A hot Tuesday pm in Rotondas, and strange thoughts caroused and competed with the shoppers and the flies as I sipped coffee while attempting, with my mechanical stumbling Spanish, to read a local daily.
I was waiting for Jesús.
My appointment was for around 7 but that was Spanish 7 so could be any time in reality, or could be no time at all. Mañana squeezed into the mind equation, almost elbowing the other time zones into ….somewhere in the future.
In truth, I’ve seen a fair bit of him recently. Driving his van….in a café ….banging his Batucada drum. Nice individual smokes too many Camel cigarettes and has a penchant for Rum----but then he is human….
Oh sorry, you thought I had gone religious….no no no, anyway St Peter holds those gate keys I’m told…and the jury is out whether I’m to be allowed access up there, anyway probably more fun down below.
However, the man did eventually arrive clutching his customary grin ……and I thought I saw a halo hidden amongst those tight greying curls……with only the merest trace of emotional scar tissue ….
Some people are still waiting for God…..but probably not in the shopping centre...
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