land, rugged and wild. Narrow creeks and rivers crisscrossed hilly terrain. These waterways flooded their banks most rainy seasons. Crop planting hardly got a mention among the traditional nomad cattle-tenders – the Wakuria.

       Among predator-creatures native to the area were large, slithering pythons,                                         camouflaged in the region’s undergrowth.

They moved about mostly at night, stalking small and, at times, larger game – their big, round eyes and nimble forked tongue, keenly detecting prey. On the night of the snake alert the sky was black. The men tramped the direction shown to them.

Art stopped. Movement in the tall grass by his feet sent shivers along his back. The snake lay nearby, no question. A young Kenyan bearing a flashlight, lowered it. They spotted the signs. Blotches of tan interrupted by cream-tinted borders and black outer lines glided forward. Art held the gun stock in a tight grip. A python for sure.

“Bud! Bud!” Art’s nervous voice cut into the night. “I’m gonna shoot, Bud.”  He squeezed the trigger. The kick of the rifle threw him back a step.

That moment the python’s fore-end, several yards out to the left, instantly rose upward from the blast’s impact, the high caliber bullet tearing into its midsection.

Bud stood meters away, silent in the dark. A nearby African, gripping a flashlight, caught the image of the huge snake’s head, suddenly meeting eyeball-to-eyeball with Bud Sickler – perhaps two inches before his nose.

Bud’s throat took in a sudden suck of air. His backward fall came instant and sure. The tall, red-haired young man lay flat in the grass, out cold from the shock of the encounter.

We never learned how the two friends, when they finally retired for the night, managed to sleep.

What we would learn now that we had landed at Bukuria. The Python family hadn’t gone away. They were still in the neighborhood.

© 2017 Jerry Lout