Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [112]
I checked my watch and sighed.
For at least one more minute.
As I pedaled like a madman down toward the beach, the pastor was trying to walk through the town center of ‘Nekkid Bottoms’ with his Bible attached to his face, and not having much luck with it. The increased number of people made it quite hazardous for him to be anywhere outdoors, and he bumped into more naked flesh than he likely had in his entire life.
After a few minutes of pointless pinball-like wandering, he stumbled across a church and decided it had to be a safe haven for a man of God trying to avoid temptation and obscenity. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, then had to swerve wide right to avoid any kind of contact with a naked couple exiting the building and coming down the stairs toward him. Trying not to glance at them as they hurried by—and failing—‘I am weak, Lord, give me strength’—he skittered to the church door and pulled it open.
Immediately upon stepping through, the brown tones and colorful stained glass on all sides greeted him warmly, invitingly, like a dear, beloved old friend, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief (apparently catching my habit). The place was empty and, for all he could tell, looked exactly like any other old church he had ever seen— though perhaps a bit more friendly somehow. Maybe because here, for the first time in these past hours of nudist hell, there was no one running around distracting him with their sinfully exposed privates.
Simple wooden pews lead up to a wooden altar, religious icons, Bibles, and statues of Mary, Jesus, and others he would recognize, even if I wouldn’t. Statues that were in no way false idols. He knelt at the head of the aisle and lowered his head in brief prayer. After he’d finished, he sat in a pew and breathed out the grateful thanks of the reprieved.
“Thank you, Lord, for this simple haven.”
“Hello?” a female voice asked, echoing through the chamber. He glanced around and saw a woman’s head pop up from behind the lectern on the dais. She was an older woman, blonde, in her fifties perhaps, but with a young feel to her. She wore a minister’s collar with black tunic, and smiled when she saw him.
“Oh, hello, Father,” she said pleasantly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m not a priest. I’m a minister,” he said, only mildly annoyed. “Sorry to disturb you. I was just looking for a little refuge from the outside world.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” she said, ducking back down to pound nosily on something obstinate. “Take as long as you need and don’t mind me. I’m just trying to fix my audio system. I never installed it properly the first time, and now I’m paying for my haste.”
“If we don’t attend to the little things as if God were watching,” Pastor Winterly said, “he will eventually remind us that we have fallen short in His eyes.”
She popped her head back up and looked at him blankly. After a moment, she smiled, then returned to her work. “I suppose that’s true. Hadn’t thought of it that way. I tend to think the Lord has better things to do than make my speaker wires come loose and annoy my parishioners with feedback. But perhaps I’m not thinking it through completely.”
Pastor Winterly stood and walked toward the lectern where the lady minister continued to pound.
“I find God’s message rather consistent,” he said. “If you’ve failed at something, He will remind you to be more diligent.”
“I tend to think of God in more positive terms. More as a rewarding kind of God than a punishing kind.”
“But that would be only half the story.”
“If you say so.”
“You disagree?”
“I’ve known a lot of criminals who get away with it,” she said, straining at something.
“Only in this life.”
“But if God has time to pull my wires free, then why can’t he drop a dime to the cops about where to find the crooks?”
“He works in mysterious ways.”
“That I’ll give you.”
“Like, for instance,” the pastor said, looking around, “how he brought us both to this place