Somewhat Saved

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  “You must be goofed on stink weed if you think you’re winning tonight,” the old man responded as he finally plopped down, almost breaking a brittle hip as he did.

  The others said nothing as they concentrated on rubbing arthritis salve and alcohol into their elbow joints and flexed their gnarly fingers to get the blood flowing.

  Ten minutes later, their clothes splattered with ink and a magnifying glass in one hand, the old folks were ready. The rousing once-a-month bingo game sprang into full swing. It was seniors night and no holds barred was the rule.

  The pastor and founder of No Hope Now–Mercy Nevah Church was the Reverend Bling Moe Bling. His ill-fitting snowy white toupee looked like a cloud hovering over his pointed head. He sported a shortened crippled leg supported by a bicycle kickstand.

  Now in his late seventies, the reverend had first started preaching in his early seventies. He claimed that God had called him on his cell phone and told him to spread the word. He’d divorced his first wife after she’d insisted it was just static or probably a wrong number. He was determined to do God’s work for a price and so he started the seniors’ bingo night.

  The reverend, who was dressed in his traditional bright red Nehru-collared long robe, stood lopsided behind a rickety picnic table. Smudged bingo boards were stacked high on the table. Off to the side, Pepsi-Cola bottle caps took the place of real bingo chips.

  As the reverend called out one number after another, he leaned to one side, grasping the table for support with one hand. By the time one of the senior citizens, stuttering as if his lips were hummingbird wings, finally called out, “Bingo,” the bicycle kickstand the reverend used to support his shortened and useless left leg fell over. With his hands flailing as if he were trying to fly, he accidentally knocked over the table. The fall caused all the previously called and uncalled numbers to fall to the floor.

  Every number from B1 to O75 shot off the table. It took a moment before it occurred to the seniors or sunk in that there was no exact way to tell who really had bingo. Echoes of “bingo” rang out at the same time as the players all inched and then clamored toward the table. By the time reasonable order was established, the only things distinguishable were the odor of Bengay and pieces of somebody’s wheelchair.

  It took another fifteen minutes for the ushers and anyone able-bodied to round up the seniors, and to lift the Reverend Bling’s shriveled leg back onto his kickstand.

  “I want my money and I want my money now,” Bea screamed from the back of the room. She stood shuffling from side to side, the hem of her long blue dress bustling as though it were alive and ready to do damage. As her eyes widened in anger, she moved her hands back and forth as though she were competing on a ski slope. “I just spent the last fifteen dollars of my pension money trying to win that one-thousand-dollar bingo pot and I’ll knock out anybody who gets in my way and then pray ’em back on my way to the bank.”

  Her tirade had forced her dentures to move forward in her mouth. While Bea stopped and adjusted her false teeth, to argue her point further, more drama was unfolding in the rear of the room.

  The drama inched its way forward, making a rat-tat-tat sound with the tip of its cane as it emerged from a table in the back. Snickering, it spoke up and took advantage of the momentary silence from Bea’s challenge.

  “Y’all know she’s crazy. She’s probably having another Alzheimer’s episode, because it was me who yelled out bingo first,” Sasha cackled.

  Sasha was still dressed in her all-white linen gown from earlier. As she inched along, the dress billowed about her elfish brown frame. She used her walking cane to part the sea of other angry seniors as she limped up to the table.

  “What tha . . . ? In all the rush to play bingo, Bea didn’t know that Sasha was even there. She became so angry she started trembling.

  “That woman wouldn’t know bingo from Scrapple,” Sasha hissed, forgetting to continue her charade of humility, and that scrapple consisted of meat parts and was not a game. Shooting an angry look back at Bea, she continued to inch up to the table. She used the tip of her cane to poke at the Reverend Bling’s chest. “That money belongs to me and if you don’t give it to me right now, I’ll tear you asunder.”

  “Ain’t you a woman of God?” the Reverend Bling asked as he bravely tried to maintain a vertical position.

  He didn’t want to appear weak but it was hard to do when he used a kickstand for leg support. “The Almighty wouldn’t be pleased if you tore me asunder,” he said in a mocking tone so that the others wouldn’t think he was afraid.

