Read by Josie Charles
The two men appeared in the car park at six o’clock. The sun was beginning to set, glowing behind them like a warning, but they didn’t take heed.
At first, they were just faceless black shapes striding out of the orange blaze. One was taller and broader than the other. The shorter one swung his arms more. They walked side-by-side. Perhaps they were brothers, or friends, or lovers.
They came closer, and became clearer.
They were young; maybe nineteen or twenty, twenty-one at a push. The shorter one was blonder than the other. Both cleanshaven. Wholesome. The sort of men any girl would be happy to take home.
Black name tags adorned their breast pockets.
Each man carried a thick blue book in his hand.
We knew what they were. We’d known men like them all our lives.
‘Hey!’ we called out. ‘Hey, come over and join us! Come on over! Quick!’
They headed over. Of course they did.
Short shorts, mini-skirts, bikini tops, halter necks. Pure white, mellow yellow, delicate pink, blood red. Exposed arms, legs, shoulders, and décolletages. Bronzed skin, in various shades, all kissed by the sun’s same hungry mouth. The scent of coconut oil lingering in the air after taming wild tresses and soothing parched limbs. Sweat sticking flesh to plastic chairs. We were draped and sprawled and lying about our patio, snakes that had been basking in the sun for hours, and were still listless, but awaking, eager for something to happen.
One of us was from Canada, one was from a broken home, one used to catch butterflies in a net, one was raised Catholic but now worked as a stripper and hated the cliché she’d become. All of us were visitors to Western Australia, something or someone having sent us there, separately. There are no coincidences; the stars had aligned, and we had temporarily converged, renting a ground-floor apartment together in a run-down complex in the suburb of Scarborough. Two blocks from the beach, with two twin-bedrooms, a shared hair dryer, and an abandoned teddy bear we took it in turns to mother.
Every Friday, in the late afternoon, we would assemble at our sliding glass doors, some of us just home from work, others going there later, we would step out onto the baked paving stones, arms full of beer bottles and cigarettes, one of us carrying a bucket of already-melting ice, and we would have our fun.
We dabbed gloss onto our lips with our finger-tips, pouted, posed, and waited for them.
***
They arrived at the edge of our patio.
In their faces, their mission shone. Cheeks flushed with self-assurance, eyes focused on their goal, expectant of success.
‘Have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable, why don’t you, boys. What are your names? Where are you from?’ we said, smiling at them, squinting at their faces and name tags.
The taller one had hazel eyes; the shorter one, baby blue.
Their titles and surnames, and organisation name, were embossed in white letters. We read them, and instantly forgot them.
They smelled squeaky clean, like they’d just got out of the shower and put on their best clothes.
They sat in our spare patio chairs. The taller one placed his blue book on our table, which wobbled under its weight. The shorter one placed his blue book on his lap. Both books were well-worn and dog-eared; full of hand-written comments and colourful post-it notes.
‘How are y’all today, ma'ams?’ asked the taller one.
‘Great. Cool. Fine. Not bad, at all,’ we said.
We shook hands all round.
‘What do you think of Perth?’ we asked.
‘Beautiful place; friendly people,’ said the taller one, shoulders back, well-rehearsed. ‘We took a step of faith coming here, but we’ve met lots of folks, got to know lots of folks, talked to lots of folks, sharing the message about Jesus Christ. We’ve completed two months of service already; only twenty-two months to go.’
We nodded, raised our eyebrows at the shorter one.
‘Yes,’ he said, nodding along. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Then he said, ‘But there are no mountains here.’
‘There’s a beach,’ we said, helpful, pointing towards the sand and surf of Brighton Beach, back in the direction they’d come from.
‘We can’t go to the beach,’ said the taller one, head up, meeting our eyes.
The shorter one shook his head.
The idea of them going to the beach made us laugh, later. We imagined them standing on the pale sand in their dark suits. Carefully taking off their shoes. Slowly removing their socks. Gently rolling up their trousers. Tentatively standing at the water’s edge. Then allowing themselves to give in to the pleasure of salty waves lapping over their naked feet.
‘Oh no! Why not?’ we asked, innocent.
‘We’re official representatives of the Church,’ said the taller one.
‘We serve the Lord,’ said the shorter one.
‘We have a higher cause,’ said the taller one.
‘We live to high standards,’ said the shorter one.
We murmured in empathy. We knew all about standards. She’s frigid, she was asking for it, she’s high maintenance, she let herself go, she’s a difficult woman, she’s basic, she’s too dark, she’s too perfect. Yes, we knew.
The smouldering orange dipped below the skyline. It wouldn’t be long until it was gone.
***
‘Is it true that God loves everyone?’ we asked. ‘Even us?’
The taller one smiled at his book, still on our patio table. The shorter one placed his hand on his own book, still in his lap, his palm covering it.
‘God’s love for us knows no bounds,’ said the taller one.
‘If we believe in God, we gain the power to love as He does,’ said the shorter one.
We nodded. We knew how powerful love could be. We’d all been cheated on and lied to, in the name of love. We’d been told by some boyfriend we were crazy and it never happened. Been called bitch, slut, or whore in an argument. Three of us had been hit or punched at some point, for one reason or another, by someone we loved. Two of us had been raped; neither by a stranger. One of us had killed her own baby with some pills the doctor gave her, because her boyfriend had begged and cried and threatened to hurt himself if she didn’t do it, then he’d left her anyway.
