Ditta Sylvester, Contributor

George Johnson straightened his tie. His hands shook a little and he reminded himself to take a swig of brandy before he left home. His wife was usually the one to help him with this sort of thing. He could see her behind him in the mirror as she lay on the bed they had shared for most of their 18 years of marriage. Her body was a small mound among the sheets under which she took cover for warmth. Her eyes were closed, but she moaned every few minutes or so. She was frequently in pain these days. He finished dressing and went into the living room.

George poured a drink into one of the short tumblers they had gotten as an anniversary gift a few years ago and he swallowed in one gulp. He went back to the bathroom to gargle again. He had to make sure that no member of his flock would detect the smell of liquor on his breath. Then he gathered up his things - Bible, hymnal, manuscript, etc., which he stuffed into an old carrying case. He went back to say goodbye to Alice, but she was snoring softly so he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

He was driving along the river road when the incident involving himself and Sister Gladys Samuels came to his mind again. Gladys and her husband, Herbert, had been members of his congregation for as long as he could remember. But it had been months now since Herbert had turned up at church. When he asked her about Herbert's absence, Gladys had spoken to him of her suspicions of her husband's 'taking up' with the new post mistress. He had been walking down this same road last week Sunday evening, trying to find some fever grass to make Alice her favourite tea, when he had heard Gladys call out to him from behind. He stopped for her to catch up and saw that her eyes were red.

She told him that she was now certain that Herbert was having an affair with the young postmistress and that he had threatened to leave her. George had been tired after a very long day of preaching, attending to his flock and having to go home to look after Alice. They sat down together on an old mango tree stump among the bushes as he tried to console and encourage her. The time flew by without their notice as they spoke of the stresses of Alice's illness and Herbert's betrayal; two people starved for affection and feeling very sorry for both themselves. The sun was going down when Gladys made George a most unexpected offer and one which he had not the strength to refuse.

He tried to banish the thought as he had done so often since the incident happened. That was the first and only time that he had ever been unfaithful to Alice and he knew that she would forgive him. But the memory still made him uncomfortable and he had not yet been able to tell her about it. He drove into the churchyard, got out his carrying case and smiled benevolently at the members of his flock who were still milling around outside. It was Christmastime and he had chosen to speak on the topic of showing discretion in celebration of the festive season. It was a large audience. There were faces there that he had not seen in many months. He smiled and greeted the throng with a resonant,

"Praise the Lord my brethren!"

"Praise the Lord!" The congregation echoed.

He was more than half-way through his sermon when he noticed Johnny Wray sitting almost immediately below the pulpit. Johnny's real name was Gerald Raymond and he had gotten his nickname by reason of his partiality to booze [manufactured by J. Wray & Nephew]. George knew that Johnny must have been hard put upon by his wife, Sheryl, in order to be present there today. Well, at least he was present and hopefully would benefit, he thought briefly to himself as he resumed speaking. The preacher proceeded to tell his audience that this was indeed a season in which to celebrate, but that the congregation should remember to celebrate in a manner befitting their status as Christians. He smiled happily down at his flock. Then, he said something which deeply affected Johnny:

"Brethren," he declared, "the Bible does not condemn drinking in the same way that it condemns sins like stealing, lying and fornication. In fact, the Apostle Paul encouraged his young friend - Timothy, to drink a little wine. But ..."

The preacher never finished that sentence for Johnny was gazing into his face with eyes that seemed to want to jump from their sockets and he was grinning from ear to ear. His lips parted to expose his huge teeth which had been discoloured by a tobacco habit and the preacher's words stuck in his throat. George had been trying to convince himself that nobody had been watching from the bushes on that afternoon that he had got to know Sister Samuels in the biblical sense. Now, as he looked down into Johnny's mocking eyes, he felt sure that he had just been kidding himself and that this man had been the peeping Tom.

George's mouth fell open as he stared down at the man. His limbs trembled among voluminous the folds of his frock.