  He could’ve saved his energy. The others didn’t think he was afraid; they knew for certain that he was.

  “If God didn’t want me to tear you asunder, He wouldn’t have put it in the Bible,” Sasha answered carefully. She never took her beady eyes off the reverend as she used her cane to drag a dust-covered Bible toward her from the end of the table. In her rush she’d left hers back at her table.

  Before Sasha went on to further prove her Bible knowledge, she glanced over at Bea to make sure the woman didn’t sneak up on her. Bea was still trying to collect her wits and didn’t pose an immediate threat. Sasha picked up the Bible and didn’t even open it, choosing instead to quote the passage while she held the book.

  “It says in the book of Matthew, the twenty-fourth chapter, the fifty-first verse—”

  Sasha stopped suddenly and turned to the others to make sure that all eyes were on her before she continued. “ ‘. . . And shall cut him asunder, and appoint him his portion with the hypocrites.’ ” She stopped again and pointed her cane to the others scattered behind her and particularly at Bea. “That would be y’all. Y’all, the hypocrites.” Then she turned back to the reverend, glaring. “There shall be weeping and gnashing of the teeth.”

  Sasha laid her cane across the table and hung her head. Suddenly speaking softly and humbly, she added, “So saith my God.” She clutched her heart slowly and looked at the others as though they all didn’t share the same God.

  “Well, Mother Sasha, I guess you do know your Bible.” The reverend snickered, nervously. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see if any of the ushers were going to help him.

  They weren’t.

  “Of course I know my Bible.” Sasha nodded with confidence and then added her own interpretation. “As you can see, God has said that I can beat you into a ball of Silly Putty if you don’t give me my money.”

  Sasha would have said more but suddenly she felt a sharp pinch on her shoulder and cried out, “Ouch!”

  “If you try and take my money, you’ll be the one looking like a ball of gray-haired Silly Putty.”

  The voice was strong, determined, and of course, familiar. When Sasha turned around, rubbing her bruised shoulder, she stood face-to-chest with Mother Bea.

  While her longtime foe had spouted customized Bible verses, Bea had snuck up behind Sasha and, with her own false teeth in her hands, had reached down and used them to nip Sasha’s boney shoulder.

  “Got a Bible verse for that?” Bea taunted, pointing toward Sasha’s bitten shoulder. “How about Psalms one twenty-nine, verse four? Do you know that one?” She laid a finger to her lips to silence the others in case they wanted to butt in. “Let me quote it for you.” She lifted her head toward the church ceiling and proceeded. “ ‘The Lord is righteous: He hath cut asunder the cords of the wicked.’ ” Bea looked down and pointed toward Sasha. “And that’s where you come in. You are that wicked heifer in the book of Psalms.”

  The reverend took advantage of the face-off between the two mothers and beckoned two of the ushers, Sister Judah and Sister Israel, to his aid. “Why didn’t you two come and help me while I was being attacked?” he whispered angrily when they arrived.

  “I was waiting for Sister Judah to move. She was closer to you,” Sister Israel replied. She was still grasping the collection plate and felt secure that the reverend wouldn’t want her to drop it to save his hide.

  “I don’t know
what she’s talking about,” Sister Judah said in a huff. “I don’t understand what the big deal is,” she added while pointing toward Sasha. “She’s just an old lady talking about a sunder. I don’t even know what a sunder is or what it looks like.”

  “Well, let me explain it so you and Sister Israel understand—” The reverend gripped the table for more support. “Zechariah. The eleventh chapter and the fourteenth verse says, ‘Then I cut asunder mine other staff.’” He nodded towards them. “That’s you two,” he said as he continued quoting. “ ‘Even Bands, that I might break the brotherhood between Judah and Israel.’” The reverend stopped abruptly and through clenched teeth, said, “Now in your case, it will be sisterhood.”

  Sasha interrupted the discourse, barking, “Can we possibly get back to giving me my money?”

  “It’s not yours. It’s my money. You’re always trying to take what’s mine,” Bea snapped.

