SelfhelpMagazine

by James Lehman, MSW

Job Boudreaux was a Cajun man. Pure Coonass as a matter of fact, and you could call him that if you were his friend and you remembered to ask him first. Then he'd laugh and say, "Thas right." But if you didn't think to ask him first, well....Just say you better not.

Job was a simple man. Lived on a veteran's pension from the part of his hand and the part of his mind he'd left in Vietnam. Kept some chickens and fished a bit. He had some 'gator hides behind his shed but it wasn't really like poaching or anything. He'd say, "They was real old and real sick and sometimes you have to just shoot 'em and put 'em out of they misery."

He shared his little shack down in the bayou country with his old lady, Katy, and her three kids. Weren't his kids but he never noticed. He loved Katy, too. Hung around her like a puppy until the bad times came back. Then he'd get in his skiff and go out in the swamp for days. But he always came back, and Katy loved him for that. His ways were a little strange but he never hurt her and he never even raised his voice to the kids or made them feel ashamed when they did something wrong. He'd just sit them down and tell another of his stories about the swamp, the river, and that big 'gator he was hunting, and then everything would be okay again.

One day Satan and the Lord Himself got into an argument about old Job Boudreaux. "He ain't nothin' but a no 'count chicken stealin', 'gator poachin' coonass." Satan said.

"Better not let him hear you call him that name", the Lord replied. "Besides, he has a good heart."

"Ain't no part of his body worth a damn," said Satan. "Don't have one good bone in his body. Long as everything's goin' okay, he's okay. That's all."

"You're wrong", the Lord said.

"I'll prove it. Ain't worth the sulfur and brimstone it'd take to cover him up with."

"All right, make a fool out of yourself again if you have to.", said the Lord. "But don't you hurt him."

As the preacher man says, Satan went and visited some powerful afflictions on Job. Chickens ran off and the Game Warden found his 'gator hides. Things got worse and worse until Job yelled at Katy real bad and she moved off to New Orleans.

Job didn't like being alone. Too many memories. He tried fishing but his heart wasn't in it. Bought some beer but it didn't help any. Just made him more depressed and made the nightmares worse. Then he remembered this was why he quit drinking the stuff. He took some pills the V.A. shrink gave him to sleep but they just broke him out in hives all over. So there he sat all alone on his porch, scratching himself with the lid from an old Vienna Sausage can.

Friends came to visit but they didn't help either. He didn't want to go down to the roadhouse and find another old lady. He didn't want to just pull himself together and get on with it. Would have already done it if he could have. And, he didn't want to drink any more beer. Job ran them all off.

Father Murphy came to call. He was worried about old Job. He and Job talked. "Why's all this stuff happ'nin' to me, Father?" The priest said he didn't know, talked about how Jesus suffered and sometimes we had to, too.Job made his confession but it didn't help. "Father," he said, "I done this so many times but howcomes I always still fell so dirty." The Father didn't have any answer for that one except to tell Job he was forgiven. So Job didn't run him off but he was glad when he left.

Another fella came. Katy sent him, a rabbi from New Orleans. Job didn't know Katy's grandma had been Jewish. She'd been going to Temple and the man seemed nice enough. They talked and some of what he said made sense to Job. But Job wasn't about to give up eatin' crawdads and 'gator tail.

Kinda liked the old boy though, so he drew him a map to a good fishing spot when he saw the rabbi had a pole in the back seat. Even told him how to make a loud noise walking in to scare off the snakes. Job was a little sorry to see him drive off but he was glad Katy had somebody to talk to. And he knew it was time to be alone again.

"Job Boudreaux, y'all come down here!" a big, booming voice shouted. It was that preacher man from the little church down the road. Handled snakes and everything, folks said. He had come to cast the Devil out of Job.

Well, old Job wasn't too sure there was any devils in him but he listened while he sat a scratched himself with the top of that old Vienna Sausage can. "Y'all gotta believe right," the preacher man said. "Y'all gotta pray right and live a life of holiness. Then nothin' can hurt you."

"Not even snakes?"

"No Job, nothing. If you believe strong enough."

Well the preacher shouted to the high heavens and prayed. He cast out every devil in sight and prayed in tongues until Job couldn't stand the noise any more. Job ran him off.

He sat and scratched and remembered. Then the rain and wind came. Job just sat on the porch anyway. . "It don't mean nothin'," he thought. Not any different than those nights on guard. He jumped though when the thunder boomed. Too much like 'Nam. Too many memories.

"Lord, why do things like this happen?" he cried. Then he cried and cried over and over. Nothing else to say. Just over and over, "Why, Lord? Why?"

It rained and rained and got darker and darker. The wind blew up to a force-three gale. Job Boudreaux just sat and cried out, "Why, Lord? Why?"

Suddenly Job found himself sitting in a ray of bright sunlight. The wind around him quieted and he felt warm and dry. He heard a voice say, "Who's making all that noise?"

"Who's that?" Job asked.

"Who do you think? You're sitting warm and dry in a class three gale. Remind you of anybody?"

"That's really you? I don't need no trip to the vet's hospital, do I?"

"No, Job. Its me. Been a long time since you talked to me, 26 years and 232 days to be exact. Nice to hear from you again but all that howling would have chewed my ears off if I had ears."

"It really is you, ain't it?" Job said.

"You want me to set a bush on fire or something, Job?"

"No. Uh. No, sir, I mean. I'll just sit here and enjoy this little piece of sunlight if'n you don' mind."

"Job, let me tell you why I took off running the whole universe just to talk to you. You're one of the few people ever who didn't ask, 'Why is this happening to me?'"

"Ain't just happenin' to me Lord. Katy an those kids must be feelin' powerful bad right now."

