The Wrench

A missionaries attempt to convert native peoples to Christianity.

The missionary understood how difficult it would be for the tribe to relinquish the solace they took from believing in their primitive God’s. He knew it would be a terrible wrench to leave behind their false and outdated view of creation and so, despite his uncompromising stance, he entered the shamans home with an open heart and clear mind.

He took his place amongst the elders of the dark people. The shaman, the chief, the elder warriors, to name but a few, were seated in a circle around the fire, smoking from a pipe filled with a spirit enhancing substance that acted as the conduit for uninhibited conversation and peaceful negotiation.

The missionary declined to partake, clarity of mind essential in such dealings, but welcomed its use by his hosts as it suppressed their often savage urges and made them more compliant to reason. He did not speak their language, but the interpreter in his employ relayed his findings from investigation into the series of incidents that had brought discontent, dismay and disarray to the tribe.

They were unwilling to accept his conclusions at first, but the intoxicants twinned with his powers of persuasion began to break through the fog of ignorance following two hours of bargaining and brokering.

It was, simply put, the will of the one true God whom the missionary represented. God had punished the tribe for denying the existence of their Holy Father.

How else could the mysterious deaths and disappearance be explained? Three people had perished in the week since the tribe had declared their refusal to acknowledge the Lord and Creator of the earth. It could not be dismissed as coincidence and there was no evidence of foul play. Three ‘accidents’ had claimed three lives, the missionary explained via his aide, and though he expressed both regret and compassion he could determine no cause for the unprecedented events other than ‘the wrath of God defied’.

He concluded his assertions with an offer for the elders to explain their alternative version of what could possibly have gone so wrong so quickly.

The first accident had taken their most successful hunter, he was found skewered at the bottom of the trap he had fashioned to capture wild boar. Then the head gatherer had died when the cart used for collecting natures yield had fallen and crushed her. Finally the young Prince had met his demise having fallen down the cliff face that looked out to the ocean that would, one day soon, lead the missionary back home.

The young boy had been playing where he always played when he had fallen. The maid who had been tasked to supervise him had not yet returned and all feared the worst. All three deaths occurred during usual daily activities and most expected that the maid would be found dead also.

These events had prompted this meeting to be agreed between the leaders of the tribe and the leader of the Mission.

The sense of grief and loss was almost tangible throughout the meeting and the Chief in particular was unwilling to accept that his heresy had caused the deaths of his son, the famed hunter and the gatherer woman.

‘How then?’ the missionary asked simply,

‘How else could these things have occurred in such a short space of time after your refusal to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as the son of God and your saviour?’

The debate had then escalated to heated proportions, the extent of which had the missionary fearing for his own well-being, when the saviour intercepted in proceedings. The grass opening to the hut was pulled back and a young warrior entered. His face was filled with a dread of terror; his urgent babbling and erratic gesticulating interrupting proceedings and preventing the faith fuelled confrontation that would almost certainly have resulted in the execution of those doing God’s work. The missionary looked around in confusion until the interpreter revealed that the maid had been found close by.

Expecting to be vindicated forthwith, the missionary followed the elders from the hut whereupon the entourage was escorted to a line of trees that sat behind the village walls and it was there that they saw her.

The woman was crucified to a tree by wooden stakes that protruded at twisted angles from her wrists and ankles. Her lifeless corpse had been disemboweled by beasts that had made a meal of her.

The Chief dropped his staff upon seeing the scavenged and tortured figure and turned to the missionary, his face contorted to an expression of fear and pleading. He looked to the crucifix that hung from the missionary’s neck to the brown robes that covered his body and then back at the crucified maid. That a message had been delivered to the tribe seemed obvious.

The Chief wept and faced the ground before falling to his knees and speaking loudly so that the entirety of his people could hear him. The missionary could not comprehend the words, but he came to understand their meaning as, one by one, the tribe bowed before the messenger of God.

The missionary smiled kindly and placed a blessed palm upon the head of the Chief. It was this hand that had held the wrench that sabotaged the wheels of the cart only days before they came off and caused the gatherer’s demise. The wrench that then bludgeoned the hunter as he tended to the covering for the trap meant to kill beasts for sustenance. It was this hand that had forced the Prince over the edge of the cliff having held the wrench that dispatched of the maid that cared for him.

The missionary was pleased with the timing of the finding of the crucified woman, his cohorts had served him well and probably saved all of their lives. The plan was complete and the conversion to Christianity would now begin in earnest.

He would begin the baptisms in the morning and then he could think of the return home, his holy mission, once again, successful.