  Mother Sasha became so mad her bun appeared to be twisting like a helicopter propeller. “When we were younger and she was much uglier than she is now, if that’s possible, Bea Blister kissed my boyfriend, Jasper, behind the bleachers at the homecoming game.”

  “She’s a liar!” Bea screamed, spittle flying from the corners of her turned-down mouth. “She’s just jealous. She’s always been jealous.”

  No one said a word, as they waited for the rest of the sordid tale to come out.

  They didn’t have to wait long because Bea was just getting started. “It was her ugly butt that kissed my boyfriend, Jas, at the tennis match when we were living in Williamston, South Carolina.”

  Old Buck knew that they were both wrong. As hazy as his memory was at times, he’d never forget that debacle. It had started at a home-going service of one of their high school teachers. Her name was Miss Lizzie Crow. It was immediately after the service and folks had gathered to eat in the field behind the church and chat about the service.

  Buck, at that time an award-winning sprinter, had dashed across the field to use the outhouse. When he came out, he saw Sasha’s own sister, Areal Hellraiser, displaying her curves against an old juniper tree. She was using her pink tongue, letting it dart in and out, as she licked a young man’s willing face, almost devouring his mouth. And, because Buck, even back then, had been a lurker, he’d watched with fascination.

  Old Buck couldn’t remember what Areal wore, only what she’d done. But he did remember that the fellow wasn’t Sasha’s boyfriend. It was just some guy that she and a whole bunch of girls liked. His name was Jimmy or perhaps it was Jasper. He smiled at the memory and shook his head as he watched the two old women go at each other. She was close, Buck thought. At least the man’s name had started with a J.

  Buck’s smile grew almost maniacal as he also remembered that he saw that same Areal Hellraiser later that same week kissing Bea’s boyfriend, too. It happened at a baseball game, not a tennis match. And, Bea’s boyfriend’s name was also Jimmy or maybe it was Jasper too.

  Old Buck placed a hand inside one of his torn pants pockets, looking angelic as he let his mind recall other details from his youth, both real and imagined. Of course, his memory was just as faulty as Bea’s and Sasha’s. It was a good thing he’d kept his mouth shut because he’d only fuel the eternal flame.

  It was an instant replay. Bea and Sasha had fought off and on over the past twenty years, mostly over accusations that neither had witnessed but had been told by someone they couldn’t even remember. Sadly, there were other times when they just fought because they both existed in the same place and for no other reason.

  “I have an idea.” The Reverend Bling excitedly snapped a finger to get everyone’s attention. He’d finally decided that he needed to take charge, particularly since he saw that most of the other seniors led by Buck had taken the opportunity to sneak away. He didn’t blame them. He’d have left, too, but his desire to live another day and not be arrested outweighed a bingo pot.

  By the time the reverend finished snapping his fingers, the only ones left in the basement were the two old mothers, the two ushers, and himself.

  “Obviously, it’s my fault that the numbers got mixed up when the table overturned. Therefore, my solution is to give a consolation prize that can be shared by the two of you.”

  “I don’t want a consolation prize. I want my thousand dollars,” Sasha barked. She was livid and was about to snatch a hat pin to stick him and make her point.

  “I don’t want any consolation prize either.” Bea became so mad with the reverend’s shameless ploy that she handed Sasha’s cane to her and then pointed toward the reverend. She shouted, “Go ahead, Sasha. Handle your business.”

  The reverend’s self-preservation went into overdrive. His eyes grew large like an owl’s as he scanned the room trying to come up with a plan. Then he saw a plan come together.

  Behind the bingo table was an old bookcase. The reverend saw something there that he took as a sign from God. Sticking out of one of the reference dream books was the plane reservation ticket for his upcoming trip to Las Vegas. He had received it about a month ago after turning in his frequent flyer miles and had placed it in the book for safekeeping.

  His pastoral anniversary was coming up. He’d planned to fake humbleness and take cash from the congregation, along with one of its female members.

  He wouldn’t tell the Pastor’s Aide Auxiliary that he’d already paid for his trip by cashing in his mileage. Instead, he’d pocket the church’s money to use in the casino playing the nickel slot machines. At the time he’d purchased the tickets he hadn’t known about the upcoming Mothers Board Conference.

