Pieces Here

A man who looked old- always for years tidied and swept the floors of the church. He’d mop the fans, chairs, walls…he did everyday- indifferent…on cold mornings too when the breeze exhaled cold and most like you and me wrapped in the blanket of our beds- embracing warmth, he’d wake, take his shining lamp, enter into the cold, he’d come to the church.

He daily did until one day he came to the church and met it all done, the chairs were arranged, the floors swept, the pane- spotless…everything seemed new, better but somehow it grieved his spirit and he waited for the priest, the sun was about high when the priest came, he hurried to him and he asked; ‘Father, Father- who takes mine?’ The priest without listening replied- ‘if you have a confession, come in the evening, after the service’ the priest said as he walked away.

The next morning he was out, earlier than he usually did, with his shining lamp, he was out when most like- were at the peak of slumber, he walked hastily, rushing to the church- from a distance he saw a light die within the church and he hurried more, when he came in, he met all again arranged, cleaned and it again grieved him. His spirit now was bitter, he noticed the fellow who had- had used a fragrance and added more to the feel of the church, he sat there behind, looking for a flaw, a dust to wipe, dirt to sweep, he looked where the hymns laid- but the books were clean and the webs that were out of his reach were no more, he searched but there was not a thing imperfect to perfect… he was left with nothing, the unknown fellow had taken all and left him nothing!... and when he touched the pane, it stained- he saw it and when he tried to make the perfect �"pure, it stained!- and so he sat there just behind, there he always sat, in the rear- thinking now upon his loss.

Soon, the congregants’ trouped in, like they usually did, holding hands- the service was beautiful, the hymns were peaceful and the sermon pacified their troubles differently than it has ever done. It was the fragrance he knew, and when the service ended, they all, the congregants couldn’t hold their affections, fondness for the feelings that evoked within them and so they gathered and asked the priest- where the fragrance came, the priest pointed to brother Paul and said- ‘there he is, daily he has done this as though it was his body’ and they came to brother Paul and said ‘Great job!, always you have mopped and cleaned the church, but today- you have made here a feel of paradise, thank you- mister Paul’.

They all patted him and thought he humble when he slowly shook his head and muttered no a couple of times, he knew they thought he did in response to their compliments. �"Now, before- none of these things, there disregards, indifference bothered him, for he didn’t care for compliments but now he was borne of a different feeling.

That day, he stayed long after the service- into the night, and when the church again was silent- he swept, mopped and cleaned the church as he has always done, his sweat was there and he put all of his effort, all of his strength into this, than he has ever done for anything… after, he searched for imperfections and not seeing any other than the fading fragrance, he left, he bothered about locking the church, he’d draw the doors together and bring them wide, then he left.

He came home now to the few notes, the money he had saved for years, he took -too the coins he got from his mother, all, he took to buy a fragrance, rare. That night, he was on the road and morning met him there- for the fragrance he wanted was on the other side of the town and it was rare and expensive, as he returned �" he ran to the church, he sprayed the fragrance everywhere, here and there, everywhere… he put it and as did- he rejoiced, there was a leap in his heart and he said ‘now, now! This is the scent of heaven, the odor of God’… and the head of God shined on the cross like it never has and though the sun was just coming awake, each color gave its light and it was as though God was content.

He stayed still, behind- waiting for all to come, the service was soon to start, he looked at the clock as he waited but then the rain came, it began slowly, it rained and the floods opened the locks of the wind, it was a rain that kept the priest even, away from his altar, he stayed on… hoping, hopeful- it stops, he prayed. The rain stopped soon after noon, he walked home slowly than he ever had, no one had perceived the odor of God and no one had seen the head of God glow, he came in his old chair, he took his blanket for he was cold, a tear came through and stayed in his eye, he coughed a little and then he died.

Two days passed, then the priest came his home ‘brother Paul’ he called; ‘are you unwell?’ he asked. But Brother Paul wouldn’t answer and when the priest opened the door and touched him, he knew by the coldness, the stiffness that was him- that he was dead. 

An autopsy was done, it was though a small community- and it could have passed had Paul a family or a friend, but it was just the church, the priest that knew him and for records- a report was needed, now the report was long that the priest asked the doctor if he didn’t die peacefully, the doctor noted and told the priest- he died of poison from the creation of the fragrance -for it was too powerful and just a dose was enough but he had used more- and it ate into his lungs- that he coughed and died.

The church had its service the day after, the priest spoke about him- a while, of his service and how generous he was and when the priest said he was a nice man, a fine man- they all knew him and they remembered him. Days passed and the church remained dusty, the fragrance of God now has gone, the glass, pane- were dusty, crumbs from the communion were swept neath the altar and one could see a trace of dirt without searching… and then again, everyone- the parish remembered him- for he was no more too- the fellow who troubled Brother Paul.