Queer Fish in God's Waiting Room by Lee Henshaw

Author:Lee Henshaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Legend Press
Published: 2010-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

JESUS LIVES IN VENEZUELA

We were lounging in the living room of our Islington flat, which we had recently furnished with a substantial aubergine couch from Habitat and a print of the Great Wave of Kanagawa, when we heard Brother James arrive. The calm summer air carried his thick Macclesfield accent through the open window as he thanked the taxi driver. “Cheers pal,” he bellowed, “keep the change.”

I leapt from the comfort of the aubergine couch like one of those boats being tossed by the Great Wave, sticking my head out of the living-room window to yell, “Brother James, over here.”

He spun round as fast as he could with an enormous rucksack on his back and shout-burped “Liam” at me, which provoked a mild tut from My Claire.

Grinning, he crossed the road, strutted up the wide Edwardian stone steps to our flat, and when he was level with me, and only a few feet away, showed off his new skinhead haircut by furiously rubbing his head with both hands. He was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of his new company. He puffed out his chest, losing his balance because of the heavy rucksack.

“Oh shit,” he laughed, dramatically grabbing the iron railings between us to steady himself.

He put his finger on the doorbell and left it there, leaving the dreadful buzz to hang until I picked up the intercom.

“What the fuck do you want?” I yelled.

“Let me in motherfucker,” he yelled back with a New York accent.

“Fuck you man,” I replied, copying his style.

“No, fuck you man.”

Click.

I opened the door to our flat and bundled him from the hallway into our living room, slipped my right leg behind his left leg and pushed at his shoulders, guiding him down to the floor, sticking him there like an upturned turtle. I sat on his stomach, grabbed his cheeks and brought his forehead to my mouth and gently kissed it.

“Hello brother,” I said, jumping up, holding out a hand and pulling him upright.

“Hey,” he said, “you be careful; you know I broke my leg in two places.”

“Yes James,” I replied, dryly, “in Spain and in France.”

“Hello James,” said My Claire tentatively, leaning to kiss him.

“All right Claire?” Brother James replied, responding with a hurried peck on her cheek. He dropped his rucksack to the floor and excitedly told us that the logo on his t-shirt (a peach with a smiley face) was also sprayed on his new van.

“Guess what it says on there as well, on the van?” he said hurriedly.

“What?” I asked, grinning too.

“‘You are behind Peachyface Joinery, just like our competitors’,” he said. “Good that, innit?”

“That’s brilliant,” I replied.

“Would you like a cup of tea, James?” My Claire asked.

“Yes please love, two sugars ta, not too milky.”

Over tea and crumpets, Brother James amused us with a New York story. One day, while walking across the streets looking for tat to buy, Brother James came across a sleeping Alsatian in a builders’ yard. He shout-burped “bollocks” at the dog and it

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