Chapter 1: A Mixture of Madness

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There is no great genius without a mixture of madness - Aristotle

Pastor Henry Trafford-James was sitting palms together in the third pew from the back of the old white wooden walled church he resided over. He wasn’t really praying, just putting on a show for the choir members who were practicing for Sunday’s service. He never really prayed, just counted. When he reached 65 he would disengage his prayer posture, pick up his Bible and leave the church. That way it would give the illusion that he was there just to talk to God, it been working for five years so far.

“63…64…65…done,” he whispered.

He then rose, took his Bible and was busy leaving the pew when he heard the singing stop and the choirmaster, Mrs. Martha West, call out: “Pastor Trafford-James!”

He hated it when people added the Trafford, but he turned and said, as politely as possible,“Yes Mrs. West?”.

“It’s about the Kagan’s, they have not been attending church regularly”, she said condescendingly.

Pastor Trafford-James cocked his head to the side like an incomprehensive dog, “Your point Mrs. West?”

“There is no guarantee that Ruth will be here on Sunday, so…it would be better if she left – now,” she didn’t even try to hide the odium in her voice.

There are only two reasons why Mrs. West would expel Ruth Kagan from choir practice in such a disdainful and embarrassing manner. One: she resents Ruth Kagan very much. Two: she hates Jews very much. Both were true, but Option One fed off of Option Two. The Kagan’s had recently converted to Christianity because of social pressure (they were the only Jewish family left in the town), but Mrs. West’s hatred towards Jews was deep. Her father had tried to indoctrinate all his kids with anti-Semitism, but only Martha took any of it in. Her two other siblings didn’t listen to their morphine-addicted father because he was a morphine-enslaved anti-Semitic with an IQ below 60. He got sent to jail after being found guilty of molesting a young Jewish girl.

She had been rasping away at Ruth’s self-image and esteem ever since she had joined the choir. He stared down at the dusty wooden floor boards and exhaled, through his nose, a shallow breath. He then raised his head and moved his eyes across the faces of the choir members until he met the face of Ruth. The large, stereotypical, Jewish nose was unmistakable. He was becoming increasingly frustrated by Mrs. West’s behavior, Henry liked Jews; he thought they were good honest people.

“And why is that relevant, Mrs. West?” the pique in his voice was unmistakable. Mrs. West reacted by inflating her cheeks and by taking fast, short burst breaths like an angry Jew-hating toad.

“There is no point for her to be here if her hethe..."

“She stays, Mrs. West.” He could hear snickers resonating from the choir.

Mrs. West stared at him through slit eyes and hissed, mockingly: “Yes Pastor Trafford-James.”

It must be due to that behavior that her husband left her, the pastor thought to himself. He stared up at the choir once again just to try and gauge Ruth’s disposition, she had a smirk on her face. He smiled back, but his smile immediately faded after his eyes met the face of Sandra Wilson. He felt the familiar stab of guilt in his chest; he swallowed into a dry throat. He left the church with a bad taste in his mouth.

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