Peter's Cross

Some months ago, I came up with this queer piece about a misogynist who learned his lessons in life the hard way. I'll  post the entire story here, bit by bit. Enjoy! If you have the time, please leave a comment behind.
                                                     

                                                          CHAPTER 1

   It was strange. It was annoying: it was impossible to believe.  It must have been a dream. At least, that was how Peter felt, as if he was dreaming, as if this was all in his mind. He had never seen this, never thought that his pastor, with all his education and anointing, would leave his pulpit in the hands of a woman. To what end? What did Nkechi know about the word of God? Did she think the word of God was rice and beans and washing dirty linens? What right had she, a woman, to instruct God’s holy people?       

She was there to preach! Preach what? Was she there to preach because the church had suddenly run short of preachers? Because pastor Bob had suddenly developed epilepsy or stroke or imbecility that he could no longer preach? Why a woman? Why this haughty woman? 

“You look so disturbed about this,” a man in black tuxedo, seated beside Peter, said. He himself looked undisturbed. As if all was well. As if he did not see that the “preacher” up there was a woman. And why wouldn’t Peter look disturbed? Who would see complete disaster right in front of him and not look disturbed?

“But why? Why would pastor do this?”  Peter asked in a whisper, peeved.

“Why would he do what?”

“Why would he let that woman climb up there?”

“You heard him,” the man said, shrugging indifferently, as if no one really had a say in this matter at all, as if the Lord himself, all bearded and immaculately donned, was the one who spoke when, moments ago, pastor Bob announced to the congregation, that “the Lord” had asked him to do something very “new and unique” this Sunday. What was very new and unique about this, about a woman preaching in the church, on a Sunday?  

Had his pastor joined the bandwagon of lawless, new-fangled believers who allowed all kinds of nonsensicalities in the church? Had he been infected by the Pentecostal madness? Sammy had always loathed the practice of giving women rooms to preach and had almost smashed his Television a week ago when he saw a fully vested woman, so called bishop, dishing out very senseless things in the name of sermon.

“I hate this. I wish, I sincerely wish I hadn’t come.”

“You hate what? Seeing a woman up there?” The man said. You think he had been bewitched. How couldn’t he see how wrong this was? Peter looked briefly at the man and turned to Nkechi, so called sister Nkechi—as if everyone deserved a title—who was busy thanking this and that person for the privilege and opportunity to preach. She must have been very beatific for the opportunity, as if this was really a place for opportunities. Had she run short of “opportunities” in her husband’s house?  

“My brother, just calm down and hear what she has to say.”

She had nothing to say. Peter had listened to this woman talk before, he had seen her address her women folk, or something of that nature, seen her rattle away her soul amidst market women. And she really had nothing reasonable to say.

“Look, if you are going to listen to that animal up there, I’m not in the mood,”  Peter told the man.

“What do you intend to do then? Stop her?”

Peter would have loved to stop her, right there, right now! But then, there was no way he could have done so now, everyone having been held spellbound by her. People frowned, and raised eyes in surprise, but nobody looked really disturbed, nobody looked sufficiently angry at this stupid anomaly. Had Peter seen even one sane person in here, one real defender of truth, he would have mobilized some force, go up there, and remove that Jezebel from God’s sacred altar. But now, as he looked around, and saw men and women, seated in silence, eyes fixed intently on the woman-preacher, ready to take notes about God-knows-what, he knew that he was all alone......