OLD RELIGION/NEW RELIGION

Another  difference between Karen’s Kauai and mine is there were not quite so many religious wackos then. Well, there was Gypsy Jake but he was kind of cute.

The ones roaming Kauai today, for the most part, aren’t so cute. Well there is one. A stud.  Maybe you saw him the other night?  The  one with the long brown hair, bare feet, white robe, staff and book tucked under his arm?  In the pouring down rain, he came walking up my road. With the wind and the rain in his hair and that wet robe-which, when wet, left little to the imagination-he was to die for. I mean, I wished I was sixty years younger.

In Karen’s Kauai, you could invite a guy like this in or pick him up  hitchhiking. Well, the hell with it, it was raining, I can offer shelter to any  hunk I want to offer shelter to. I trotted to the gates, swung them wide and invited him in. There was no verbal exchange. Just shy smiles.

He dripped his way into the house and  drenched the pillows when he sank into the couch. When he saw the kids, he smiled. Teeth kind’a yellow. “I love animals,” he said.

“They like you, too. Good sign. More George Burns than the kid in the Omen. Are you really who you look like?”

“Do I look like him?”

“No one knows what he looked like. Not many paparazzi in those days. But you do look like the pictures I’ve seen. Tea and cookies or wine and cheese?”

He chose wine and cheese. Luckily I had a bottle of Chardonnay cooling its heels. I  love crackers and cheese so I made a pupu platter. When I got back to the porch he was up and talking to the kids. I set the ice bucket and  glasses down and went back for the tray. When I came back I offered him a cracker. “They  love crackers. Also papaya skins. I eat the papaya, they, all of them, love the skin.We who break papaya together…”

“…or crumble crackers.” He crumbled the crackers and the kids nibbled through the fence, then went back to the couch and soaked the cushions again. They scrunched like a sponge when he sat. I’d  hoped he’d perform a miracle and dry himself off. The cushions, too.

We clinked glasses, I sat beside him in a dry spot. We sipped and munched in silence. I spoke first with my mouth full, ” So. Can you walk on water?”

“What do you think?”

“As you know I’m not a believer.”

“I read your posts.”

“I’m  flattered.”

“Everybody reads your posts.”

“Wait’ll they read The SCAM.”

“Larcenous, licentious and litigious? That’s a mouthful,” he said with his mouthful.

“You didn’t quote at me.”

He opened his book, Christopher Hitchens, The Portable Atheist, on the table. “I think you have a copy.”

“Signed.”

“Well I must away.  My wife’s making me a bowl of nice hot soup.”

“Nice costume,” I said as I led him to the gate.

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