Was that good for you?

“You know it,” said Mason, washing his hands before emerging from the staff washroom at the back just under four minutes after he went in. A new record. He discreetly returned the copy of Busty Blondes to its place on the top rack.

It had been near impossible to focus on his book with the radio playing right next to him. Most of the time he could tune it out, but somewhere between “It’s Alright To Be A Redneck” and news of The Massachusetts Mangler being moved to St. Jude’s Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he wound up reading the same page over and over. Something had to give.

“Oh well. Same time tomorrow?”

It’s a date.

He had just started to read again when Mason spotted a car pull up to the pumps. He rose from behind the cash register, using his finger as a bookmark and went out to take care of the customer.

The air hit him like a blast of heat from an oven. It had actually grown warmer since he arrived. As he approached the car, a clean almost polished Buick, he saw the man sitting behind the wheel. Dressed in an ash gray suit over a black turtleneck, his face was strong and clever as he read from a map, tracing a path with his finger through the network of interstates. A thin pair of square spectacles sat atop his wide nose. Skin a rich brown, graying hair neatly cropped. A goatee and mustache with streaks of white salt and peppered his chin and upper lip.

He rolled down his window as Mason came around the front of the car.

“Fill ‘er up?” Mason asked.

“Please,” the man replied in a deep, pleasant, British voice.

Clearly not from around here, but neither were most people that stopped in Stonehill. Mason unhooked the gas nozzle and stuck it in the tank.

“What are you reading?” he asked, pointing at the book Mason still held in his hand. He turned it over, displaying the cover. “Ah. To be, or not to be,” the man recited.

Mason nodded and punctuated the air with his index finger. “That is the question.”

“Do you like it so far?”

“Oh, I’ve read it before. So I guess I must.”

“You don’t say,” said the man, his face brightening. “I don’t see many young people reading Shakespeare nowadays.”

“A shame. I can’t get enough.”

“That’s brilliant.”

How civilized. Most people in town didn’t usually like to talk about anything other than the Browns game or whatever rumors and rumblings were going around like a bad cold. Even his friends didn’t appreciate the written word like he did.

“Like to read, do you?”

Mason nodded. “Very much.”

The man leaned to his right and reached into the glove compartment.

“Have you ever read this?” He asked as he held up a book bound in black leather with a silver cross, its arms flared out and pointed at each end etched into the middle of the cover.

Oh brother.

“I’m familiar with it,” said Mason dryly and went back to his book, willing the gas tank to hurry up and fill. The tips of his fingers reached up and briefly touched the little weight against his sternum.

“Marvelous, isn’t it.”

“Oh yeah...it’s great.” His eyes didn’t leave the page. Man, and this started out so well. Just play nice for now.

“Have you accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

Mason sighed. “What do you want to hear?”

“I’m sure the truth will suffice.”

“The truth is that I don’t need a savior, thank you very much.”

“Maybe not now, but one day you may change your mind.”

“Doubtful.”

“And why’s that?”

So it’s a tug of wits you want? Alrighty then. Mason placed his bookmark between the pages, closed it and faced him. “Because I don’t see what good a collection of old myths and legends could make in my life.”

“I find that hard to believe coming from an admirer of the Bard.”

“I find it hard to believe that grown adults can be so convinced that their imaginary friend is real and wants them to tell everyone else how great he is, but here we are.”

“Oh but there is more to it than that.”

“Like?” he scoffed.

“Knowledge.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. About life, the world...yourself.”

“Why is it that every bible-thumper I’ve ever met thinks I need to learn something about myself?”

“That’s a good question. Do you?”

The gas nozzle clicked. Mason silently shook his head with frustration and went to hang it back on the pump. “That’s twenty-five even.” He spoke calmly now. The man kept his gaze fixed on Mason a moment before producing two crisp, barely folded bills from his wallet. Mason took the cash and issued a cheery “Have a nice day.”

The man held the book out the window at him. “Consider it a gift.” Figuring it was the quickest way to end this, Mason took it from him. “True knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance,” he said serenely.

“Big words coming from a bible salesman.”

“They are those of a shepherd who became a teacher, to cast light through the darkness for all mankind.”

“And let’s see, what comes next? The Lord works in mysterious ways?” he said with a feigned smile.

The man smiled back. “Amen to that.”

The car rolled away from the gas station, brake lights flaring red as it slowed at the intersection and disappeared down the road toward Route 422.

So much for playing nice.

Mason tucked his book under his arm and stared at the cover of the Bible, tracing the silver lines in the soft leather with his thumb. His fingers dipped beneath the collar of his shirt and found another one just like it, dangling from a thin chain around his neck. It even had the same hole in the middle. Only his was old and tarnished.

He swooned. For a moment his stomach churned as if the ground had dropped beneath him, could almost hear terrified prayers, the earth roaring and screams as people ran for their lives.

He shook it off and tossed the bible in the garbage before heading back inside.