The God Pedlar
Flash Fiction
There were few things he hated more than to be approached by what he called the God pedlars. Very smartly dressed youngsters, waistcoat and tie, who approached you outside supermarkets or at bus stops. He avoided eye contact with them, and usually muttered fuck off under his breath. This one time he unwittingly looked at the young man. They were almost always men. Mormon, or Jehovah’s witness, or some other US-based new church enterprise. The young man beamed a smile at him, and courteously bade him good-morning, and enquired whether he had three minutes, and before he could respond, he went on, I would appreciate it sir, if you will do me the favour of listening to the Voice of God. He sneered, So God is speaking in your voice? Sorry sir, I put this badly, I mean I would like to share with you the news of God’s power and munificence. That really got his goat.
“Young man,’ he said not hiding his discontent, ‘you must be twenty or_’
“Nineteen, actually sir.’
“Do you know how old I am?” And without expecting an answer, continued, I am eighty-eight. D’you know, there hasn’t been a day in the last eighty or so years, when I have not thought of, or read about God’s power and munificence, I have taught Religious Education for forty years, and I think if you had three minutes, I could give you the benefit of what I have learnt.”
“Thank you sir, I’ll be grateful indeed. Can I offer you a coffee and you can share your wisdom with me?”
