004 - Saint & Satan

[Archy]

(Note: I hope I'm doing this right, Shad. I simply followed what Tullaryx did, and put a number in the title following the sequence as it is. If not, just change it. Thanks.)

“The mass is ended. Go in peace, love and serve the Lord.”

Having said that for the fifth time today, Father Joan Valdes Zapata let out a sigh of relief as the people flocked toward the exit, having completed their weekly duty of faith. He, too, had completed his duty for the day, having said his fifth mass – a duty that increased when his friend, Father Sanchez became bedridden after obtaining a nasty flu. While he did not mind the additional workload, he simply did not like repeating the same thing over and over, let alone five times instead of the usual three. Tired from his day’s work, he left instructions to a parish worker to supervise how the altar boys fixed things and set out.

As he left the church, he realized that he was not used to walking in the dark. It was almost 7 now, and Father Zapata would usually be in his room waiting for dinner, if not for the change in his schedule. Fortunately enough, an empty cab came by as he had just walked past his second block. Deciding that he would just ask Pedro to teach him how to get home at night next time, he hailed the cab and got in.

“Good evening. Where to, my friend?”

“Villa de Sanchez on the other side of the bridge.”

As the cab sped off, the driver began talking about various things – the weather, the new restaurant in town, and oil prices. Father Zapata, who was not really interested in the latest gourmet dish or the Middle East oil boon, simply stared at the streets through the window and just said “Yes” and “Hm, you’re right” every now and then in response to the driver. He did not ask him to stop talking, for the man was simply stating his thoughts. After all, he believed that God gave man a mouth to interact with his fellowmen – certainly, that was what the driver was doing., was it not?

“Father, have you ever felt that you were supposed to be something special?”

Father Zapata, lost in thought, had only half-heard the question.

“Father?”

“Hmm? Ah, special… well, God certainly thinks that each of us is special, in our own little ways.”

“No, I mean… have you ever thought that you should be doing something else right now? Look at me as an example. I have been working as a cab driver for nearly 6 years now, yet not once have I found contentment in what I have been doing. Yes, my family has had a stable life since my job, and I am thankful for that. But still, I get this feeling that I can do more than what I’m doing right now. Not just a feeling, but a desire – I want to do more. I want to be more. I want people to remember my name when I die, as someone who did something really extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary? What do you think is extraordinary, my son?”

“I’m not sure, really. But I believe – and I know I can – do things for more people. More than just my family, I want to help those in need. Anything they need, I am sure I can manage to help provide.”

Father Zapata looked at the man across his seat as they crossed halfway through the bridge. “Well then, that’s wonderful! This city, let alone the world, always cries out for help. Satisfy the hunger of the starved, liberate the oppressed. The world needs people who want to help, and it’s good to see that there are some people who want to provide that help. My son, I think I can find you something to do. It is really nice to find someone who wants to make a difference.”

The driver looked back at him, his face brightening up with enthusiasm. “Really? I would certainly love that, and I promise to help in any way possible. Please let me know when you have found something, Father…?”

“Zapata. Father Joan Valdes Zapata.” Smiling back at the driver, he asked “And you are?”

“Suresh. Rajiv Suresh, Father.”

The car had reached the end of the bridge and was now turning onto the street where Villa de Sanchez was located.

“Ah, I see. Well then, Rajiv, I will certainly inform you if I find anything. I do ask that you leave me any method of communication with you. A contact number, perhaps?”

The car had now reached the gates of the villa. “Here”, Rajiv said happily, “my number.” He took the receipt on his dashboard and hastily scribbled a note there, and handed it to Father Zapata. “And Father, we have now arrived at Villa de Sanchez.”

Father Zapata took the paper, and facing Rajiv, said “Thank you, my son. It has been a pleasure meeting you, and I am sure that we will cross paths once more. God be with you to wherever you head off.” And as he opened the door, he left an amount of money on the driver’s lap. “Keep the change.” As he made his way to the gate and motioned for the guard to open, he looked back once more at the cab, now making its way back to the bridge.

Now there’s a saint.
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