Bonzer Words!: The Answered Prayer
There should have been shoes in the brown paper bag but Robin Hillard found that it contained a wad of money.
It had been a long, hot shopping day. When I got back to the hotel I dumped my parcels and flopped onto the bed.
My feet were aching in their high heels so I kicked off my shoes and reached for a brown paper bag. I'd be glad to have my sandal back. I'd broken a strap the night before but this morning Sam, the shoemaker, promised the sandal would be 'better than new' when I picked it up at the end of the day.
I put my hand into the bag. Something was very wrong. 'Oh my God!' Not a curse but a prayer. Instead of my sandal - money. A pile of notes were crammed into the bag and they spilled out onto my lap.
Someone had taken the wrong bag. When they opened it they would find a sandal with a mended strap and, horror of horrors, a ticket with my name.
'Oh my God!' I said it again, but perhaps I should call on one of the saints. Which saint? What was the cash? Drug money? The proceeds from an extortion racket? The fruit of violent crime? Which saint should handle this affair? No, I would put my faith in the Big Guy. If he can see a sparrow fall He would surely notice a packet of money, and being omniscient would know where it belonged.
'Get me out of this,' I prayed. I'm sure He heard my prayer. Perhaps he sent one of His angels to soothe the hysterical woman. Something inside my head told me to use the phone, ring Sam and tell him I had the package of cash before its rightful owner realised it was gone. I'd seen enough TV to know how a Mafia boss would react, if he was put to the trouble of hunting me down.
Ring Sam. The line was busy. Ring again. And again. At last he picked up the phone.
His voice was quavery over the line but he recognised my name.
'You gave me the wrong bag,' I said, talking quickly, trying to get my message across before some top racketeer dispatched a minion to get his money back.
How would I get to the shoemaker's shop? I pictured walking through town dogged by figures from the underworld.
'Can you come here?' I begged.
He could. My voice was as quavery as Sam's when I gave him my address.
I would have been perfectly safe, taking that money down the street.
There was no Mafia boss.
No drug dealer.
Or racketeer.
There was only a careless old man who had hidden his takings in a paper bag till he could get to a bank. An old man who took my problem away and left a box of chocolates in its place.
'Thank you God!' I said as I shut the door behind Sam and that awful brown paper bag.
The Deity does not eat chocolates so I enjoyed them all.
© Robin Hillard
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Robin writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
