The Rebellious Son: A Fairy Tale -- Part 11

The boy was dropped off in front of a white church. He couldn’t see Jamis anymore but could faintly hear his cries.

“After the service go and talk to the woman,” said the wagon driver.

“What woman?” said the boy

"The woman," said the wagon driver as he started the old mule up once more. He tipped his hat and rambled down the village street on a straight path toward the distant snowcapped mountains.

The boy couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to continue on with the man and the mule.

Across the street was a tavern. On the tavern’s porch there were three children, all of them eating apples and staring at the boy. The boy felt a wave of shame. He was only wearing a shirt fit for a man, which hung below the knees. He had no pants. No shoes.

The children swung their feet off the porch and crunched their apples, silently.

The boy entered the church. When he closed the heavy wooden door the congregation turned to see him. The man behind the pulpit stopped preaching and then after a few awkward seconds, pointed to where the boy should sit.

The boy sat in the back next to a family. The mother turned to him and smiled toothlessly at the boy. The man paid him no attention and the children were half asleep.

“Listen,” cried the preacher, “to those who will hear, let him hear. When they arrive there will be no peace. Pray that the savages will not overtake us in the winter. Pray that your wives will not be pregnant on that day. The Lord has shown me these things. Let us pray. Let us pray for deliverance against the enemy.”

The preacher demanded the people to bow their heads and close their eyes. But the boy only pretended to pray.

Through squinted eyes he saw a different preacher behind the pulpit: a man with long golden hair and pale white skin. The boy rubbed his wooden staff and peered closer. The man’s hair was growing, lengthening almost to the man’s waist. Horns began to sprout on his head. Fingernails lengthened and curled under at the tips. As he prayed he gazed out at the congregation, fire in his eyes.

The boy thought he smelled sulfur in the air.

When the preacher’s eyes settled on the boy he stopped speaking and pointed at him and gave him a wide smile, “To the rebellious will be given the curse of the earth. As the blood of Abel cried out, as the sin of Sodom cried out, so too will your rebellion be rewarded with hellfire.”

The boy closed his eyes tight and bowed his head.

When the prayer was over he looked up and saw the man, the preacher, behind the pulpit, restored to his original appearance: black hair and a righteous countenance. The man talked about when they would meet again and asked everyone to join him for the wedding of his daughter. “It will be a time of celebration. My little Bonnie will be yoked to our servant, Richard. They will be as one!” The congregation clapped their hands and smiled.

As the boy followed the crowd out of the church a woman snatched the back of his shirt. She was a little lady with old eyes and a red rag wrapped around her head.

“Boy,” said the little lady. “There you are. It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far.”

The boy was confused and speechless. Hungry and exhausted he was near certain this was just another strange dream.