Kafez

Literary

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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Friday, 22 September 2006

A true episode -

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Once I knew an Asian woman who wrote.
She was beautiful, charismatic, dynamic.
She coloured her hair all kinds of colours.
She said she was a Pentecostal Christian
She fancied herself a prophet on a mission
I was adoring of her.
She was a hopeful author and my life was a mess.
But she was always going on,
That those who had less would be blessed.
The Lord said this...and the Lord said that...
"Thus saith the Lord..." kind of thing.
I always thought that Christ was enjoying strawberries & cream somewhere
not inclined to too much conversation. But one never knew.

One day, she finished her novel
It was a thick manuscript meant for the real world.
Her head was in a terrible swirl.
It took her 10 years for blood, sweat and tears
Celestial voices had told her to write the story
where Christ would be magnified, glorified and she the first to rise in a rapture
But now how she could capture a market was the real worry
She questioned her life path, her ordinance, sustenance
her impending fame, prosperity...she was inclined to be bossy
She could hear from the Lord and I could not and that was that.

One day at a Pentecostal church in Kuala Lumpur...
a pastor's wife reputed to be holy and godly
called out names of those to be caressed and blessed super-righteously. Her voice is proud and loud.
My friend (but now a foe)'s name was called and she went with her head held tall.

Pastor's wife (spokeswoman for God - it was all about women's rights here):
"Oh my beloved daughter, come here, you who have laboured to seek me and have finally found me... I am yours waiting in this land that you have build with your hand.
Come my daughter, come now and play in the lovely golden sand.
My friend (but now a foe) ran ahead...such was the hurry to go.
Pastor's wife looking slightly actressy, eyes closed, hands moving upwards this way and that - she was inclined to be of a midget stature - appeared to be doing a children's grass skirt dance.

My friend (but now a foe) waits with eyes closed and hands held high. The drama is nigh.
I sigh!
"My daughter be overcome in the spirit for I have a word for you."
The word again. Silence.
"You will write books my daughter. You will be FAMOUS!
My friend (but now a foe) falls halfway to the right as if an angel has grabbed her and she is been swung in mid-air. I don't see no angel...only my friend (but now a foe) appearing in a somewhat precarious position with one crooked breast dangling down. Covered of course.
But I wondered that someone didn't go along to straighten it. before it chipped from a crinkly flesh and fell off.
"My daughter you will write not `1 book..."
My friend (but now a foe) swings to her left with an attempt of being slain in the spirit, still half-bending and half-falling....
I see her petticote.
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I wonder if someone shouldn't discreetly rip it off. It looks vulgar.
"My daughter, you will write 50 books...Book after book after book...
people will worship your fame, praise your talent, adore you...."
With each word, my friend (but now a foe) appears to want to fall, so weak that she has become at the Lord's powerful touch. She can hardly stand. She can hardly fall.
She is caught in between.
She is sobbing, crying. The power of the Lord has touched her.
I see smut in her nostrils.
"You will write poetry..."
My friend (but now a foe) swings to the left. Drumroll.
"You will write hymns...
"My friend (but now a foe) swings to the right. Drumroll.
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Left, right, right, left, right, left.
Falling...falling...falling...not quite. Just missed a faint. Drumroll.
Round and round like a plastacine mound. Drumroll.
"You will create bestseller after bestseller."
This is too much. Drumroll
My friend (but now a foe) puts her hand on a forehead and groans. She looks like she might either fly or die from ecstasy. Drumroll.
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And the beat goes on and on.

I think of carousels swinging round and round.
While my friend (but now a foe) prances about, I hum to The Hollies.
Jesus is eating strawberries and cream for tea and I'm going to ask him why he didn't see me.

Later, my friend (but now a foe) is overjoyed, showy, arrogant.
How did the holy pastor's wife who was supposed to have known nothing knew everything of her plans in this incredible prophecy. What wonderful supernatural power!

It turned out they had met the day before for tea. My friend (but now a foe) had confided in her how badly she wanted to be published.

Today, my friend (but now a foe) has had nothing as yet published as far as I know.
Not a single page and if she doesn't hurry...she will soon age and be dribbling on a hickory.

Once I pointed it out and my friend (but now a foe) hated me. She went to live in a nearby country.
And that was as far as her fame went before it turned awry.

Once on a short trip to Malaysia from London, I suddenly saw her in Arrivals.
I had returned in the early morning...I was in love and elated
When our eyes met she looked at me with a wilful hatred.
I wore a black turtle neck, carried jackets and pushed my trolley with glee
And that's how she finally cursed the new and radiant me.
She looked haggard and wretched, glaring at me, her woeful sin.
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While I looked back with a happy gaze and then an equally startled grin
It's nice to know that when you're down and out and though people may push you about
One fine day, you'll escape that clout and a fashionable sensibility will win.
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