The Tormented Victim Finds a Solution
In the land of Trouble lived an elderly man. He didn’t know what had brought him to this land, but now he didn’t feel so happy. In fact he felt darn right grumpy. There were days when the sky was grey and the house was cold and he couldn’t move so fast. His bones ached. But that wasn’t his greatest dread. It was a boy whose heart was full of mischief. It all started with a knock at the front door. ‘Oh! I have a visitor,’ Mr Gavin said. But on opening the door there was no one to be seen. Hmm, it must be a bird on the roof with a snail knocking; he nodded his head in thought lifting his hand to his chin. On returning to his cup of tea and biscuits, the noise returned. Clunk, clunk, clunk went the handle knocker. ‘Oh goodness, he said not again.’ Back to the door he went, but sure enough there was no one there. Now elderly Mr. Gavin was no fool. He pulled a comfortable chair to the bedroom window and sat. His strong long fingers parted the heavy red velvet curtain, just enough to see, and he waited. Between his sips of tea, like a cat he craned his neck, hunched down and watched. Sure enough before long a skinny lanky blonde haired boy with mischievous eyes appeared, cuffing his laughter under his hand, “Ha ha, ha- ha.” He pushed the button hard, “der ... der...err, derrrr,” the buzzer rung. Then jumping of the veranda he ducked for cover behind the hedge. Oh Mr Gavin thought what to do? So he resigns himself to the fact that if he called out and nobody answered, he would ignore the tormentor at the door. And hopefully in time the boy would grow bored and go away. The constant badgering of door knocking continued on and off for three weeks. By this time his Mr Gavin’s patience were wearing thin and all he wanted was some pleasant company. Knock, knock, knock, I wonder thought Mr. Gavin. “What do you want!?” He hollered opening the door. “Your letterbox, it’s fallen onto the ground. So today you are receiving the paper directly,” Replied the paper girl, a little shocked by the elderly mans holler. Then the girl smiled and turned to walk away. Looking back at the elderly man, she said, “If you like I will help you fix your letterbox?” “Why would you want to help me I’m grumpy,” grumped Mr Gavin. “Your grumpy because you choose to be that way, that is not who you are. Grumpiness is an invisible jacket you put on each day,” the young girl said. “And the jacket you’re wearing today ‘” replied Mr. Gavin, is happiness?” “Yes I do wear an invisible jacket of happiness,” the girl smiled. She was just what he needed, some one positive and friendly. “Well he said extending his hand I am Mr Gavin, pleased to meet you.” ‘Hi Mr Gavin,’ she said, giving him a quick firm hand shake' ‘I’m Angela. A time was arranged; the letterbox was to be fixed the following afternoon. 1 Being a holiday she stayed up late watching movies and woke up around 10.00am to have brunch a combination of breakfast and lunch. ‘Well I’m off now Mum.’ ‘Here is Mr Gavin’s address,’ she said, handing her mother a piece of note paper. ‘I told you about him last night.’ “O, yes. Ok then, when will you be home?” ‘I’ll be home before dark,’ Angela replied. “It gets dark by 7:30.” Her mother warned. ‘I know mum, I’ll be home by then if not earlier. Bye Mum.’ “Bye!” her mother called. Angela’s Dad had left home when she was 12 so only Angela and her mother lived at home. Peddling along the road the landscape looked fresh and green. Sunlight dappled on unfolding leaves, freshly cut grass scented the breeze. And above predominate clouds loomed in a patchwork of navy-blue sky. The day was still young, with plenty of hour to work in, as it was only 12.30pm. On site the elderly man had everything they needed for repairs. Angel parked her bike against a Pohutukawa tree then walked across the lawn. ‘Hi Mr Gavin how are you this afternoon?’ “I’m fantastic.” He responded. “Thank you for asking. And how are you young lady, It’s good to see you’re wearing sensible clothes and shoes, for the job.” Looking up the sky reflected in her blue eyes and sunlight shone in her fair ringlets. ‘I am good thanks.’ She was thirteen with long legs, tall and slender. Then from his top pocket the he pulled out a chocolate fish wrapped in clear plastic. ‘Cool thanks! You seem happier today.’ “Yes I am. Yesterday has gone, today is a new day. The fish it’s for energy,” he said smiling with a twinkle in his eye. Shall we get started then? I don’t like the look of all those clouds. ‘Can I eat my fish first?’ she said with a cheesy grin. “Yes,” he nodded. “While you eat, I’ll show you how to start the footing.” There was a hole in the ground where the old letter box had stood. He knelt down and centred a school ruler with the existing hole. Then he took a little wooden stake hammered it in at the end of the ruler and tied a ball of string to it. “Now use the string as a guide to keep your lines straight,” he said “Come on, you can hammer in the other three stakes. Make the footing square and half a rule deep.” ‘Yes it does make a difference,’ she said, moving the string to pin point where the stake would go. Looking around, the old post was nowhere in sight. ‘Where is the old letterbox,’ she asked. “The old post is on the trailer ready for the rubbish tip. And the letterbox is on the veranda for fixing,” he said. 2 Though she didn’t mention it, Angela wondered how an elderly man could have lifted a heavy concrete post. ‘Can I use this spade,” she asked. “Yes use whatever you need to get the job done “he said. Cutting an outline in the ground she moved an angle of string, to give her more room to dig. Soon her concentration was interrupted by a deep baritone melody “Do do-o do do-o do...,” filtering the air, it lifted her spirits. ‘Oh he’s happy,’ she smiled. She raised her eyebrows in interest to watch, while Mr. Gavin traced the face of the old letterbox with a flat pencil on plywood. While she was digging the elderly cut out the shape and left it under the protection of the eaves. (Roof overhang) ‘Ok I’m finished,’ she said. “O good. “Next we will mix the concrete. The formal for making concrete is one part cement to two parts sand to three parts gravel (small stones) and add water to make it pliable.” All the compounds were mixed in the wheelbarrow. ‘It’s starting to mix like cake ingredients,” she said. “Yes that’s right you’ve got it. You can take over now.” Sure enough Angela took a spade and continued mixing. .... After a little while the muscles in the tops of her arms started to ache then tremble. ‘I’ve finished, it’s mixed, she laughed this is too much for me.’ “O he said, the next part is quick and easy then we can take a break. You can’t muck around with concrete otherwise it will set, (go hard) are you up to holding the post?” ‘Yes,’ she nodded. Pouring a shovel full of concrete into the footing, he gave it a little pounding with the post. “Angela” I need you to hold the post firm and centred.” While she held the post in place Mr Gavin tipped the wheelbarrow and gritty sludgy concrete slid into the empty space. You can let go now, I will finish up,” he said. “Take a seat,” his hand gestured towards the veranda. It was interesting what he did next; with a slim rod (firm stick) he prodded hard into the footing ‘Why do you think I’m prodding the concrete,” he asked. ‘I’m not too sure why,’ she said, ‘to make it solid?’ “It takes the air bubbles out, yes; he nodded, and make it solid.” Next he dipped and squeezed out a cloth wiping the post where the concrete had splattered. Then with a tool which had a handle and a flat surface, he smoothed the top of the concrete. ‘Wow that looks nice, what do you call, that tool?’ she asked. “Oh this, it’s a trowel,” he replied. He walked down the path to the garage and detoured to the side of the house. Turning on the tap full bore water ricocheted into the wheelbarrow then quickly into a bucket. The elderly man cleaned the shovel vigorously scrubbing and whooshing with an old cloth then emptied the dirty water. “How are you feeling now,” he asked. ‘I’m ok,’ 3 “Terrific. You can use this cloth to clean the rest of the tools and the wheelbarrow.” And into the house he went without another word. Annoyed she washed the tools but the water kept getting murky. How frustrating, that will have to do; having done her best she left the trowel in the bucket to soak. As she approached the screen door Angela saw Mr Gavin was lying down on the couch, taking a nap. Tired she sat on the steps waiting to build up strength before going home. Seven minutes passed and the screen door opened. “Would you like a cup of tea, he asked.” He returned with a tray, on it was a pot of tea, cups, and saucers also what looked like lemonade and much to Angela’s delights an unopened packet of mellow puffs. “Help yourself, he said, so will it be tea or lemonade?” Unsure about eating and drinking a stranger’s food, she asked for tea; because it was hot, she could sip it. ‘I drink a lot of water the old man said, it purifies your system and quenches the thirst.’ He picked up a mallow puff and put the whole biscuit in his mouth, looking out toward the road deep in thought. he was quiet for a while. ‘Is something troubling you Mr. Gavin?’ You seem so deep in thought.’ He looked at her wondering if he should say something or, not. But there was something about Angela as if she had a knowing of his situation. ‘What do you think happened to your letter box,’ she asked. His gentle hazel eyes searched her face for trust before he spoke. “I think it was pushed over,” he said. Then he looked towards the hedge. ‘Wasn’t it hit by a reversing car,’ she suggested. “No there is no evidence of car paint on the letter box. No it was pushed over manually.” ‘So are you being tormented by someone?’ “Well you are a bright one, yes,” he acknowledged. ‘I know about tormenting,’ she said. “You do, do you, why is that?” ‘I read about it.’ “You read about it? What did you read?” ‘The Holy Bible tells you why you’re being tormented.’ “Really what does it say?” ‘It says that if we hold un-forgiveness against anyone that we will be handed over to the tormentors.’ “Ok, where does it say that?” ‘The Bible tells you in Matthew 18 verse 21 - 35 it’s a parable, about a King that forgave his servant a debt that he couldn’t repay. And the same servant threw his own servant into prison for a lot lesser debt that was owing to him. When the King found out what he had done, he handed the wick servant over to the tormentors. “What has that got to do with me,” he asked. ‘Well God the creator of the universe has offered us a free gift of forgiveness in his son Jesus, if we choose to receive it. So if we hold un-forgiveness against another we are hand over to the tormentors.’ 4 “Well,” elderly Mr Gavin said, “I am upset with my son Edward for selling a coin collection that I gave him. I was hoping he would pass it on to my grandson son Theodore.” With an invisible lump on his throat, he spoke. “Right from a youngster I was saving rare coins,” he sighed. ‘Ouch! I would be so upset, if someone gave away my Stamp collection. But I also wouldn’t want someone tormenting me.’ ‘What do you think you will do?’ “I have to choose to forgive my son so I can live in peace again,” he replied. Looking up billowing dark clouds threatened. ‘I have to go Mr. Gavin; I have to beat the rain.’ “Yes, hang on a minute girl, a man is worthy of his wage. This is for your hard work,” he said handing her $30. ‘Thanks,’ Angela smiled. Then she took off on her bike, escaping the rain and got home before dark. That night the Elderly man talk to God, “I believe in my heart that you are real, when I consider the heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, creatures great and small all of which you have formed or spoken into being. I am a man of humble means and don’t have much to offer you but myself. I know that you love me. That you, gave your only begotten son Jesus to pay the price for my sins. For all the things I have done wrong forgive me. Thank you that your son died for me so that I can have eternal life. I love you God the creator of the universe. And in my heart I choose to forgive Edward for hurting me. Amen.” He fell into a deep peaceful sleep, lulled by the rain and tired from a good days work. The rain fell heavy into the night, accompanied by southern arctic winds. And the calls of hawks penetrated the darkness, their eyes wide for prey as mice scurried across the fields hiding in clumps of grass. Time passed and the magic of night fled the approaching dawn. Day light shone through the gaps in his curtains, and to the sound of chipping birds, the elderly man awakened. Snug in his bed he laid staring out his window adjusting his eyes to the sky before he reached for his robe then got up. Oh how nice it was to have a hot cup of tea to warm his hands and insides. To keep his body in good working order he munched down a bowl of Sultana bran cereal. There was a chill in the air, so he threw on his warm swanndri a thermal shirt followed by a sleeveless jacket and track- suit- pants. Rubbing his hands together for warmth he had set about his daily chores. Mr Gavin was use to moving with speed and accuracy but when he went to grab the compost bucket from the kitchen bench he missed. That is when you know you are getting older, when you go to grasp something and you miss it, he “grumped.” This time eyeing up the bucket he reached for it and obtained it with more precision. ‘Yes that’s better.’ 5 His morning stated with a walk around the garden. “Oh yes wonderful,” his dying pumpkin leaves would soon reach the pumpkin and its stem, would be ready to cut. Other pumpkins were growing but they would take longer, and this pumpkin was exceptional, the biggest he had grown. Between the garden leave grew potato plants tall with many stalks bearing dark green firry leaves, tomato plants also tall with serrated leaves and what he thought was a cucumber vines with leaves a little smaller then the pumpkins. They all needed to be taken out and transplanted into the main garden; these were all self seeding from compost. In a separate part of the garden, he dug a hole, empted his food scraps then covered it with dirt, and hosed down the bucket. His day went well potting around transplanting plants and weeding; then after lunch he showered and rested. After dinner he washed the dishes then watched the news. The weather report was fine weather for the following day. Turning the light of in the living-room he switched on his bed lamp, put on his pajamas and read his book. Dozing off he yawned reached over, switched off the light. His head hit the pillow snoring. The tormentor came that night with a heart fill of mischief; he wanted to take something the elderly man would miss. He slipped through the back gate blanketed by shadow. His eyes wide his ears alert and his heart pounding. Lead by the scent of a small blackcurrant tree he fumbling his fingers under its foliage and found a berry. His nose wrinkled and teeth flashed ‘Bitter blackcurrant,’ he spat. ‘I’ll