15 The Quest For Sin (2/2)

'I am not trying; I am saying that sin is a relative thing. See, I see promise under that habit there – latent l.u.s.t – it is not a sin to me, what I see. But to her . . . see how she cringes? It's a f.u.c.kin' sin to her! See?'

'I don't. A sin is a sin. Irrespective of the angle you look at it from.'

'From my vantage point here, it looks like pleasure.'

* * *

At the next stop, a new Sin gets on the bus. Towering heels, high wig, red lips, yellow face, tiny dress, identically buxom to the Unbeliever... She carries that heavy dimness of the red-light district in her eyes, the lovelessness; eyes weary from looking for love, and bearing the weight of artificial l.u.s.t. . . She sees our man-of-G.o.d and the eyes light up, neon-like, with recognition, with hope.

'Bros! Ha! You no even show our side again!'

He keeps his eyes down on the Book of Isaiah in his lap. Jezebel's swinging hips close in on him. She drops her bottom into the seat beside him and nudges him familiarly, 'Bros . . . ' He starts, looking up, 'What.'

She raises eyebrows and nose – 'Wetin?'

'What?'

'I say we no dey see you again.'

'Have I seen you before? Have we met?'

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Everybody is watching this new conversation with

Schadenfreudic interest.

She elbows him in the ribs, 'Bros, na me o – Joy.'

He squints his eyes like one trying to recall a faded memory – a name, a face; one trying to make out a figure in the misty distance. Joy rearranges her b.u.t.tocks on the seat so that her dress is hiked up two inches further, to jog his memory.

Brother Gabriel offers a helping hand – he taps him on the head. 'You don't remember her? She seems to know you very well.'

'Ah, I must have preached to her sometime,' he smiles. 'You know, my evangelism takes me places. I have carried the Gospel far and wide; I can't remember every starving soul I strive to save – '

'Seems to me you have spread more than the gospel around,

Mister Preacher.'

'What are you insinuating?'

'That we are not all saints. Or angels.' Brother Gabriel seems to be savouring this serendipitous turn of events. I am enjoying it as well.

'I am a Man of G.o.d,' the Preacher begins to protest, plaintively. 'This is obviously a Satanic ploy to disparage the Anointed of the Lord and – '

'Look, I am a veteran sinner; I can tell when a man and a woman have shared an intimate experience – '

It is with a grieving heart that I get off at my bus stop. So I cannot tell you how that conversation ended, or if it did.

I just hope that one day this kind of sin will find me.

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