The Agnostic Violinist: Part Two of Three Parts
by Joseph Perrello
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THE AGNOSTIC VIOLINIST: PART TWO OF THREE
AUTHORED BY JOSPREL (JOSEPH PERRELLO)
BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS IN THE LIVES OF JOSPREL'S PARENTS.
The agnostic violinist claimed no one could know a God existed; then God revealed Himself to him.
THE AGNOSTIC VIOLINIST
Part Two of Three
Home alone, the percussionist was excited to see his friend. "Paul! Come in! Come in! I've been expecting you!"
Surrendering his hat and coat, the violinist noticed that Broszi appeared well.
"You've been expecting me?"
"Yes!! Yes!! I've been praying for God to send you, so you could hear what happened to me!"
Paul groaned in disgust. "Oh, no, I'm here because I was worried about you, and you make with the jokes. Get my things; I'm leaving. Be at rehearsal tomorrow - and without the jokes!
Broszi sought to placate Paul's indignation. "Please, Paul, I beg you, don't leave. It's no joke. I have been praying. Stay and let me tell you what happened."
Gradually, Paul's indignation melded with curiosity. He had never heard Broszi beg before. He seemed different, somehow. Accepting the proffered chair, the violinist apprehensively responded, "O.K. Broz, but, this better be good!"
Over coffee, Broszi began, "Paul, I'm born again! I'm going to a church that teaches right from the Bible!"
He told of some of the things he learned. Then he exclaimed, excitedly, "Paul, I never knew these things were in the Bible! I'm saved!"
Unfamiliar with the terms "born again," and "saved," Paul grunted incredulously. What in the world was Broz talking about? He was sure that, like him, the percussionist never even had held a Bible, much less read from one.
"Broz, I don't know what in the world you're talking about. Either you're drunk, or this really is another one of your nutty jokes. Believe me, when I say "nutty," I mean like a fruitcake!"
"Wait, Paul. Just hear me out. I know you'd love the music in this church. It has a big orchestra, all the winds and strings, two pianos, a large organ, and accordions."
Then, in a voice bordering on awe, he added, "And percussions, Paul. This church even has percussions in the orchestra. Can you believe it?"
Derision contorted Paul's features. Now he knew for sure Broszi was setting him up for another of his practical jokes. "Come on, Broz, drums in a church; you must think I'm pretty dumb if you expect me to fall for this stupid joke."
Broszi was about to respond, but Paul lifted a hand for silence. "Enough, Broz! So this is another of your sick religious jokes, eh? You know what I told you about this garbage."
"But it's all true, Paul. The meetings are so happy. The people sing and they even clap to the music. And the prayers, Paul - they're beautiful. You should hear those people pray. They talk to God like He's standing right there front of them."
The earnestness on Broszi's face baffled Paul; it shouldn't be there. This was only a joke.
Reaching across the table, Broszi gripped Paul's wrist, his voice reverent, "Paul, I know you won't believe this either. The preacher asks people to get saved. He prayed with me and Grace. We've been saved. You and Andrea should get saved, too. Grace and I have been praying for you both to get saved."
This was more than Paul could take. "So you're saved. How are you saved - in a trunk? A bank maybe? How about Fort Knox? There's a good place to be saved. I think the banging of your drums finally drove you batty. What you really need to be saved from is your nuttiness. That's what I think"
Paul rose to his feet and asked for his coat and hat. He slipped into them, and in a voice filled with concern, he said, "Broz, at first I thought you were kidding. Now I'm not so sure you are. I don't even know what you're talking about, and neither do you. For once, I really hope this is one of your crazy jokes.
"If you really do believe all this malarkey you just fed me, you're bonkers. You need to see a shrink. I'm serious about that. If you make an appointment with one, I'll even keep you company when you go. Anyway, I'm leaving, now."
Paul aimed for the door, but Broszi instantly moved to block his path. Gripping the knob, he announced, "One more thing, Paul, I'm leaving the orchestra."
The violinist was taken aback. Broszi never threatened this before. He loved the orchestra as much as Paul did. At a loss for words, the Paul stammered, "B... B... But, w... w... why? We've disagreed before. The group is as much yours as mine. Even, though you're nuts, no one can "percuss" like you. Just don't talk to me about religion. I've told you that before. That's not too much to ask, is it? Be at rehearsal tomorrow. Just leave all your religious talk home!"
"No, Paul. I won't be there - really. I've given up that kind of life. You know what a hypocrite
I've been. You've told me often enough."
"Aw, come on Broz, those were just words. I was mad."
"But you were right. Anyway, I'm quitting because my talent belongs to God, now."
Paul could taste bile surging in his throat. "Look, just let me leave!"
"Will you visit the church?"
"Let me leave, Broz!"
"You can't leave until you promise to go to church with me."
Now Paul was certain Broszi's mind was gone.
"Open this door, Broz!"
"Not unless you give me your word to go church with me."
Paul didn't know what to do. He knew he could never hit Broszi; they'd been friends too long. Moreover, the percussionist was a lot bigger than he him. He tried to pry Broszi's hand from the knob. The grip was too strong
"Let me leave!!"
"Not without your promise that the next time we meet, you'll go with me."
Finally, the flabbergasted violinist surrendered. He answered hotly, "Okay, okay, but it has to be an accidental meeting. You've got to give me your promise on that. If we meet anyplace you know I'll be, it doesn't count."
"I agree." And the door swung open.
Then, with brutal detachment, Paul spoke the words neither of them ever thought possible. His voice filled with indignant, he punctuated each word with a forceful finger jabbed in Broszi's chest. "We are no longer brothers. I don't ever want to see you again."
Feeling as though his heart was torn from his chest, the violinist stepped through the door.
CONTINUED IN PART THREE
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