HER SABBATH DAYS

 HER SABBATH DAYS

Sunday morning up with the lark, I think I will take a walk in the park. Hey, Hey, Hey, it is a beautiful day! For every human being slaving away at the office desk all through the week, Sunday must surely be the promise of Heaven. Alas, not so for my dear friend Felicity whose tortuous tale I must tell you.
Felicity is a Roman Catholic but not just any Roman Catholic. She is a Sunday Catholic. So, when everyone counts on having good sleep over the weekend, she wakes up bright and early to go to Church. Jackie, her drunken father, stirs up in bed and clutches his head in despair. The revelry of the night before manifests itself in an ominous hangover. Only a sip of unholy water can save him now. He groans as he gets dresses quickly and heads for the nearest bar in the vaddo. Felicity is busy getting ready, dressing in her Sunday best and dousing herself with a heady perfume. Arms full of jingling bangles and golden chains around her neck, she covers her head with a psychedelic scarf and emerges from her humble abode, opens her pink parasol and heads towards the Church. She is accompanied by Antonio, her pompous cologne-reeking husband, himself dressed to kill and dragging his feet purposely, to reach late and have an excuse for standing outside as usual.
My friend enters and searches for a seat right under the fan, and soon its soothing swishing lulls her to near-sleep. The choir interrupts those 20 winks by breaking out into hymn as the priest, clothed in holy vestments, takes his place at the altar. Now, Felicity loves to sing so she hits the roof with her, ‘melodious voice’, causing the worshippers around her to listen in shocked silence. A baby bawls in protest, but she manages to drown his voice with her own.
The Mass begins and people all around her drift back mentally to their homes; some plan the afternoon meal, others, the evening outing. A young lady, two rows ahead smiles secretly. Wonder what is on her mind now? A young boy looks around furtively, spots the flavour of the day and throws her a rakish smile. A little boy sprints up and down the aisle in an attempt to beat the local athletic record. A baby squawks; her mother grabs the golden opportunity to take her out for some fresh air.
The lengthy homily that follows soon after, gives our perspiring Felicity a chance to catch up on her remaining 20 winks. An old man feverishly counts the beads of his rosary as he listens to the preacher, killing two birds with one stone. A few gentlemen slip out for a breath of fresh nicotine.
Homily over, its time for offertory. The ushers make the rounds with their collection bags. Antonio searches frantically in his pant pocket, sure he had a small coin in there. He fishes out a twenty but hurriedly pushes it back. Cigarette money, you know. By the time, he looks up again, the usher has already gone past and he heaves a sigh of relief. Felicity, of course, never carries a purse so one cannot really blame her for not offering up anything.
Mass proceeds and our young damsel is in distress because she has just spotted Mrs. Fernandes, the village gossip, sitting close by in the next pew. An unkind piece of slander had been doing the rounds just a week ago, Felicity being the villainess of the piece, and our young heroine had blown into the old woman, shredding her to pieces. “Peace be with you” time nearing, she is at her wits end trying to avoid that cursed woman’s fierce looks. Hitting upon a brainwave, she drops her handkerchief at the opportune moment and thanks the young boy who picks it up for her. Now she can receive the Lord with a clear conscience.
Finally, oh, finally, the priest utters those much- awaited words, ‘Go in peace’ and Felicity genuflects muttering “Thanks be to God” meaning “Thank God” and exits, heading straight for the nearest food stall. There she stuffs her mouth with sorpotel and sanna, talking nineteen to a dozen to everyone she knows before returning home to enjoy the rest of her weekly holiday. (721 words)