Church On The Hill

New town, fresh sites. Slightly warmer climate and the usual bustle of folks just living their everyday life. Awoke early and slipped out into the sunshine for a stroll. Saw a churchyard on the way in and not too far.

This town like so many others, appeared to have become a sanctuary depository for the homeless, dejected and forgotten among our society. Pepper it with all the struggling migrants on the move in search of an elusive dream and these early morning strolls are not always solitary.

I see him emerge slowly, overly casual, from the side alleyway across the street in my left peripheral. My gait remains constant while his hastens crossing the boulevard and behind. I do not turn around nor quicken pace. I can almost perceive the distance closing between us as I count in my head. I cross to the left onto Ashbury avenue and in the window of a closed deli, he does as well. The church comes into view now, some four blocks away. It sits up on a hill facing West and the rising sun is just hitting the façade. I stop, pause and say a thankful prayer for this day delivered.

“vacía tus bolsillos y dame tu dinero!!” The command accentuated by the definable sharp click of his switch blade opening. Instinctively, I raise my hands and turn slowly around. He stands close, two to three feet at best and I cringe at my momentary lapse of awareness.

‘pero no tengo nada, ni dinero’

I calmly reply, not letting my eyes deviate from his. The knife is easily four to six inches, shiny and looks brand new. His grasp is taught, full of strength and his eyes red with venom. I pick up no tremble, waver nor indecision on his part and rapidly conclude that he is ‘all in’ on this vacant alley.

“dinero ahora!!” He spits through teeth long neglected.

‘No tengo dinero.’ I say again and in English: ‘I am on my way to visit the church’, tilting my head to the left and up the hill. ‘What is it I can do for you?’ His eyes follow briefly before he moves in close in one quick fluid motion. The blade pricks my neck as his hands run through my empty pockets. He is a good foot shorter than but wired, alert and wholly unpredictable. He pushes me slightly and steps back as I lower my arms.

“zapatos, quítate los zapatos” he demands.

‘Walk with me, come visit the church’ I calmly retort now that my heart rate has subsided and my calm restored and distilled.

‘What can I do for you?’ I again repeat. His eyes soften and drift to his right as he slowly lowers the knife, retracting and concealing all in one motion.

‘Walk with me up the hill’ I hear my voice saying. Over his left shoulder moving right to left I see a black and white patrol Crown Victoria slowly pass the entrance to the alleyway.

‘Walk with me up the hill. Por favor, camina conmigo a la iglesia ahora.’ I deplore to an uncertain stranger before me who only moments ago was going to stab me and still might.

The patrol car slides back into view, backwards now and out of view again. The young man before me turns and follows my eyes but misses seeing the police.

‘policías’ I mutter. ‘We need to go, Walk with me up the Hill.’ I almost plead. His hesitation vanquished instantly and he who deftly caught me off guard a few minutes ago, now is geared into pure survival mode. His eyes came alive,urgent but not panicked and then in a practiced street taught protocol he threw the blade deep into an adjacent dark alley.

The patrol car clicked its siren and pulled into our space. “Tranquilo, ¿vale?”

It is he counseling the calm.

‘No problems’ I fein a smile.

The cops, two of them, searched us and finding nothing reluctantly accept a tale of two Christian strangers making an early morning pilgrimage up the hill to Church, let us continue on. One officer went into the adjacent alleyway and came out shaking his head.

We did walk those four blocks up the hill, though few words were spoken. Each seemed preoccupied, pensive and grateful.

We hit the steps in stride and inside, as the heavy door swung behind us in the cool air of sanctuary, our eyes met and he nodded. “gracias hombre.”

I half smiled and replied softly: ‘Que estés bien y que tengas una Semana Santa tranquila.’

We knelt in separate pews and he was long departed when I stepped out into the midmorning sun.