General Fiction posted December 30, 2024

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A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 12

by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia began an all night prayer vigil in Tony’s abandoned church. Discovering three homeless men, they decided to convert the structure to a shelter. They began the process of obtaining permits and funding.

Chapter 12

“Well, well, well, my sweet Preacher Man. You got rezoned!”

“And waived!” Ben Paul added. “In less than a week.”

“And pledges of $375 a month.”

“So far,” Ben Paul added. “But they don’t start until we’re operational. “The stickler right now is the building code. We have a variance on sleeping quarters, and the structure is grandfathered as far as electrical, and windows and basic construction. But we have to watch what we’re doing with the kitchen and the plumbing. We have to add more bathrooms and 220 to the kitchen. They’ll let the furnace slide, but we know it has to work.”

“It’s an oil burner, right?” Sylvia asked to Ben Paul’s nod. “Can it be switched over to natural gas?”

“Got a man coming out tomorrow.”

“So, when are you gonna see Antwan?

“I was waiting on two things. One, an idea how much we needed, and two, waiting on God to tell me when.”

Sylvia smiled, figuring Ben Paul probably had the two mixed up. “Can we sell the parsonage?”

“We could, but then where would the preacher slash chaplain slash manager live?”

“Oh. But I’m really glad to hear you say that. We haven’t talked about it all, but I wondered how long you intended us to run things.”

“I’m ready to go the minute God releases us.”

Sylvia visibly loosened, not realizing the stress that the issue had over her.

+++

“Antwan, we need $13,400 dollars, most of it in the next couple weeks. But that’s not what I came over here for. We need you to preach the first sermon at the grand opening.”

“You are Ben Persons, ain’tchoo? I heard stories about him, how he got the Whitestockings to give baseball gear. How he got the outfit to buy the land and build a ballpark. That and a lot more. But you are out of your mind – twice over.”

“Antwan, I happen to know that you studied under your father, who graduated from the D. L. Moody Bible Institute. I also know that you completed and passed the Ambassador College Bible program administered by Herbert W. Armstrong.” Winking, he told Antwan that their mothers wrote letters back and forth.

Antwan winced at both charges, not saying anything.

“Now, I don’t know what happened in your life, but I do know that you haven’t done anything that can’t be forgiven… nothing.

“The money won’t buy you absolution. That’s in the cathedral down the road. The money won’t even buy you peace of mind.”

“Preacher. In case you didn’t notice, this is a pool hall… billiards. You don’t gotta drink, but if you wanna stay in here. Play pool.”

Ben Paul had never held a pool cue in his life, but had somewhere heard about Minnesota Fats and had somehow seen a pool game on television. “I’ll have a Coke,” he said, nodding toward the tables.

After opening a bottle of Coke for Ben Paul, Antwan racked the balls on one of the tables. There were a few other tables being used, but the bar only had one person drinking. The bartender was adjusting the television to I Love Lucy.

“Larry,” Antwan bellowed.

Larry changed the channel to a Humphrey Bogart movie.

“I’ll break,” Antwan declared. “A hundred dollars a point, progressive.”

Ben Paul did the math. He figured that progressive meant to put the balls in the pockets progressively one through fifteen. He quickly did the math all the balls combined would not equal 13,400. “Go you one better. We play, but if I sink the fifteen ball, it’s 13,400 and you preach.”

Antwan thought a few seconds. “God okay with you gamblin’ away his homeless shelter, Preacher?”

“Remember Elija and the four hundred prophets of Baal? They bet on calling fire down from heaven. But I won’t kill you and all your employees.” Ben Paul smiled.

Antwan nodded and picked up where he’d left off. “And if I sink it, legally – legally for both of us – no money, and you leave St. Louis and never come back. Today!”

Ben Paul closed his eyes for a second, allowing God time to check his spirit. He didn’t. “Break ‘em.”

Antwan sunk the six ball on the break, meaning his turn continued until he missed, beginning with the one ball. He sunk the one, but did not have a clear shot at the two. His shot snuck the cue ball between the bank and two other balls, leaving no shot at all. Ben Paul miscued, his cue stick amateurishly sliding off the side of the cue as he struck it.

Ben Paul’s next attempt, at the five, was not much better, though he’d learned a little, having watched Antwan.
The five, seven, eight and nine balls all slapped into pockets with force, Antwan’s expression fierce, but his vitriol did not help him, missing the ten.

The ten ball was perfectly lined up for Ben Paul, only inches from the side pocket, the pocket in the middle of the long side of the table. The cue ball was about a foot from it with as easy a shot as anyone could imagine. Ben Paul cradled the tip of the cue stick just as he’d seen Antwan. He gently stroked the stick through his curved forefinger. He made sure that his backhand was gliding the stick’s motion in a straight line as if he could, aiming the tip of the stick through the cue ball, through the ten ball, and then directly into the pocket. On about the dozenth stroke, he let fly, hitting the cue much harder than he’d intended.

The cue ball collided with the ten, sending it harmlessly caroming off toward the end of the table to Ben Paul’s right. The cue ball caromed off the bank away from Ben Paul, and back to the bank near his hand. At the last second, he thought to move his hand allowing the cue to strike the fifteen ball, sending it down the rail, sinking it into a corner pocket.

Antwan’s jaw clenched, his eyes pinching shut beneath furrowed brows. He lifted his cue stick and broke it over his knee, heaving both pieces at Ben Paul who stood still, allowing the two halves to aimlessly sail by, one on either side.
Without a word spoken, Antwan fast-walked toward the bar. Ben Paul carefully laid his stick on the table and left the facility.

+++

“You didn’t!”

Ben Paul told Sylvia of the deal and the bet.

“And you beat him?”

“God beat him as sure as he lit Elijah’s soaking wet wood on fire. I could barely hold the stick.”

“Oh… I don’t know what to say? Call the contractors! Let’s get started. You’re sure Antwan will pay?”

“Oh, yeah. He’ll pay. And he’ll be preaching the grand opening sermon.”

“He what?” Sylvia’s tone was that of incredulity, shock.

“Part of the deal. I told you he was a trained preacher, right? Well, he is. It may only be five minutes long, but…”

“It’ll count!” Sylvia finished.

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1 Kings chapter 18 for the contest between Elijah and the prophets of Baal

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Antwan (Anthony): son of Tony and Ellsabeth Bertelli
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony

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A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 12

by Wayne Fowler

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