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Waking at ten past seven, her black nakedness clad in a frilled red nightdress, Miss Calligary is aware all over again that Miss Tamsel Flewett has walked away. Miss Tamsel Flewett has gone and will not return: Miss Calligary has lain in her bed with that glum reflection, before rising and washing the walls of her room and of the communal bathroom and lavatory. It is her practice to wash something when discontent assails her, discontent being a snare. The dull flow of time while she scrubs and cleanses is soothing; peace will return. While she works she hears the people of the Gathering House going out, one by one or in groups, setting forth on their day’s business. Then, without Miss Tamsel Flewett, who has accompanied her on her own business for the past seven and a half months, she goes out herself, her territory this morning the new Brunel estate. ‘I don’t want nothing,’ an old white woman protests when Miss Calligary rings the first doorbell. ‘Of course you don’t.’ Miss Calligary is soothing, shaking her head as she speaks. ‘Course not, honey.’ ‘What’s all this then?’ ‘Usually I come by with a young friend, Miss Tamsel Flewett, because sometimes a Jamaican lady on her own don’t go down too good. But today Miss Tamsel Flewett cannot be with us. May I inquire if you read the Bible?’ ‘The what?’ ‘The Bible, honey. Today I have brought the Bible to you. For instance, do you ever consider the future there is for the one who dies?’ ‘Are you from the Security?’ Miss Calligary says she isn’t. But nevertheless she brings security with her – security of mind and heart, security of purpose. ‘What’s this about dying then? We all have to die, stands to reason.’ ‘I’ve come this morning to talk with you about that.’ ‘There’s Gloria Live coming to an end. I was watching Gloria when you rang on the bell.’ The old woman is slightly humped, small and wrinkled, with sparse grey hair. She hasn’t a use for a Bible, she states; if she had a use for a Bible she would buy one in a shop. Miss Calligary ignores that. She says: ‘In busy times there isn’t always the opportunity to think about the future there is for the one who dies.’ The old woman shakes her head. Dish of the Day is starting, she points out. ‘Could I perhaps step in?’ Miss Calligary smiles a wide, brilliant smile. ‘Ten minutes out of your day, that’s all I’ll take, honey.’ She had the waterbed man the day before, the old woman replies. She doesn’t want a waterbed; she doesn’t even know what a waterbed is. She says she has enjoyed their chat, and makes to close the door, but Miss Calligary’s elbow obstructs the motion. ‘For the one who dies the future is wonderful. That is the Message I bring you this morning. Our Father Lord’s purpose is for a paradise earth. Our Father Lord’s promise is for life without end. In return only for obedience. I’m not endeavouring to interest you in a waterbed.’ ‘Happen you’ve come to the wrong house. Number 5 this is. Mrs Crimms I am.’ ‘Mrs Crimms, it’s not by chance that a Message is brought to you. I am here to gather, to gather you and other good folks in. Take a minute to consider, Mrs Crimms, that we awake in the morning and survey the day. We all do that, Mrs Crimms, you and I and the whole wide world of mankind. At night we look back into the day that has passed. Each night of our life there is a day that is passed into the darkness of this night. But if there has been no brightness we do not bow our heads.’ I don’t want no Bible.’ ‘I’m not selling Bibles, honey. The Task that is given to me is to gather folks in. “Shall we gather at the river?” is the words that I am saying to you.’ ‘I’m missing
Dish of the Day.’ ‘We’ll watch Dish of the Day first, Mrs Crimms. We’ll watch Dish of the Day without a single word spoken. The heavens are my throne, is what is written for today. The earth is my footstool. I shall glorify the very place of my feet. You stand to gain, Mrs Crimms.’ This final statement has the desired effect, and so Mrs Crimms’ small sitting-room is glorified, while cooking takes place on her television. And when the programme ends Miss Calligary explains how Mrs Crimms may be released from the inevitability of death, and Mrs Crimms speaks of her son, Rod, who is in gaol. She has twenty-two grandchildren, Mrs Crimms reveals; all of them born to the same son’s three wives. Rod hasn’t had luck with his wives, she divulges, weeping as she recalls that. Eighteen months he got the last time, for a thing he never did. ‘I would speak with Rod,’ Miss Calligary offers. ‘I would take the Message to him.’ ‘Twenty-two kids and not one of them lifts a finger to bother with him. Rod never had luck.’ ‘I would bring your son reading matter,’ Miss Calligary promises. ‘I would convey letters and parcels, I would gather Rod in. My Church thinks in terms of families.’ Mrs Crimms repeats that she has twenty-two grandchildren. All kinds of work they are in. ‘A garage, then again computers, then again a Payless and on the buses. Another’s in refuse.’ ‘Pass on to your grandchildren the Message I bring to you today, honey. When you read the words I am leaving with you you’ll discover that the Father Lord makes all things new. You’ll discover your life without end, and your son and your grandchildren will discover theirs. Out of the abundance of His love, the Father Lord lent His Son, that the world of mankind might be brightened, as lightning brightens His sky. ‘Poor Rod’s in the Scrubs.’ ‘I’d go to the Scrubs. I wouldn’t hesitate.’ But Mrs Crimms does not appear to be much interested in this offer. Vaguely she shakes her head. It is time for Henry Kelly’s game show. She likes a game show best. ‘You have rooms going spare in your house.’ Miss Calligary speaks softly, smiling and seeking to make eye contact. ‘In the springtime the folk come for our Prayer Jubilee. From the far corners of the earth folk come and we need more beds and bedding, and the use of bathroom and kitchen and all that.’ Mrs Crimms turns up the volume of the television and Miss Calligary’s promise that she will return in a day or two is lost in the tumult. On the street outside the roar of the game show continues, and then abruptly ceases as the volume is reduced. Plenty of room in that house, Miss Calligary says to herself as she continues on her way, obedient to her Task. All that morning blank faces stare back at her animated presence, at her smile and the vigour in her eyes. She taught Miss Tamsel Flewett to be cheerful no matter what their reception was. Two smiles are better than one, she used to say, and this morning it is lonely. At door after door she explains that she conveys the Message of the Church of the Gatherers, but she receives in return only rebukes for her folly. It is then, when her spirits are low, that she notices a girl in a red coat on an isolated seat in a walkway, with litter blowing all around her. Miss Calligary observes this figure from a distance, noting the two green-and-black carrier bags and the tired hunch of the girl’s shoulders. There is unhappiness here, Miss Calligary silently remarks to herself, and strides forth to gather the girl in.