Chasuble Stole
The Hospital NightingaleIt was on that fateful Sunday. The gentleman decked in his chair in his fugu dress reading his creative writing of recognized artisti value while awaiting the second mass. The church hall was cool and embroided with ribbon colourations of respective shades. Many who had come for the initial mass had left. Then the archangel left the altar approaching the poetical laureate in his chair. The dazzling of her aspect was in abundance. "Who is she that cometh forth in that engrossing charm, reasonable as the moon and bright as the Sun?" The poetical recited in obeisance while retrieving his rosary from his side pocket. He took the mood of supplication. In quivering he lost his words and stammered. The rays soon subsided and the mesmerism was lifted over him. "Hey! Is that you, Mary?" The poetical asked. The thought of embracing her crept to mind but fear gripped him to his seat. As if that was not sufficient she diffused towards him the aroma as of a bestloved meal thence altering the ambient air quality. That was the luminary’s reply while beaming in generous smiles. She is the type whose aspect makes mirages as on tarmac roads. In an venture to say "Have a seat" the gentleman gaped till saliva stole it is way out of his mouth but he caught it in mid-air with his white handkerchief. It had been instructed the former Sunday by the chief celebrant that each congregant must fetch a white unspotted handkerchief which would be applied as a wave supplying to God for the duration of Service. "That alone," The priest emphasized. The last straw that broke the camel’s back was her response to the offer: a mellifluous voice as one received from the notes of a lead guitar swept over him. She punctuated it with a soothing, killer smile, the kind that is sufficient to heal an impotent man. In stooping for her chair a calm wind blew into the hall lifting lightly her raiment and the gentleman exclaimed "uwell,." That was love handles he was describing that way as if there was an egg in his mouth. Her comely hair and spotless face alone was sufficient to discontinue the gentleman’s nerves. And he could not have been blamed for any act of uncontrolled emotions. Only God saved him. He had to take quick successive breaths like a child "recuperating" from a terrible beating in order to readjust to the situation. As the archangel offered a handshake the queer-looking young man responded with his chin for fear of been disgraced, having thought of his own "metallic" hands. He sat momentarily in tarciturn reflecting on the woman-angel and how she had been his friend in a hospital for the past year but this has never been revealed until that day. She had only gone on a one month leave and was due to resume the following Monday. The dark splendour of the eye brows and the captivating eyelids would be a joint effort of the lattest mascara and a state-of-the-art beautician. A gold-encrusted bangle stood out of the sparkles much in the same way a baritone stands out in a musical piece; just above a suite of acrylic, caressing fingernails. Her hair, God will have to have lavished so much melanin on it, falling back in no little length. That was a pony-tail fashion and it was her own. Few pieces of the silky-oily hair lined the sides of the face providing an irresistible glamour. A pair of conical youthful breasts suspended nicely in their little bags in front of her. The dress was a spectacular kaba dress shown in a simple form. Although the architect might not be a mathematician she ought to have adept practical knowledge in geometry, symmetry and the orientation of an object in the orthogonal plane. As though others assert when a beauteous thing is worn over a stump, the stump appears finelooking but it is worth-noting that a lot of things are beauty themselves. The heels of her sandals were a pair of needle stilletos, so to speak, that in truth would offer no mercy to any individual who finds his/her own feet underneath them. This matched utterly with the kaba. The ear stud just fitted as if she had been borned with them. In her entirety she accentuated with the ashy-wooly floor carpet in the church hall which likewise absorbed the noise from the stelleto heels. In effect, the beauty, ironically grosteque. There were flashes of light within the conversation—smiles. "So how has been the day?" He managed to say after she had settled down. "Cool" She replied. "You humans no dey make us see top" He continued without delay, in undertake to rebuke his past ignorance. "Like?" She asked with the focus of a curious child in asking unexplainable questions. "Ever since we came to this city, not a single soul cares in regards to us and we don’t even feel like men" He added looking closely away. "Is that it?" She chuckled "Infact,, Mary, I…I….I love you…." He at long last convulsed his intention. The lady adjusted herself in a critical anticipation of the next few words( perhaps thinking he would add so much before she unleashes a dozen smiles). "…with the love of the Lord." The gentleman changed the subject mistaking the grin for a vexation. The speech continued in misunderstood moods. In the midst of all these things an agog onlooker was caught switching amidst the life "motion video" and it is corresponding animation on a basement glass door. Mary was ready to go for the colleagues were waiting outside. She stood up and looked under the young man’s face for permission to go. But his eyes were downcast in a shy-to-shame manner. He only wove blindly. As she turned to go the "back axles" confirmed a well distribution of adepose tissues. "Then tomorrow’ She said finally. "O.K." The second mass was in regards to to begin. The priest and the Knights and Ladies of the altar were in their respective chasuble and cassocks, green to mark popular time. During Advent the colour will be purple. This does not only suffice ceremonial intents but keep out of the way of monotonies and gives integrity and wonderment to the chief celebrant and his cohort. Ladies look great this way when at home. At work places they may be restricted in giving of their best of beauty and radiance fostered by work ethics. Although nurses in Ghana look magnificent in their simple uniforms, I do believe that is not their best. In the contemplation of the emotions of other co-workers and people who are in need of medical care one is caught been two things. But to appear "powerful" itself is no sin and I think I think I’m not toeing on dangerous grounds. The celebrating prelate in a procession to get started the mass surveyed the archangel with the side of his left eye as she was moving out. But it tarried so much so that he stumbled over the heels of an altar lady who took the rear positon. He grumbled an inaudible sound in the throat but from the motion of his lips one could suspect it was the words, "But for the Pope…" The archangel walked slowly, going out. Needless to mention the gentleman had desecrated the temple of the Holy One and could not respond to the "let us rise" when the (second) mass was in progress. In a moment of meditation when the congregation was obliged to dig deep into their sins before the Creator who is all-merciful and forgiving, the man of wonderment left unceremoniously , cautiously tiptoeing like an individual with a sore in the toe, gathering his fugu to his front. He had visited another friend in the neighborhood where the lady stayed in the same city. What will be the gentleman’s attitude when he meets the lady at workplace tomorrow? Biliguo bie Ansobie Kumasi
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