Member-only story
Twenty Four April, Twenty Twenty-One
Who’s idea was it to rebuild that church anyway?
A broken church is one thing but a broken elephant is quite another. You don’t see anyone climbing ladders and fitting the elephant with a new trunk, do you? But the moment the bombing ended, there they went like busy little ants throwing up ladders and scaffolding, hammering throughout the night.
Why is a church more important than an elephant?
That’s not a rhetorical question. I demand an answer. That’s ok. I’ll wait.
I thought as much. You don’t know either. No one does. I’ve asked everyone.
I’ll tell you something. I knew that elephant when it was whole. Yes, yes I did. I know that elephant’s name. No, I’m not going to tell you. What difference does it make now? It’s a broken, unrepairable elephant. The elephant is out and the church is in, although only God knows why. Some people have very odd priorities, I’ve found. I wish they’d take a break or something over there. Must they pound and clatter and saw all day and night?
Say, you look familiar. Where have I seen your face before? Wait. Don’t tell me. It was in the newspaper. Recently. I know. You’re the one in charge of all the hubbub over there, aren’t you? You’re the Chief Architect in Charge of Restoration of that…