His eyes searched his audience for his companion in sin. Sister Samuels sat gazing piously back at him with concern in her eyes. She was thinking, like some others in the audience, that the stress of his wife's illness in addition to his work load had finally got to him and he now seemed to be on the brink of a breakdown. Then he coughed boisterously, swallowed a few times and reached for his handkerchief. The audience sat quietly watching as he clumsily wiped his face. Then he bellowed without preamble,

"Hallelujah!"

"Hallelujah!!!" responded the brethren as one man, thankful that the strained silence had finally been broken. Then they all rose to sing lustily, "Come all ye Faithful".

The preacher was showered with thanks and commendation for the wonderful sermon he had delivered. Nobody seemed to have noticed the tense, unexplained pause before the abrupt end. If they did, they didn't care. It was a time when spirits were high and everybody felt obliged to smile at and be happy about everything. He mingled cheerfully among them for longer than necessary, briefly forgetting Alice's illness and the others of his troubles. It was almost evening when he started back home. He was humming softly to himself. It had been a good day. Then he saw Johnny Wray. He was standing in the road and there was that weird grin on his face again!

George's heart sank. He felt sure that Johnny wanted to confront him. Maybe to talk of blackmail. He had nothing to say to this drunkard who was bent on ruining his day, if not his life.

"Man move!" he yelled.

Then he revved the engine and the car sprang forward as an angry beast. It frightened even George. He had pressed the gas a little too hard. He swung desperately away from the man and just managed to get the car back on course as it headed for the steep drop into the valley. He stopped, heart pounding, and looked back. There, on the side of the road, sat Johnny watching him. He was no longer grinning. George would have laughed at the look on the man's face, were he himself not so frightened.

Johnny watched dumbfounded as the preacher drove off like a man possessed. He had almost killed him! Then he got up slowly and brushed the dirt from his clothes. He looked down into the valley which the car had just come close to plung into. There he saw Mavis' retreating figure as she moved blithely down the dirt track which meandered across the wide plains as an uneven yellowish line scrawled across a wide, green page. He had known her long before he had married Sheryl. But her late husband, who had died little more than a year ago, had taken Mavis away from him.

It was she who had first heard the car as they lay close together on the thick bed of leaves covering the forest floor. They were close to the road but well hidden by the bamboo trees. Sheryl always seemed to have some sort of reason to deny him his conjugal rights nowadays. A man had needs which had to be satisfied so he had talked his reluctant old love into meeting him in the woods that day.

"Preacher comin!" Mavis had whispered as the car rounded the corner in the distance and came into view.

Her tone told Johnny that nothing more in the romantic field would be happening for him that day. Mavis' conscience had abruptly kicked in and she suddenly came to her senses. She rose resolutely, buttoned up her blouse and took off only a minute or two before the preacher had come on to the scene. Johnny was disappointed but also a little relieved. Sheryl was like a truth magnet and there was little he could hide from her. He had grown to love her and Mavis knew that. He sighed as he turned to go and wondered briefly if the preacher had made it safely home.

It was a lonely place, that stretch of road. George gazed straight ahead like a racehorse on his final stretch. The noise of the engine boomed out the gentle rustle of the slender bamboo leaves whispering softly to the breeze. He was dying to get home. He would have to confess his sin to Alice before she heard it from Johnny or anybody he might tell it to. He felt sure that she would forgive him. He felt the need for absolution and she was the only one in the world who would understand.

He parked the car in the yard, hurried into the house and then to their bedroom. She lay very still.

"Alice,' he called sitting down on the bed.

Nothing.

"Alice dear?" he repeated reaching for her hand.

Her arm stuck awkwardly out from below the sheet. As his hand touched that of his lifeless wife, George winced. The finality of its coldness surged though his body, like an electric charge of condemnation.

