Conversations with the Light Bearer (Religious Satire)

CHAPTER XV - The Landlady's Request

CHAPTER XV

THE LANDLADY'S REQUEST

After my friendly chat with the spirit from the east, not to mention a jolly good Bible reading, I paced back to the living room, only to find Ritcher already snoring on the couch. The man slumped like a fresh corpse, his lower torso suspended like a bridge between the two seats. The lights were off, but the girl proved more resilient, skimming through the channels, the room blinking with flashes of light.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked, her eyes on the screen.

"Just a friend," I answered, looking for a midnight snack inside the waist-high fridge. "Just an old friend."

"Really? But you left your phone on the table."

"Where's the Crunch?" I ignored her question, displeased to find the last piece of my favorite chocolate missing. "You know I was saving that for after my triglyceride checkup."

"Uhm... Ritcher ate it."

I squinted at her. "Really? I see a smudge on your left cheek."

"Uhmm... Ritcher offered me a bite."

I squatted, searching for anything to nibble at, but there was nothing of comparable interest, except perhaps for the five pieces of Hershey's (three yellows and two reds) left inside the plastic. I never really did like the yellow ones. I was always the red Hershey's kind of guy, but I guess there was no point on being picky at the time. I lifted the bag, poured the contents on my cupped hand, and swiftly slid the bunch down my pocket.

As I stood up, Dani stared at me with scornful eyes. "Hey! Those are mine!"

"An eye for an eye, right?" I smiled with the smugness of satisfaction. "We're even now."

"Hmp! Whatever."

I was about to add another jest, when someone, or rather, something, knocked on the door. Soon the noise shot to irksome staccato banging, a growing temper not to be trifled with. If you had guessed it was my dear brother, sorry, but you were wrong. It was someone worse, someone terribly ancient and vile.

"Penis!" the woman shouted behind the door. "I know you're in there! Penis!"

"Who the fuck is that?" Dani turned her eyes to the door. "And did she just say penis?"

One problem I had with Mrs. Emerson, the landlady, was that she would always pronounce my surname similar to a man's private part, instead of pronouncing it like in pineapple. It was, and I do believe you can relate, very unsettling. One time when she spotted me by the supermarket, I ignored her and she kept calling me over and over again, until the people started to look at her as if she was some sex-crazed, senile grandmother who was chasing some poor young gentleman. Just imagine an old lady chasing you right in the middle of the street, shouting, "Penis! Penis! You owe me! Penis!"

Really, it was that embarrassing, not to mention disturbing. I think it had something to do with the fact that the seventy-year old widow was purely, a Chinese.

"You owe me last month's rent!" the woman said in her hard Chinese accent. It was simply jarring to hear her voice in the middle of the night.

"Oh, about that . . ." Unfortunately, attending the faith healing sham had cost me quite a bit, and Dani snatching my debit card from time to time didn't help either. How she learned my pin I would never know. "You see . . . Mrs. Emerson. If you let me explain the situation—"

"No explain. Just rent."

"But Mrs. Emerson . . ."

"Open the door or I call police! I know you have kid there!"