Maud and Joseph

"Every time it rains it feels like I'm being cleansed! Shouts a man with a guitar, beaming round at the people with umbrellas and hoods hurrying past him.

I wander past with my hands in my pockets, rain bouncing off my head.
The man is standing with his bare feet apart, grinning straight ahead. He sees me watching him and jumps up, clapping the balls of his feet together in quick succession.
"I'm learning to do three! He says, slapping his feet together twice before they land back onto the cobbles. "I'll do it!
"I hope you do. I say, not stopping.
"I'll call you Mary! He shouts, rain dripping off the end of his nose.

My hair's still wet as I sit at the bar, spinning slowly around on my stool. The door opens and a voice says, "hello Mary, asks for a non-alcoholic Becks. As I go to get the drink from the fridge he leans his guitar against the bar, sits on a stool.
He pours the drink into his mouth, sighs and puts it down, both hands resting against it.

I take a cloth to wipe the tables, so I can have a better look at him. His grey jumper has come undone at the bottom and coils of wool trail down to his jeans. Leather flip-flops rest just underneath his feet, which are immaculately clean and pink like a baby's. I collect a couple of glasses and walk behind the bar, get myself a drink and ask him how he is.

He seems surprised that he has been spoken to, swallows twice before he speaks. Then he talks so softly that his sentences disappear at the ends. He pronounces the most ordinary words as if he has just learned them.

"Are you French? I ask, then frown, because I'm sure he isn't. "Where were you born?
"Well that depends¦ He says mysteriously, taking a sip of his beer, "I was born in Swindon, but I was born again in Penzance¦
I sit on the stool next to his, tell him to go on.

"Well, I was seventeen or so, and I was living a certain life, but I wasn't happy, I wasn't enjoying it. And I got to a point where all of the choices I'd made seemed to be laid out in front of me¦

He stops talking for a minute and looks thoughtfully at his beer bottle, then glances at me and says: "It was like I'd backed myself into a corner and I'd doomed myself. Everything was leading a certain way, with or without me, you know?

For the first time, he moves his hands away from the bottle. He looks straight ahead, as if he's practising what he's about to say next, then turns to look at me with wide eyes.

"And that's when I heard the voice of God. He says, pausing for effect.
I begin to feel like I'm watching a performance. I act accordingly, sip my tea, keep my eyes trained on him.

"But I'd been smoking and drinking and so the next day I just thought 'Wow, I must've been really stoned last night!'" He grins at this, shakes his head at his own foolishness, carries on.

"But then the next night I heard the voice again! It told me to go up to St. Michael's Mount, and that I'd see something if I did¦ And I was scared, because if I went up there and nothing happened, it would mean I really was mad, that I was hearing voices... And if something did happen¦ He lets his words float into silence, then looks at me and says: "I know what people say about people like me."

"But, the voice and the instructions were so clear that I couldn't not do it. So the next day, I got up early and I walked up St Michael's mount. Then I stood at the top and I spoke to God, I asked him, 'Please! Show me what you have to show!' And that's when I saw it: A rainbow going right across the sky! And I knew that this was the sign because my heart felt so full and He had said I would see something!

The man speaks with such enthusiasm by now that I'm nervous to talk. Afraid my nonchalant tone will ruin the greatness of the experience that he is recounting, I just keep my eyes on him.

"Then as I walked down the hill I got sprayed with all this seawater and I knew I was being washed clean, that I had another chance at life, to undo the way I'd been living wrong and to love my family and to worship God!
The man is grinning, as if he can't quite believe the words he's saying himself and I smile back at him.

"So have you ever seen any miracles?
"Oh yeah! He says in his strange, foreign sounding accent. "I saw one just this week! I was playing my guitar and all the people were hurrying past, ignoring each other and rushing around, and then all of a sudden I heard the voice of God, and he was talking to me."