  However, at that moment, he’d give his only good leg just to get out of that church’s basement without harm.

  Just as Sasha was about to lift the sharpened business end of her cane with the help of her temporary ally, Bea, the reverend spoke up again, quickly.

  “Mothers, come. Let’s reason together,” he said with false confidence.

  “Isn’t that term, reason together, from the Bible?” Sister Judah quickly leaned over and asked Sister Israel.

  “I’m not sure. If it isn’t, it sure sounds like it could be.” Sister Israel made a mental note to look it up in the dust-covered Bible she’d bought some time ago from the Family Dollar Store.

  “What do you have in mind?” Bea asked with a hint of suspicion as she gently placed her hand on Sasha’s scrawny shoulder to temporarily stop her from harming the reverend.

  “Out of the goodness of my heart and, of course, being led by a spirit, I want to send the both of you to the upcoming Mothers Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. You’ll be in Las Vegas and out of my sight for almost a month!”

  His smile was broad and insincere. The dim light in the basement beamed upon his twenty remaining teeth mostly crowded in the front. The brown-stained teeth looked like he had about twenty malt chocolate bits sticking out of his gums.

  It only took a moment for the two old women to understand the offer. It took less time than that for them to forget that moments before he was the common enemy who’d made them the best of friends.

  “I’m not going on no trip with this old hag,” Sasha snapped as she shoved away Bea’s hand. “Keep your sinning paws off me.”

  “I know you didn’t think I’d share a room with you and your bursitis. And you smell like week-old corn chips and spoiled cabbage juice,” Bea chided with her voice steadily rising. “I’d rather sip cold olive oil and soak my teeth in hot orange juice.”

  A mask of concern covered Sasha’s normal nastiness. It was as though she and Bea were suddenly the best of friends again.

  “You know, they say that a mixture of cold olive oil and hot orange juice is good for the digestive system. It’ll make you regular,” Sasha said sweetly as she reached for one of Bea’s swollen hands.

  “You think so?” Bea asked. Suddenly she, too, felt a foreign tenderness to the little sprite, who usually gave her indigestion. Concern spread over Bea’s face. She leaned closer and continue
d sharing with her temporary best friend.

  “I’ve been a little on the backed-up side recently. Sometimes, when I go to the bathroom, I feel like I’m about to sprain something.” Bea’s cheeks inflated as she patted the fatty tissue on her plump rump and stomach for emphasis.

  “T-M-I,” the Reverend Bling interrupted, and covered his ears. “That’s too much information! Have mercy!”

  “Oh, God will if you let Him,” Sasha turned and said. She could taste the sweetness in her voice as her eyes traveled slowly upward and over toward the huge white cross hanging between the bingo and the exit signs.

  Unlike Sasha, whose sweetness seemed content to stay around a bit, Bea’s mind teetered dangerously between sweet and surly.

  “Should we make the call for the flight and hotel reservations or will you do it, Reverend Bling?” Bea asked softly, choosing to be sweet.

  Bea didn’t wait for the reverend to respond. Her touch was almost genuine as she then bear-hugged Sasha. “I can’t wait to take a trip with my best friend. I could use a little R and R.”

  I bet you could use a little rubbing alcohol and roulette, the reverend thought as he continued grinning, appreciating his own genius.

  Unfortunately Bea, in her temporary state of sweetness, had hugged that still-sore spot where she had just nipped Sasha with the false teeth. The pain was enough to wake the demons in Sasha and she let loose.

  “She’s attacking me,” Sasha cried out as she tried to extricate her tiny body from Bea’s clutches. She spun and raised her cane, pointing it toward Bea’s shocked face, and screamed, “Reverend Bling, did you see that?”

  It was loud enough to take Bea’s demons off pause. “She’s a liar. She tried to steal my thousand-dollar bingo pot,” Bea yelled as she hopscotched in a circle, trying to avoid Sasha’s cane.

  The reverend felt his blood pressure soar into upper triple digits. He couldn’t take it any longer. Doggone Alzheimer’s gonna make those two old crones destroy my place of business.