Grace McCleen - The Land of Decoration

“So,” I said, “they might be in now. There were some we missed altogether, you know—where the road went into that cul-de-sac. We should do them before we forget.”

Father said: “I didn’t think we missed any houses.”

“Yes,” I said. “And if we don’t go back, we might forget about them and Armageddon could come tomorrow and they will never have got the message.”

Father frowned. “Judith, why don’t you want to work this road?”

“I do!” I said.

“Then come on.”

At the first house we came to, the gate was hanging off. We knocked but we didn’t need to; a bull terrier chained up next to a mattress in the front garden began snarling and yanking the chain. A volley of bikes went by and boys called: “Bible thumpers!”

Father knocked again. I edged farther away from the terrier, who looked like he was choking himself to death.

“Father,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Do we have to work this road?”

Father said: “Judith, these people deserve to hear the message as much as anyone else.”

We walked down the path and went up the next one. The front window of the house was taped over with packing tape, and the letter box was missing its flap. A door slammed upstairs and someone shouted: “Whoever it is, tell them to piss off!” This time an old man with eyes like a wild animal opened the door.

Father said: “Good morning, sir. We’ve been asking your neighbors a very important question: Do you believe God will step in and do anything about the situation in the world?”

The old man’s eyes flitted from Father to me. He swallowed and his lips rolled over and under each other as if he was chewing.

Father said: “I expect things have changed since you were a boy. I expect you could go out without locking your door then. Things are different now, aren’t they? It’s not surprising so few people believe in God. But look what the Bible says will happen.”

The old man’s jaw moved up and down but no words came out. His eyes darted inside the house, then back to us again.

Father read a scripture and gave the old man a leaflet. The man’s fingers were yellow and the paper rattled in his hand. Father said: “Look at that. That’s the way God has promised to make the earth. Would you like to live in a world like that?”

A woman shouted: “Tell them to piss off!” The old man’s Adam’s apple yo-yoed in his throat. He backed away, closing the door.

Father said: “Perhaps this isn’t the best time. When we call again, I’d like to discuss this hope for the future with you. Have you got a Bible? If you do, have a look at some of those scriptures.”

We went out of the garden and Father wrote down the details. He said: “I think we may have found a sheep there, Judith. I think we may very well have found a sheep.”

It was now twenty to twelve. We might just do it, I thought. It wouldn’t take much; two or three more calls where we talked for a while.

At the next house, a man in a vest and trousers held up with string came to the door. The vest ended a bit above his waist and his trousers ended a bit below it. In between, his flesh was the color of the lard Father saves from the lamb on Sundays and there were lots of pale hairs. Father said: “Hello, Clive, how are you? I expect you know I’m a Christian. My daughter and I have been sharing a hope for the future with your neighbors.”

The man didn’t look at Father at all. He grunted and looked down the road. His chin stuck out.

Father said: “I don’t know about you, but this world seems to be in a pretty bad way to me.”

Clive looked down the road one way, then he looked down the road the other. He seemed to be holding his breath, because every now and then a little bit of air escaped. He put his arm on the doorpost above my head and his flesh juddered. In his armpit, pale hairs clustered like two little forests pointing in different directions.

Father said: “But the Bible promises we are living at a time when God will sweep this world away. Would you like to live in a world where there is job security and poverty is a thing of the past?”

Clive nodded to someone walking on the other side of the road. He let a little bit more air escape. But still he didn’t look at Father.

Father said: “Could I leave you with a leaflet that explains things a bit more?”

Clive didn’t do anything for a minute. Then he shook his head, very slowly, from side to side.

Father said: “Well, never mind. Perhaps we can talk again another time.”

Clive grunted, lifted his arm off the doorpost, and closed the door.

“Satan has blinded their minds,” Father said as we walked away.

We reached the end of one side of the street and began on the other. It was ten minutes to twelve. I really felt like we might just do it. All we needed was one more conversation.

We came to a house with a car engine and a child’s pram in the garden. The front door was boarded up at the bottom, and the glass was taped across at the top. When Father knocked, a girl came to the door, holding a baby. She looked about fifteen. She also looked half asleep. She had black hairs growing on her arms and black hairs growing above her lip and black hairs growing between her eyebrows. I could see her nipples through her T-shirt. She had bare feet. The baby was fussing and chewing his fist and had no nappy on.

Father said: “Good morning. We’ve been asking your neighbors a very important question: Do you believe God will do anything about the world?”

The girl’s eyelids seemed too heavy to lift. She said: “What?”

Father repeated the question.

She swayed a little. “Are you the Mormons?”

“No,” said Father. “We’re sharing with your neighbors a hope from the Bible.” He handed the girl a leaflet.

She screwed up her eyes. “D’you want money?”

“No.” Father smiled. “It’s yours to read if you want to. But I’d really like to tell you about the hope for the future, which—”

The girl opened the door. She said: “I can’t stand here with ’im, I’s too cold.”

Father said: “Oh. Well. That’s kind of you,” and we followed her into the house.

The house smelled of frying and gerbils’ cages and damp and something else, a sickly smell that made my stomach curl, that reminded me of someone. The girl led the way into a room at the back of the house.

I had never seen anything like that room. The floor and walls halfway up were covered in lino. There was no furniture except kitchen cabinets with no doors and a plastic table and molded benches that were fixed to the floor. A washing machine was going and had a broom jammed between it and the table.

We sat at the table. I put my hand on it and it was slippery and sticky. I took my hand off again and put it on my lap and hoped the girl hadn’t noticed. She raised her T-shirt and began to breast-feed the baby. Around the girl’s nipple there were little black hairs. I felt hot and looked at her feet. Between the girl’s toes there were little red marks. They looked like they had been bleeding.

Father read part of Matthew, Chapter 24, about the signs of the end. He said: “It’s not hard to see Jesus is talking about our day, is it?” He pointed to the verses but the girl seemed to be having trouble focusing. Father said: “Have you got a Bible? If you have, look up the scriptures in this magazine. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

Then we heard what sounded like a truck pull up in front of the house and a door swing to. A rush of cold air came in from the hall as the front door slammed. Father stood up and smiled. He said: “Perhaps next time we call, we can discuss any questions you might have.”

We went to the kitchen door and Father put his hand out to open it, but as he did, it opened inward and standing there was Doug Lewis.