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| | |-+  The Agnostic Violinist: Chapter Two
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Josprel
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« on: January 01, 2007, 10:16:58 AM »

                                                                                                                 The Agnostic Violinist
                                                                                                                                      by
                                                                                                                                   Josprel

                                                                                                                                Chapter Two

Home alone, The Percussionist was thrilled 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 joke around!  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; 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 responded apprehensively, "O.K. Brosz, but, this better be good!"

Over coffee, Broszi began. “I’m born again, Paul! I’m going to a church that teaches right from the Bible!”  As he spoke, he told of the things he had 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 Broszi talking about? He was sure that, like him, The Percussionist had never even held a Bible, much less read from one.   

“Brosz, 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.  And, 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, an organ, 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!?"

A look of sheer scorn contorted Paul’s features.  Now he was sure Broszi was pulling another of his practical jokes.  Drums in a church?  Did he really expect him to swallow this line? 

Lifting a hand for silence, he emphatically declared, "Enough, Brosz!  So this IS another of your stupid religious jokes, eh?  You know what I told you about this garbage."

"But it's all true, Paul; the services are in Italian! The people sing and are so happy! They even clap to the music.  Oh, the prayers and song, Paul!  They’re just beautiful!  You should hear those people sing and pray!  They sing and talk to God like He's standing right there in front of them." 

The earnestness on Broszi's face baffled Paul; it shouldn't be there. This was a joke.

Reaching across the table, Broszi gripped Paul's wrist, his voice reverent, "Paul, I know you won't believe this either, but the preacher asks people to get saved.  He prayed with me and Grace. We've been saved!  You and Sara should get saved, too!  Grace and I have been praying for you both to get saved.”

This was more than Paul could take!!  Now Broszi was "saved”! 

“So you’re saved. How are you saved - in a trunk?  Or, a bank maybe?  How about Fort Knox?  Now, there’s a good place to be saved!   I think the banging of your drums has finally driven you batty.  What you really need to be saved from is your nuttiness!  That’s what I think!” 

Rising to his feet, he asked for his things. Slipping into them, in a voice full of 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 stupid jokes!

“But if you really believe all this malarkey you just fed me, then you’re bonkers. You really 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 remarked, "Just one more thing, Paul, I'm leaving the orchestra."

Paul’s jaw dropped; Broszi never had threatened this before.  The group was as much his as Paul's.  The Percussionist knew this; his love for it equaled that of The Violinist. 

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 crazy, 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, Brosz!  You know I always say that when I get mad at you for talking about religion. It’s just talk."

"I know; but you were right, Paul.  Anyway, I'm quitting because my talent belongs to God, now."

Paul felt bile surging in his throat. "Look, just let me leave!" he demanded.

"Will you visit the church?"

"I said, let me leave, Brosz!"

"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, Brosz," he fumed. 

“Not unless you give me your word you’ll to go church with me!”

Paul didn't know what to do.  He could never really strike Broszi; they’d been friends too long.  Anyway, The Percussionist was a lot bigger than he was.  He tried prying Broszi’s hand from the knob. It was too strong.

“Let me leave!”
 
"Not without your promise that the next time we meet, you'll go with me!" Broszi demanded.

Seeing no other alternative, the flabbergasted Violinist finally surrendered. Hotly, he answered, almost yelling, "O.K!!  O.K!  But it’s got to be an accidental meeting. You can’t meet me anywhere you’ll know I’ll be. Agreed?”

"Agreed!”  And the door swung open.

Then, with a brutal detachment, Paul spoke the words neither of them ever thought possible!  Face hardened into a scowl, he spaced them deliberately, punctuating each word with a finger jabbed in Broszi’s chest.  "From this day on, our friendship is ended. No longer are we brothers!”

And, feeling as though his heart had been torn from him, The Violinist stepped through the door!                 
                         
                                                                                                                       Continued in Chapter Three                         
       

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