THE MAN AT THE DOOR.

A harassed single-mum answers the door when a Jehovah's Witness young man knocks...

Knock, knock…

The youngish Mrs Greasley opens the door.

“Who’s there?”

The suited, tidy-haired, fresh-faced young man smiles at her.

“Excuse me, madame, but I’ve come to rescue you...”

“Me? You want to rescue me? What from … or who from? Do I need rescuing?”

“Madam, we all need rescuing but in particular women do. It says in the Bible...”

“What? That I, Jennifer Greasley, need rescuing? I’m mentioned by name, am I, in the Good Book?”

“Not exactly by name. Not that, madam. But you are mentioned as a woman. Timothy mentions you.”

“He does? The cheeky bugger!”

“Please, Madam! Moderate your language! You quite clearly need rescuing if you’re going to harangue me, and curse like that. It’s fair hurt my feelings, it has! Timothy was a man beloved of Paul...”

“Well, if he don’t want me to use language about him he shouldn’t be gossiping about me! What right had he to go about talking about me even if it is because I’m a woman, which I own to being in actual fact!”

“It says in Timothy that no woman should exercise power over a man, and I’m beginning to see what it means… Now, madam, is it your wish that I rescue you?”

“From what? From Timothy? Is he a raving sex fiend out after my body or something? Is that why you want to rescue me?”

“Madam, please! It’s nothing to do with Timothy or sex fiends or anything like that! I just used him as an example...”

“Oh. So he’s not after my flesh?”

“Madam, he’s been dead these two thousand years! Of course he isn’t!”

“Shame, then.”

“You shouldn’t be thinking like that!”

“Well, I’ve been on my own since Albert left and there’s something about a Timothy fancying my body that sort of makes me feel all squirmy inside!”

“Timothy’s not like that?”

“He isn’t?”

“He’s not at all like that, madam! He’s a book in the Bible. In fact, he’s two books in the Bible and we learn from him that women are special.”

“I could have told you that, young man!”

“He says that women should be submissive! He says that men are in charge and shouldn’t pay any attention to women, and talking to you I’m beginning to get some idea where he’s coming from!”

“You are? Well, you’re a smartly turned out young fellow, I can’t argue with that. But in charge? Of who? Of what?”

“Of rescuing you, madam. From the sin of being a woman!”

“And Timothy will do that? Not that I’m at all sinful, I want you to know that, though I do sometimes say bugger and on odd occasions have sneaky little thoughts about a man’s … parts.”

“Please, madam! It says in Deuteronomy...”

“Deuterwhatsit?”

“Deuteronomy. An ancient book of the Bible. It says that if a woman touches a man’s … parts … the hand she uses should be cut off!”

“It really says that?”

“Madam, it most certainly does!”

“Well, young man, there ought to be an awful lot of one-handed women about if that’s the case!”

“It’s all about the evil of being a woman. Eve, in the garden of Eden, picked, the forbidden fruit, and not Adam. So she was evil and he was good, and it’s always been like that ever since.”

“That’s a load of bollocks! Listen to me, young man, it’s men, not women, who go to war, men, not women who rape young gals and leave them bleeding, men, not women who create most of the misery in the world. And it’s men, not women, who leave us with youngsters to care for when they get fed up with us slowly growing older and choose to go off with a younger model!”

“Then I can’t rescue you...”

The young man looks suddenly confused and perturbed.

“Oh, but you can, young man. I’ll tell you what. You can rescue me from the drudgery of being a single mum. You can put on an apron and cook dinner tonight, for me and the kids who’re due home from school any time now, and if you do the job well you might have cause to cut off my hand if I feel a bit naughty … hey, what’s the matter … don’t go, not yet, there’s a woman here who wants rescuing, so come back...”

She closes the door as he hurries down the street.

“Oh well, it might have been fun, but he was a bit young for me I suppose,” she mutters.

© Peter Rogerson 27.08.16