"Takes a good man to remember that, Job."

"You think I'm a good man, Lord?"

"You got one of the best hearts around, Job Boudreaux."

"But,... Uh, sir.. Things ain't goin' too good right now. I don't understan'."

"I wish I could make you understand, Job. The only honest thing I can tell you is that I'm just too big and my world is too complicated for any man to understand."

"Not even the smartest man in the world, Lord?"

"That Hawking fellow thought he had me but I got him. I changed the gravitational constant and there he went back to his laptop."

"I don't know 'bout that kinda stuff but you mean you don' want folks to understan' you?"

"Can't let them, Job. If you understood everything about God then you would be God yourself. Just wouldn't work."

"I see what you mean. Got me enough troubles jus' bein' Job Boudeaux. I still can't figure it, though. You're s'posed to be so lovin' and kind but all those wars an' floods. An all those sick kids up at that cancer hospital dey showed on T.V.? Don' mean no offense. Jes' puzzles me."

"Job, one thing you can understand is how much I love you. You remember that night when you laid out in your skiff and stared up at the stars all night? Remember how big and wonderful you thought it all was? Tell you a secret, Job Boudreaux. I love you so much that, even if you were the only man who ever lived, I'd have made all that just for you."

"You mean that?"

"Yes, Job. Problem here is that I believe in you more than you believe in yourself."

"But I ain't never amounted to much. J est look at the mess I done made of the life You gave me. Everythin' in this whole world looks like it done be goin' wrong all the time."

"It not the whole world and all the time you're thinking about, is it, Job?"

"Not really, Sir. You know what it was."

"You tell me anyway, Job. Okay?"

"It was that last day in 'Nam. You know dat. Why you keep askin' me 'bout that? Why don' nobody leave me alone?"

"26 years and 232 days is a long time, Job. Might be time we finally talked about it."

"But, Lord, it makes me so mad. Help me. Even makes me mad at you. Bernie was a good boy. Goin' to be a Doctor and all. Best damned medic I ever saw. Where were you? There he was with his insides all blowed open screamin' for you and you weren't nowheres in sight."

"What did you do when Bernie got shot, Job?"

"I jus' crawled over and tried to help him, Sir. You know that."

"You left out a little detail, Job. You were a terrified 19 year old kid who crawled through heavy enemy fire to be with a dying friend."

"Yes, Sir. Guess I did do that. Just had to. Got this feelin' inside like I just couldn't leave him there all by hisself. Just knew it'd be alright somehows. Wait a minute, that was you wasn't it?"

"Yes Job, that was me."

"So you were there? In 'Nam? With me?"

"Every minute, Job."

"But, Lord, I did it all wrong. Bernie kept beggin' me to pray for him. Din't know no Jewish prayers. Just opened my mouth and nothin' came out. I screwed it all up."

"I seem to remember a prayer, Job. Remember when you said there was nothing you could do for Bernie and asked me to take him home?"

"Lord, he was all shot up in his insides. Belly all blown open. Nuttin' I could do. I know that was wrong but he was hurtin' so bad. Sorry I said such a bad thing."

"What was bad, Job? You gave me a great gift. You gave me your best friend."

"But that snake handlin' preacher. He done told me Bernie was in Hell. Said I should have baptized him proper, especially me being Catholic and all."

"But you didn't, Job?"

"Just didn't seem proper. Goin' again a dyin' man's religion and all."

"So you gave Him to me and let me handle it, Job. I wish other people had that much sense. And, Job, Bernie felt your tears on his face when you kissed him goodbye. Felt all peaceful when he died like he had been washed clean."

"I 'member him smilin' right at the last. Thank you for sayin' that, Sir. Funny thing. I don't feel all dirty inside any more."

"How do you feel, Job?"

"Jest sorta peaceful, Sir. Kind of quiet. And clean. Still don't understan' all that stuff but don't seem to matter. And I done quit itchin'."

"What are you going to do now, Job?"

"Gonna walk myself down to tha store and call Katy. Guess I'll ask her to marry me.. If'n she'll have me that is. I'd sure powerful 'preciate some help with that one, Sir. If you ain't too busy or nuttin', that is."

"You don't need any help there, Job. Katy's been waiting a long time for you to ask. Anything else you want?"

"Givin' you tha Boss and so smart and all. Old Job here figure he just leave tha rest to you, if that be O.K."

"More than okay, Job. Looks like you're one of the smartest men that ever lived if you figured that all by yourself. Have to go for now, Job. Don't wait so long before calling me next time."

"Enjoyed our talk, Sir. Sure won't."

"And Job, You're a good old boy in my book."

"Thank you, sir. I'm powerful proud you said that. And, Sir. You're a good old God yourself."

"I'm proud you said that, Job."

[end of part 1] It's Job Again, Lord, Part 2

About the author:

Thomas G. Shafer, MD, received his medical degree from the University of Virginia and did three years Post Doctoral work in Psychiatry at Penn State University. His 20 year professional career has been equally divided between Psychiatry and General/Emergency Medicine. He has worked with childhood hyperactivity syndromes as both a professional and parent. Dr. Shafer currently works for the Veteran's Health Administration.

Thanks to the Internet and modern software, Dr. Shafer revived a long dormant writing career several years ago. He has published multiple professional and popular works in such venues as The Journal of the Academy of Regression Therapy, the Jewish Magazine and, of course, SelfhelpMagazine. He is the Fiction Editor of SelfhelpMagazine and Associate Editor of the ART Journal.

His novel about his clinical work with Vietnam veterans is The Double Rainbow, published by Picasso Publications of Ontario. His address is: 213 Creekside Drive, Florence, AL