Johnny Wray was at the funeral. George saw him but he couldn't care less. [At least not at first.] If uncovering his sin would bring Alice back, he would be willing to declare from the steeple of the church that he - Preacher George Johnson - was a hypocritical adulterer. That he did not practise what he preached. It wouldn't matter whether or not she would forgive him. Just that she would be alive.

The crowd had all but dispersed when Johnny came up to him.

"How you doin' Preacher?" he asked.

George nodded but answered nothing. His grief was forgotten for the moment.

"I just want to tell you say I so sorry bout you wife," Johnny said.

"Thanks."

"You musta did feel real lonely sometime during her sickness," Johnny remarked.

"Here it comes!" George thought as he braced himself.

"A man must stick to him wife, 'in sickness and in health', right Preach?"

"What do you want from me?" George almost screamed, though he managed to remain quiet. He nodded stiffly.

"My wife not in di best of health an' I was tempted, Preacher. Tempted bad! But God send you to save me from evil."

"Me!"

"Yes sah! You rememba dat Christmas Sunday you nearly lick me down?"

Like he would ever forget the day Alice died!

"Dat was di day di Lord send you to deliver me from temptation," Johnny concluded.

George knew not what to say. He cared nothing about Johnny's temptations, but he desperately needed to know whether or not he had seen him with Sister Gladys. He would have to try to steer the conversation in that direction:

"You were at church earlier that same day," he remarked.

"Yes," Johnny agreed. "You rememba how you was talking bout drinking an some more sin?"

George nodded.

"You teach me something dat day, Preacher. I nevva know say dem Bible people did use to drink liquor too! I was very happy to hear dat man!"

George smiled a little in his mind though his lips didn't quite make it.

"Miss Gladys was in church that day too," he remarked trying to draw the man out.

"Yes," Johnny agreed looking blankly at George.

The latter's heart missed a beat. Maybe Johnny was not trying to mess with him after all. Maybe his terrible secret was really safe.

"Miss Gladys is a good, decent woman," Johnny continued as if to fill out the silence. Then he assumed an air of self-righteous and said, "Is a pity say Herbert not a one-woman man like me an you!"

George was gazing at Johnny in silence with a strange smile on his face. He was now fully convinced that he had been haunted not by Johnny but by his own feelings of guilt. Johnny was thinking that this was the third time that the preacher had acted strangely in his presence. He had cut his sermon short the when their eyes met that Sunday in church, then he had almost run him over later that same day and now he was looking at him like he wasn't even there. Poor Preacher! This stress was really getting to him, Johnny thought sympathetically.

George became conscious of the man looking askance at him and cleared his throat.

"Well ...," he said uncertainly. Then he took Johnny's hand. "Thanks for the condolences and please tell Sheryl that I hope she will soon be okay. Will I see you in church next Sunday?"

It was Johnny's turn to hesitate.

"Maybe an' maybe not, Preacher. We wi' see."

"Fair enough!" George replied. "Take care now and remember that the men in the Bible never drank till they got drunk, right?"

"Right!" Johnny agreed laughing.

About a year later, Johnny was remembering those words as he drank a toast to George and Gladys at their wedding. Sheryl , now fully recovered, was there too. It had been a difficult time for George. Knowing that Johnny knew nothing of his sin had not helped much to assuage his guilt. If only he could have unburdened himself to Alice! This, coupled with the immense weight of his grief over her passing, had almost broken him. But with the help and support of his flock, he had managed to hold himself together.

He had gone to pass some time with his relatives in another part of the country a few weeks after the funeral, when Herbert had opted to leave the community with the post-mistress who had got a transfer. Gladys, who had long resigned herself to losing her husband, had promptly filed for divorce. In a matter of months she was legally free to marry whomever she would. And now, here they were.

The wedding was a modest, yet delightful little affair and when George Johnson took his vows, he knew he would honour them 'till death' this time, if only to avoid the pain and distress of a living with a guilty conscience.