Our beer bottles clinked as we picked them up to take lady-like sips. The air smelled like the sea and the food cooking in nearby kitchens. The orange that streaked across the sky was melting away; like a bruise across a torso, slowly diminishing until no one would believe it had been there in the first place.
****
Two children walked past our patio with their parents, pausing to shake stray grains of sand from the inflatables they were carrying. We grinned and waved at them, and they back at us. We were good neighbours; good with children; nothing for the men to fear.
‘How do you know God’s love is real?’ we asked.
‘We just know,’ said the taller one. ‘We feel it in our hearts.’ He touched his heart, to show us where it was.
‘We can help you find proof, if you’d like,’ said the shorter one.
The taller one had sweat patches under his arms.
We popped the lids off our beer bottles with the ends of our cigarette lighters. Condensation dripped onto our bare legs. The cool bubbles invigorated us.
‘Oh,’ we said. ‘You must be hot. Can we get you a drink?’
‘Thank you, ma’am, but we don’t consume alcoholic beverages,’ said the taller one.
‘How about a Pepsi?’ we asked.
‘Thank you, ma’am, but we don’t consume caffeine,’ said the shorter one.
‘We have apple juice?’ we said.
They accepted.
We fetched two clean glasses, fresh ice, and a carton of unrefrigerated apple juice. The ice cubes crackled as we poured the juice over them, and the drinks stood, cooling, in the middle of the patio table.
‘We know,’ we told the two men, when everyone was comfortable again. ‘That God doesn’t love you. That he’s lied to you. That he doesn’t want you to be happy. And we will give you proof.’
They glanced at each other. The taller one smiled at us, but we could tell he didn’t mean it. The shorter one bit his lip, just a little.
The final pieces of orange sky disappeared, and the night closed in around us.
***
We leaned closer to them. ‘Have you ever had sex?’ we asked, as if butter wouldn’t melt.
The taller one shook his head.
The shorter one blushed.
‘But you’re so cute. So handsome. So strong. You have such lovely eyes,’ we said.
‘I’m saving myself,’ said the taller one.
‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ we said, gesturing to each other.
‘I’ll know one day, ma’am, on my wedding night,’ said the taller one.
His shirt was wrinkled, and his tie crooked. He tried to smooth them, but failed.
‘There is always light in the darkness,’ said the shorter one, sounding faint.
Our lighters clicked and fizzed into flame, illuminating our faces. The embers of our cigarettes were like fireflies, moving about in the darkness with our expressive hands. If we closed our eyes, we could almost feel the waves rushing in to devour the sand.
‘God’s wrong, telling you to wait,’ we said. ‘God doesn’t want you to know what love is. God doesn’t want you to open your eyes and see what’s right in front of you.’
‘We’re content with what we have,’ said the taller one, swallowing hard. ‘We’ll be rewarded later in life, and in heaven.’
We twirled our silky hair between our fingers. ‘You don’t have to be content,’ we said, our voices dropping, like we were telling them a secret. ‘You don’t have to wait for heaven; you could have heaven right now. Tonight. We’ll show it to you. We aren’t ashamed. We will be your proof.’
‘God wouldn’t deprive us,’ said the shorter one, fidgeting with the book in his lap. ‘At least, not forever’.
‘Forever,’ we said, making the word sound terrible and empty. ‘That’s a long time.’ We sighed.
‘What if you never get married?’ we asked, fluttering our long lashes.
‘What if you never experience love?’ we asked, looking deep into their eyes.
‘Wouldn’t that be terrible?’ We parted our shimmering lips.
‘Wouldn’t that be a real shame?’ We placed feathery touches on their arms, hands, and knees, and left them there.
They squirmed in their seats. The shorter one turned his head towards the taller one. The taller one’s hands fumbled as he tried to loosen his tie.
‘Well,’ said the taller one. He cleared his throat. ‘Well. Then, I guess I’d have to kill myself.’ He emitted a choked laugh.
The shorter one looked at us, then at the floor. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow.
The sky was a deep inky blue. That moment had arrived when the world is at its most vulnerable; the sun is gone, the moon has not yet risen, nor the stars come out, and the promise of daylight seems so far away.
One after the other they reached for their drinks, now diluted by melted ice and sitting in pathetic pools of lukewarm condensation, and they drank.
We sat back and smiled, our cigarette smoke coiling around them and us. Then we sent them on their way, no closer to heaven, or to hell, our laughter echoing through the car park behind them.
(c) Mina Ma, 2021
Mina Ma is an English teacher. She is also an author of short stories, and essays that blend memoir and place writing. She loves writing poetic prose, dipping into the uncanny, and giving allies to her alienated female characters. Mina is completing an MA in Creative Writing, focusing on intertextuality.
Josie Charles is an actor, writer and director originally from Somerset. She trained at Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama, and recently started directing short films. Her seaside rom-com Gulls and Buoys will play at ‘Womxnchester International Film Festival’ next month. This is her third story for Liars’ League.
Comments