The Church

I live in a green house on a hill. Surrounding the one room, are four large sightseeing windows. Besides letting in the cold night mountain wind, the windows also are a portal to splendid sights. Nighttime gives way to constellations of the city lights shinning down on the distant streets. During the day I can look at the mountain Vahos. As beautiful as these two things may be to gander at, the Church by far takes the cake. It dominates two windows with its glowing yellow hue. The church is in what could be considered our front yard... really just the courtyard for all the houses on our dead-end Avenida. It is nice to know that I am so close to all those pews and prayers. The church serves many functions, some of which are not so typical. I'll begin with the ordinary. There is an old man who wears a faded powder blue hanky on his head for a hat. He is the church keeper. His jobs include sweeping, closing and opening doors, washing the windows of the case that hold the 10 foot bloody Jesus on a cross illuminated by candles, and most importantly he ringing the church bells. Early in the morning, after having already been awaken by roosters, firecrackers, and my landlady washing clothes.... I hear the sound of those two church bells ringing in their tower. Looking first at my watch to make note that it is 6:00, I go to the window to observe the hankied church keeper hit the ancient bells with metal spoons. The bells sound in a hollow clank and ting one would expect from a cylindrical object being hit with a spoon 1/10000th its weight. Up there in the bell tower, the church keeper transforms from God's House Keeper into conductor playing his symphony of bells for all those in Heaven and here on Earth. On and on it goes... having no pattern, no rhythm, and absolutely no correspondence to the time of day. Never do I hear six chimes for six o'clock. That would be to predictable, and God doesn't care what time it is as long as it is A.D. I sit back in the early morning light, taking in the dayšs chosen symphony and quietly applaud when it is finished, glad that I could be sitting in the same audience as the divine Man himself. The other function of the church is not so traditional. During the day it may well be a bell tower symphony and a room for worship, yet when the sun goes down it turns into a jungle gym for the neighborhoodšs local loony. I think churches are old men magnets, or at least this one is. Where during the day it is befriended by the church keeper, during the night it is kept company by another old man, this one donning an ancient closet ensemble. Every night this old man (I will call him Mr.R , short for routine) comes to the church to complete the dayšs routine. In an act ten times more precise then the bells, Mr. R takes 3 laps around the body of the Church, then goes up the ledge along side the entrance door and mounts the ledge turning himself around and with the aid of his feet, pushing himself up the wall until his booty sits firmly on the little piece of concrete. There he sits for about 1 minute, then he decides that standing on the ledge is a better idea. He then will stand for 30 seconds, which becomes boring. To break this monotony, he attempts to mount the tiny decorative ledge on a column standing next to him. He tries to gets some footing on this piece that is impossibly small to stand on. He will put his foot up there 5 times, each time bringing it back down again, disgruntled that it doesnšt have enough room for him to stand on. Gasp what will he do next?? Well this ledge is situated right next to a pillar. The pillar is the perfect thing to peek around...and this is just what he does. Standing there on his trusty two feet, he scoots along the rim of the ledge until he is just barely out of visible range. He then careens his head around to see what is lurking on the other side of the church. If there happens to be a couple making out, well then Whoa Nelly... he will stand there for thirty long minutes spying on the love life of youngsters (maybe he is doing some scientific research). If however there is no one there, he is satisfied to stare off into space. The mere possibility of action is enough to keep him occupied for a good 5 minutes. When he tires of spying around the pillar, he slides his wrinkled hands back to side returns to just standing on the ledge by the door. All of this is repeated for the next 2 hours. Several rounds of laps...sitting... standing... attempted foot-hold on the non-existent ledge...and spying around the pillar at the street activities. From the window in our house, I sit watching him spying and executing his nightly routine. In his mind he believes that no one can see him.. he is the secret agent of the church, taking note of all the surrounding activity. And there I am watching him watching others... I too believing that I am invisible in my gandering. Maybe some else is watching me... Maybe God.

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