Free Bingo's Run by James A. Levine Page B

give it to me.

Chapter 18
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Packaged
    Over the two days after Mrs. Steele’s visit, I was packaged for delivery. I was made to take four showers with the green liquid, I was given an X-ray and blood tests, and I was taken on a visit to the doctor for a certificate and a photograph. Last of all, I went to the Ministry of Tourism, where I met the sub-minister, Mr. Albert Wagane. He wore a small silver cross on his left lapel, which he touched when he handed big-breasted Plain Brunette my warm passport and she, in return, handed him a brown envelope.
    On my last day at St. Michael’s, Plain Brunette said, “Bingo, before you leave Father Matthew wants to pray with you. You must go to his office.” I thought about Smoking Boy, who prayed with Father Matthew every week at his special confirmation class. It was the reason Smoking Boy smoked; whenever he left the class he had two packets of Marlboros in his pocket. Plain Brunette patted my back. “Go on,” she said.
    I went into Father Matthew’s office. His long yellow face looked across the scratched desk at me, and I felt afraid. When I was small, Senior Father taught me that there are five types of fear:
    Fear of the lion for the mosquito.
    Fear of the elephant for Tnwanni gnat.
    Fear of the dog for the master’s stick.
    Fear of the scorpion for the ichneumon fly.
    Fear of the eagle for the flycatcher.
    Fear of the giant Leviathan for the three-spined stickleback.
    â€œThat is six fears,” I said to Senior Father.
    Senior Father said, “Bingo, one fear is false,” but he never told me which. Senior Father told me that when the mosquito bit the lion the lion itched so much that he tore up his own skin and clawed himself to death. That is what Father Matthew and his religion did to you; once he got inside you, you itched like crazy and you prayed yourself to death. With Father Matthew, I had the lion’s fear of the mosquito.
    The priest wore his long black vulture robe. The large Bible, with the notebook inside it, was in front of him, and Father Matthew’s long hands lay flat on top of it. “Bingo, my child,” he said. “I want to study with you before you leave us.” A truck rumbled outside. Father Matthew paused long enough to let it pass. He watched the silence itch at me, then he asked, “Why is it, Bingo, that when Christ went to the temple he cast out the moneylenders?”
    I knew the story of Jesus and the moneylenders from when I was a child and Mama made me write out two pages of the Good News Bible every night. “Tha monaylenders iz evil,” I said.
    Father Matthew glanced down at the Bible. He pulled back his lips and his teeth—more yellow than his skin—and smiled. “Precisely. Bingo, you are a bright boy.”
    â€œYes, Fatha,” I said.
    The priest’s eyes beamed. “You see, Bingo, Christ knew to cast the moneylenders out of the temple because he knew that themoneylenders were cursed. Jesus Christ knew that it was only he who was deserving of the temple’s wealth—heaven’s golden bounty. You see, Bingo, Christ knew that he alone was God’s moneylender and that God’s holy money was his. That is how God showed his son love. Because love is money.” He tilted his head. “Bingo, do you understand?”
    What Father Matthew said did not make sense, because if Jesus was so rich he would not have been killed on the cross. Rich white people do not die; everyone knows that. Anyway, I nodded, because I knew Father Matthew wanted me to.
    The priest was not done. He looked happy as he spoke about Jesus and his love. “Bingo, God is love, and love, Jesus teaches, is money.”
    Father Matthew paused. I tried to hide my doubt; what he was saying was not in the Good News Bible. The priest went on, “Bingo, do you really think Christ fed five thousand people from five loaves of bread?”
    I knew that was rubbish. If I took a loaf