teach you for being bitter,’ snap went its tender young branch. The moon that night could have easily been seen as a traitor. Her beams shone as ribbons of moon light on the treasures of elderly Mr. Gavin’s garden. It revealed delicious fruit, and veggies laden in due, sparkling like jewels. The boy’s eyes widened with pleasure. Licking his lips, ‘Juicy big oranges yum, he muttered. There were peas, spinach, lacy leaves of baby carrots herbs: mint, parsley and a large pumpkin. Excited he crept to the side of the house. I’ll have some of those oranges for sure and then I’ll come back for the big pumpkin. He was close now just a hop, skip and a jump, and a feast would be in his grasp. In to the air he leaped from one shadow onto the next. ‘Crunch,’ ‘O…w!’ hot pokers of pain shot through his ankle. Into Mr. Gavin’s compost bin his foot had landed and on to the ground he fell with a thud screaming unable to get up, his bones fractured. On went the house light and out came Mr. Gavin. ‘What is going on out here, his deep voice broke the night air of chirping crickets. The boy cuffed his hand over his mouth to conceal his whimpering. But just as the garden was reveals in the moon light now so was the bucket. ‘Oh the bucket” he said walking over cautiously. “What have we here?” ‘I was taken a shortcut sir he said.’ “A short cut to where, may I ask. Where were you heading?” The mischievous boy moaned and held his ankle. “I should get you help. I’ll be back soon,” He left the boy outside while he went to use the phone. Now who should I ring the Ambulance or the Police? Giving the boy some grace he rang the Ambulance and before long the boy was on a stretcher. 6 Mr. Gavin drove behind the ambulance to the Hospital and waited with the boy it was 9.30pm by now. “I would have rather we had met under deferent circumstances, I am Mr. Gavin. What may I ask is your name?” ‘Stewart, Stewart is my name,’ the boy said. “What are you doing out so late at night? Were you trying to get up to no good, were you?” ‘I was looking for my dog,’ the boy said, cringed in pain. “I find that hard to believe.” “You kicked in my letterbox. I saw you knock on my door and duck behind the hedge. What is wrong with you? Why do you do these things? ‘I get bored he said, looking at the old man then down at the floor.’ “Well what do you do for fun when you are not hassling, the elderly?” The boy didn’t reply, but look thoughtful. “You have too much time on your hands.” ‘I like cooking and building model boats,’ Stewart said. “When your ankle is healed, why don’t we see if you can do some volunteer work down at the boat building yard?” ‘Would you, would you come down to the boating yard with me. I truly am sorry for the grief I have caused. Thank you, for caring enough to help me find something to do with my time.’ The boy said. “Yes I will take you, but he warned, if you harass me anymore I will charge you with trespassing with the intent to cause damage. For now I will lay no charges against you. ‘Thank you Mr. Gavin.’ The Doctor rang Stewart’s parents; they were on their way so the elderly man left, to avoid a scene. It took weeks for the fracture to heal but true to his word Mr. Gavin took Stewart to the boat builders. The boat building yard was situated adjacent to the river edge. Leaving the car the taste of salt was on the breeze and the closer they drew to the building the stronger the scent of sawdust. A jigsaw stopped and a call for smoke-O was heard. ‘Hello there Sir, I am Mr Woodland. Can I help you, are you looking for someone in-particular,’ he asked. “Yes I am looking for the man in charge.” ‘That would be me sir, are you wanting a boat built?’ “That would be nice, but the reason I am here is to see if you would like or if you know someone who would like a volunteer youth to learn the skill of boat building.” ‘Is this the boy,’ he asked. “Yes,” ‘What your name son’ ‘Stewart Huntley.’ He looked him up and down. ‘I don’t take any slackers if you work for me you work hard and I will pay you. Wants your interest in boats?’ ‘I have made a few models.’ ‘How many is a few?’ ‘Four.’ 7 ‘Well Stewart, bring the boats along with you when you come to the work shop. You can start this Wednesday 4.30pm to 8.30pm and Friday 4.30pm to 7.30pm two days a week and school holidays, depending on your workmanship.’ Well it’s time for this lot to get back to work. Then he gave a hand shake to Mr Gavin and the boy, saying, Nice to have met you both. Bye for now, and left. From that time on life went a lot easier for elderly Mr Gavin. Summer bought a release from aches and pains. Stewart was no longer tormenting him. Mr Gavin arranged for insulation to be blown into the roof and walls to keep the house cool in summer and warm in winter, to keep him from the cold. It came about in time that as the people in the land of Trouble found solutions to their problems and help each other that happiness swept over the land like an invisible jacket. So the people voted to change the town’s name to the Land of Happiness.
