Missing Angel

 

About a mile or so down the road, just as you leave town, there's a small farm and an old farmer there who sells his produce by the way side. We visit him every so often for a chat and to help him out financially buying his vegetables at far higher prices than the supermarket.

He speaks in staccato monosyllabic mode with a lot of full stops (periods) in amongst his words. I call him "E I E I O" but not to his face, or his back even. Only when he's not there.

The other day whilst visiting his farm I saw a statue of an angel about three feet tall in his yard. I asked him about it. 

"Wife grave," he said, "damn heavy. Can't move it by meeself!"

I felt sorry for him. He lost his wife last year and the poor man is still grieving. He's obviously bought the statue and cannot move it to the cemetery.

That evening I came back with a couple of friends of mine. We planned to take the statue to the cemetery on his wife's grave. He was not there, but the three of us managed to lift the heavy angel and put it on the back of the truck and to the cemetery.

The next day I went to see the old man to tell him what I did. He was furious. 

"Thieving bastards!" he said, "took statue away. Called police. Missing angel!"

I panicked. I am good at it. The last thing I wanted to do is admit my good deed of the previous night. I sympathised and left.

That night I went back to the cemetery with another friend. It was raining heavily. With just two people carrying the heavy stone it slipped and fell to the ground. It got covered with mud. We managed to put it in the back seat of my car. It did not do the suspension any good, nor the back seat. Mud everywhere.

We waited until it was dark and put the statue back in the farmer's front yard and washed it quickly with water from a nearby trough for his cattle. 

The next day I visited the farmer nonchalantly. 

"T'Angel's back!" he said, "all by 'tself. Can't understand it. Meant t'be delivered t'cemtry! Not here. And it's had wash. Dirty it was!"

Well, the coward in me was in super-drive. I said nothing. But I wanted to help. It's pointless being a Christian if you do not help a poor man like him. What would Jesus do? Probably send a real angel not a heavy stone one!

That night I came back with yet another friend in another car. I hope all these friends don't ever meet and exchange stories otherwise they'll doubt my sanity. This time we planned to tell the farmer what we were doing. Taking the statue to his wife's grave.

We banged on the door. No response, Probably asleep. Or gone somewhere. 

Have you noticed I've started talking in staccato mode like E I E I O?

We took the statue and put it on his wife's grave.

Two days later I visited the old man again. Still nonchalantly.

"Can't understand it!" he said, "t'angel gone to cemtry by 'tself. Strange. Very strange I tell thee!"

I said nothing and bought some expensive vegetables we did not need.