Telebabble

(continued)

By James Bellarosa

"I had an uncle who bought windows like that," I said, "and it got so hot in his house his floor tiles softened. He got stuck in them."

"In the floor tiles?"

"Yes. He stood sweating for six hours, and pretty soon people got wind of it. They came sniffing around his windows."

"Sir, I never heard of anything like that," Eve said. "I mean, I just never heard anything so strange."

"And I know somebody who dresses up like a cat," I said. She hesitated again.

"Hello?" I said.

"I'm here, sir. I'd like to tell you about another great feature of our windows, if I may." So Eve added that her windows were practically shatterproof. "You'd almost need a sledgehammer to crack them, and if you have active kids that can be important."

"My grandfather had a shatterproof windshield on his horse buggy," I said. "He endured a head-on collision forty years ago. I missed his funeral, and I've never forgiven myself for that."

"I'm sure you had a valid —"

"My car wouldn't start, so I set out on snowshoes," I said. "On the way, a trapper's snare grabbed one of them. I absolutely positively refused to leave one of my legs with it, so I put my foot down."

"It sounds like you and your grandfather must have been very close," Eve said.
"I had an aunt once —"

"Now every time I think of him I stop and say a prayer," I said. "Are you a religious person, Eve?"

She replied that, yes, she was, "basically," that she tried to be a good person.

"You sound like a wonderful person," I said. "Would you pray with me now, Eve? Let's say the Lord's Prayer to honor the memory of the grandfather I didn't see because a snare fooled with my transportation."

She replied that she doubted her company would grant her time to do such a thing, so I asked if she'd mind if I hung up so I could pray.

"Mr. Folrey, I wish you wouldn't do that," she asked. "This is my very first job and only my second day. It would look strange to my superiors if my customers began hanging up on me."

I told Eve we could pray quietly so nobody could eavesdrop, and I began The Lord's Prayer. Pretty soon she came in with a kind of ragged mumbling, and together we prayed for my grandfather. After the solemnity of that moment faded I said, "Thank you, Eve. Hardly anyone these days is willing to risk praying with a stranger. It meant a lot to me."

"I hope it helped, Mr. Folrey," she replied. "Everyone needs to be consoled occasionally."

"When the sharecropper lured Saint Peter to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, first he picked his crops and then he picked his pocket," I said. "It wasn't reported in the Bible because of space limitations, but it should have been."

Papers rustled, whispers hissed over the phone.

"That's why everyone is so paranoid about their praying partners these days, " I said. "It's ruining the country."

There was another delay.

"Hello?" I said.

Finally: "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we only get so many minutes per call, and I'd like to get back to the windows, because I'm almost out of time."

"We should have prayed faster, Eve," I said. "Nothing's ever gained by praying slowly. It can run a country into the ground."

Murmurings... then: "Sir, another call just began ringing for me. I'm sorry, but I'll have to take it. It was nice talking with you."

"I don't get many calls," I said.

Disconnect.

I thought Eve might call back, but when she didn't I began preparing for my annual call from the fundraisers at the Homeless Hostel for Husky Hussies. I'm going to tell them about my cousin Hermione the Hermaphrodite. Her last woman's shelter let her stay with them only fifty per cent of the time.