"He showed me a man sitting by himself on the window ledge, and he told me to go and give him something. So I looked in my pockets, but there was only bits of paper and fluff, so I took 50p out of my hat, and gave him that, and as I did it, I felt this rush of love just fly up and down the street, and everyone felt it, their postures changed, and they looked up and they smiled! And I was just praising God with my songs! Then the man walked over to me and said 'I didn't think I had the strength to give up smoking, but I know that I can do it now.' And he thanked me and praised God and put twenty pounds in my hat! He talks fast and breathlessly in sentences full of commas, widening his eyes and smiling, shaking his head. Then he looks seriously at me and says: "The Lord says, when you give you get back.

Some people sit down wanting coffees. As I make them the Christian tells me he is going, but doesn't go. Instead, he stands with his hands flapping around in his various pockets, until he eventually produces a packet of Tesco Value peanuts. "These are for you. He says, pressing them into my hand meaningfully.

I'm slumped at the empty bar the next time he comes in. Seeing him, I get up and smile, ask him what he wants.
"A bottle of non-alcoholic Becks please. He says patting his pockets for money. I put the drink down and shake my head.
"You can have that one.
"Oh no, no¦ He says, shaking his head back at me, "you're just doing that because of the peanuts. That means, my gift didn't count¦ It doesn't work like that.
"But you know what God said¦ I say, raising my eyebrows, and letting the last word dangle in the air between us for a moment.
"Well, thank you. He says, taking a drink of the beer solemnly.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. He holds his Becks in both hands, I dip my tea bag in and out of its hot water.
"Have you done three yet? I ask, looking at the tea bag.
"Have I done three? Ah ha! The foot clapping. That's a point. He gets up and stands in a space between the stairs and a table, begins to practise. He does two every time, but always lands on the floor just before the third one. I laugh at his continually serious face, as he tries patiently, again and again.

"You should try it before you laugh at me Mary. He says breathlessly, so I jump off my stool, kick my shoes off and start jumping. I can only do one, but two seems possible. And so we continue, jumping up and down in the middle of the tables, saying nothing to each other except the occasional, "nearly! or, "that was close! until we are both so out of breath we don't even say that anymore.

I get us some water and we sit on our stools, drink it the way thirsty kids do, gulping and gasping, getting rid of it all in one go.
"Another beer?
"No, I've got to go now. He says, slipping his pink feet back into his flip-flops, pulling his guitar onto his back.
"What's your name anyway? I ask him as he swallows the last of his water.
"Joseph! He says as if this was obvious. Laughing, he walks backwards out of the door.

I'm refilling the fridges the next time Joseph comes by. "I'm afraid you're too late for a drink sir. I tell him, knocking fresh bottles against each other and sliding the fridge door shut.
"That's okay, I've come to walk you home Mary¦ He says with a little bow.

"I'm just going to meet my boyfriend actually. I say, without looking up. "You can walk with us though. I've got to go and get him from work, it's just down the road¦ I turn around to face him for a second, just while I collect the last of the glasses off the bar, then I turn my back to him again as I put them in the dishwasher.
"No, no, that's okay. The two of you'll want to be alone, that's the way it works when you're with someone isn't it¦ His words trail off the way they often do, but it seems different this time.
"Well, it's up to you¦ I say, but my words kind of fade out too and I look at the floor, then correct myself by asking too loudly if he has got any further with his footwork.
"It's coming on. He says.

I pull the plug on the till, turn the lights out in the fridges, then switch the main lights off and heads towards the door. I hold it open for Joseph and he ducks under my arm, waits for me in the street while I lock it.

"So tell me Mary, what's your real name?
"Maud. I say, holding out my hand.
He shakes it, says, "I really thought you might have been Mary for a moment there. Then squinting, he moves his face a bit closer, like he's examining me. "Are you sure you're not?
"Afraid not sir.
"Well, I suppose there's no changing that then, is there?
"I suppose not.
We stand quietly for a minute, until I say, "Keep practising.
"You too Maud. He says and we walk off in opposite directions.