Chapter 03: French Lessons
Sunday Freeman, the old preacher at the Church of Love and Equality had invited Jamal, his granddaughter's friend into the Church's dining hall. He smiled warmly as he swung open a big wooden arched door into a room with a long, sturdy looking, wooden table, laden with food, although most of it had been eaten. The preacher book two plates from a side table and handed one to Jamal.
"Eat as much or as little as you like, Jamal." He made the same sweeping motion, then in a stage whisper, he said "There's a bit more than usual, so more would be better."
Jamal took full advantage of the invitation, piling his plate with roast potatoes, chicken, carrots, even pouring himself a glass of wine, although he'd never normally drink the stuff. The two sat down to eat, chatting about basketball, cars, women. The old man was surprisingly good company, they were getting on like a house on fire.
Jamal was having a great time, except for the constant interruptions. A constant stream of people came in to the dining hall. Each time, the old priest would introduce them. "This is Jamal," he'd say, "he's not part of our congregation, he's a friend of Orla's." That didn't bother Jamal, but the look of disappointment that some of them showed at "not part of our congregation," was real irritating.
The next guy who give me that look's losing teeth, he thought. But none of the guys ever did. He soon realised that most of the interruptions came from women, and most of them were white! At one point the old priest got up and left the room with two of them, blabbering about some sacrament. They all looked kinda close too.
About 10 mins later, the priest came back with one of the ladies. She looked a bit out of breath, and her hair was not as tidy as before. Jamal also noticed some damp spots on her dress. Holy water, he guessed. Jamal offered her a cake from the table.
"No, thanks. I just had a chocolate eclaire. I love the creamy center!" She smiled, and Jamal noticed that she still had a little cream at the sides of her mouth.
"You saving some for later?" Jamal joked. She looked over at Sunday, smiling, and licked her lips.
"Mmm, I think there's more where that came from!" She answered. She turned back to Jamal, wicked grin painted on her face, "I promised Orla that I wouldn't try to talk you into joining the church, but perhaps you'd like to make a donation?" She placed a strange emphasis on the last word. Jamal let it pass, saying,
"You're asking the wrong guy, sweetheart. I'm as broke as the welfare system!"
"Leave our guest alone, Arlene," reprimanded the preacher, "he's already done us a service today."
"So she's all right? Orla, I mean. You spoke to her, right?" Jamal asked Arlene.
"No concussion, but she's got a great big lump on her head. Think we'll call her Buggs Bunny." She laughed. Jamal didn't think it was funny, but she cut off any angry response, "I'm a nurse at the A&E, so I know what I'm looking at, and she'll be just fine, Jamal. This church looks after its own, so don't worry." She smiled reassuringly, and put a hand on his shoulder.
Another woman walked into the hall, and Jamal thought she was familiar. She looked beautiful, glamorous. She wore an elegant black dress, and was made up like a superstar. She gave a smouldering look to the priest. Looked about to speak, when she spotted Jamal. Her eyes flashed, and a look of shock replaced her honeydew expression.
"Jamal!" She wailed, in a thick, French accent, "I didn't know zat you were a part of ze-" Jamal cut her off,
"Not one of the congregation, miss...?"
"Jamal, you know me, Je suis votre professeur de français, Madame L'Oréal!" Jamal's eyes widened.
"M-Madame L'Oréal, umm, what, umm, who, umm," Jamal stammered, "ah, I didn't, umm, recognise you. You look beautiful!" He paused, "not, not that you don't always-"
"That is ok, Jamal." She beamed. "Merci, I accept ze compliment. But what are you doing 'ere?"
"My granddaughter had an accident," Sunday piped up. "He brought her home to us."
"She bumped her head, but the nurse here says she's ok." Jamal explained.
"Madame L'Oreal, poor Jamal here is quite a way from home." Sunday made it sound like the next state, "I'd take it as a personal favour if you'd give him a ride home. It seems you know the boy after all."
"Ah, oui," she answered, "indeed if you are ready, we can depart anytime."
"Sure thing, uh, Madame, but I'd like to see Orla first, if you don't mind." The priest smiled.
"Of course, you must be worried. Arlene, can you ask her to meet our guest at the door?" The nurse nodded and left. Sunday continued to speak. "You're always welcome here, Jamal, even if you still want to be an atheist. Come back anytime."
Madame L'Oreal and Jamal left, and Orla was waiting by the door. She gave Jamal a hug, feet lifting off of the floor, and kissed him passionately.
"Thanks, Snake, I'll see you in school, ok?"
"Sure. You sure you're all right?"
"Nothing the nurse can fix, right?"
"Right. See you tomorrow."
