The cowboy hat sits high on the crown of his patchy scalp, stilted and unnatural.
Instinct begs me to intercept him on his wayward path toward the store’s owner on a conference call in the back. I attempt a greeting, which he ignores. His ear presses against a cell phone into which he speaks loudly, though it displays only the home screen. “Shalom, brother,” he shouts to no one, but his voice carries far enough for the store’s owner to briskly end her call. When he makes it to the back he might even be a friend of hers, so warmly does she smile to greet him.
“I just found out I’m half Jewish,” he announces to polite, nervous laughter. “So I represent both sides of the equation, Jew and gentile.”
“And what can we do for you today, my dear?”
“Does your bank align with your values?” he asks.
A pause before the store’s owner gropes for clarification.
“As far as their investments?”
“Or their activities.”
Another pause.
“What kind of activities?”
“All the big banks,” he begins as if she hadn’t spoken. “Citigroup, Chase. Uh.”
“B. of A.,” breaks in the store’s owner, eager to help.
“B. of A. They’ve all been around this long because they’ve got Lucifer on their side. But he knows his time is short so he’s making big plays before his demise. I, on the other hand, am empowered by the Light of the Lord, and I’ve extended my blessing to a new credit union seeking investors.”
“As long as you’re in church every Sunday you’ll be taken care of,” the store’s owner says in complete sincerity.
“I’m out here living it every single day,” he corrects her.
“Words and deeds,” she puts in. “It’s a lifestyle.”
“It’s in everything I do,” he says with a booming laugh. “People get scared when I speak in tongues.” Hardly have the words left his mouth before a rapid string of syllables follow. The store’s owner says nothing. Her silence does not stop him.
“Plus I interpret my own tongues. Just like in the Bible.” The phone comes out again. “Let’s see what it says today.” Silence while an app materializes onscreen to translate the fallout of Babel. He stares at the screen a while before barking a guttural “baruch dayan ha-emet.”
The owner of the store continues staring at him, unable to differentiate the Hebrew from his glossolalia.
“Only God can judge me.”
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