Ezeiel

Ezekiel - by Polly+Anna (1048 words) A bit of a tease - no overt sex (1/27/20)

Monday, December 23 -- Southwest Iowa

I was making a few inside, lift-gate deliveries with my over-the-road-tractor and two 28-foot pups. Hoping that I would get back to the company's terminal in Saint Charles Missouri by Christmas morning. It was still quite early when I pulled into the convenience store to deliver several new display cases. But a call last night had confirmed that they could "take delivery anytime."

Sure enough, the bored young man was perfectly willing to block the store's doors open for me and move a couple boxes that were in my way. I was on the second and final case when a bearded young man wearing a white dress shirt, black pants and a wide brimmed black hat pulled up in a beat up old blue pickup and began pumping gas.

"I looked at the clerk and asked, "Amish?"

"Nah," he said, "that's 'Zekiel. "I don't rightly remember which group he said he belongs to. Not Amana, but his great-grandparents were also Pietists who came here to escape governmental and Church persecution back in Germany."

"Oh," I said as I collected the cardboard remaining after unboxing the rack.

When I returned to the store with my paperwork, Ezekiel was paying for his gasoline.

"Always up this early?" I said making idle conversation.

"Yes sir," he said, "gotta get up early to plow them Fields.

"Aren't you dressed a might fancy for farm work?" I politely asked.

"Fields 'preciate it when you dress nice, shows 'yer respect."

"Oh," I said. "Well good luck with your fields," I said.

"Well, mister, strictly speakin' they isn' my Fields," he said. "I'd suppose you'd say they belong to the Lord."

"You get up at this hour to plow someone else's fields?" I said in polite disbelief.

"Well, mister," he said, "Them Fields they need a plow'n, keeps 'em happy and me too. It makes ever'thin right with the Lord. I am fit and able and single so it don' interfere with any family duties I might have as a husband. It's not an unpleasant task at all, makes me feel important an' connected with ever'thin. It's a truly spiritual thing, you know."

"No," I said, "I mean that I am glad that you are happy. But me, I've never felt very spiritual. Ever..."

"Now you know that's jus' sad mister," he said.

He sized me up and said, "You know mister, Doctors and Psychologists in the city... They would say that yer body, the one our Lord created, is healthier and happier when it's well taken care of. Them folks... They went to ten 'dittional years of schoolin just to paraphrase scripture they coulda lernt in Sunday School if'n they'd been payin' 'ttention.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm sure you are right."

"Regular, daily if possible, plowin' o' them Fields is gonna keep me and them around longer." Ezekiel said, "I know it helps me sleep at night."

"I don't have that problem," I said, "just the opposite: staying awake and alert through a monotonous day."

"Well," he said, "Docs say the serotonin and dopamine that helps you to sleep ain' the only thing 'yer body makes 'cording to the Lord's plan. It also makes endorphins, so you generally feel good. Plowin' them Fields makes pain harder to feel, blunts them minor aches and pains.

"Really," I said, "exercise gets you all of that?"

"Not jus' any exercise mister," Ezekiel said, "Holy exercise. It makes yer blood pressure go down, blood flows better feedin' yer muscles and organs better. Makes tension an' headaches go away. I ain' had a crick in my neck or a sore muscle since I started plow'n them Fields. Exercising 'yer heart is good 'fer you, it keeps it from attacking you later in life."

"Yes," I said wishing I hadn't started this particular conversation. Wearing the company uniform I couldn't just rudely walk away, oh well. "You are right, but I just haven't the time."

"Our Lord provided you with that beautiful body," he said. "He provided beautiful lush Fields for us to plow, to make us happy and keep us healthy. If'n I was a snake oil salesman, I'd say that plow'n Fields was a miracle cure for what e'er ails you. Makes you feel younger, like you'll never get old. Helps yer Holy Temple create Immunoglobulin, that's the stuff Doctors say keeps the bugs 'way, so you ain' never sick."

"Thank you," I said again, "I am sure you are right, but I really haven't the time. I am five hours from home and even there I'm not a farmer. I live in a poor copy of a New Orleans townhouse in a fake 'New Urban' town on a fake lake."

"Mister, you look and sound like a trustworthy sort," he said, "I'd be willin' to take you out to see the Fields over if'n you want. Can't promise nothin' but we kin see what the Fields think 'bout it."

"Thank you for your invitation," I said. Laughing to myself at the very idea of the ground having an opinion about who works it. "But I have more deliveries. I am sure they will provide me with all of the physical exercise I require."

"Maybe," 'Zekiel said as he left, "but mister, I doubt it. Plow'n the Fields is more than physical, it's Holy."

The clerk signed my invoice and I went on to my next delivery at a grocery store.

***

That afternoon as I was wheeling the last hand truck of boxes into a nearby hardware store, two very attractive women were gleefully discussing wrought iron drawer pulls with Fred, the store's owner. They were bubbly and giggling and although I had three other stops to make before heading south, I really didn't mind listening to them. It had been a lousy week.

"Ah, good 'ole Christmas spirit," I said, handing Fred the invoice on my clipboard after he rang them up and they left.

"Oh, those two," he said while he looked over and signed my invoice. "They are always just like that, truly sweet. They're sisters, Karen and Erica Fields. Bought the roadhouse down by 'the old German Pietists' Colony' last year."