2. His Holy Knee-caps

2. His Holy Knee-caps

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson




2. His Holy Knee-caps

Jeremiah Pyke knew one thing even if he knew nothing else, and that was sex is a sin, especially if ir involves members of the opposite gender in the event of there not having been been a wedding ceremony involved in the relationship. He knew that as certainly as he knew that one day in his time on Earth there would be a micro-second that separated life from death and he wanted to savour that micro-second and possibly make it last for ever, or if not that long, until he arrived at the pearly gates and was accepted onto the pastures of Heaven by the blessed saint Peter.

And he’d been tempted by the palliative nurse who had entered his life via the sad demise of her patient whilst waiting for evening prayers on Friday last and who had blithely led him to the spare couch in the vestry, where a previous vicar, being past his dotage and very nearly extinct himself, had been obliged to take a nap after evensong most days.

The palliative nurse, frowning slightly, had sniffed at the couch and after a great deal of consideration declared it just about big enough to be cosy, and before he could have said Jack Robinson if he’d wanted to exclaim any such thing she had his surplice off and was attending to the fine leather belt that was supporting his trousers.

And then as if by magic, those very trousers were like a pool of marbled grey around his ankles when there was a loud “hooey! I’m back!” in the austere tones of the Reverend Susan Delight, whose nose preceded her as she entered the vestry.

Well, Mr Pyke,” she exclaimed, “what can be going on here, and in a consecrated vestry at that?”

In the couple of decades it seemed to take for Jeremiah to think of a believable reason why he should be only semi-dressed and in the company of a pretty young nurse who was also semi-dressed, that wonderful carer sprang to his rescue.

He appeared to be having a heart attack,” she said, not even blushing.

The Reverend Susan Delight smiled sweetly at her. “It must be because he’s got this obsession with death,” she said, “I was warned about it by the bishop who thought the poor curate had done too much learning by rote when here’s always a perfectly good internet to help the devout believer.”

So I thought I’d rectify his problem with some remedial therapy,” concluded the nurse, “I’ve had courses, you know. I can even bring back the dead. Possibly, that is. If they’re only just dead.”

And has it worked?” asked the Reverend Susan who was already becoming confused when she noticed that she, the Reverend Susan, was addressing a semi naked nurse, also called Susan and possibly trying to work out how the one Susan could replace the other Susan. (It had, to be truthful, been a disturbing visit to see her imprisoned husband only to find he had fallen deeply in love with someone called Pinky because of his deep blue eyes. In the end she’d sworn to never visit him again, but deep in her heart she knew that was an unchristian thing to swear and she’d be back next week.)

I think he’s come round,” stammered Nurse Susan, ”ain’t modern methods good?”.

Then you are an angel, and if you’ll just re-attack your brassiere, would you like a bit of supper before you go?” smiled the Reverend Susan is the most gravelly voice she could muster.

Nurse Susan shook her head, said what a wonderful idea but she had another patient hovering in God’s waiting room and she had to go. It wasn’t, she said as a parting shot, only the clergy who could help sinners fly away from life.

Well, Reverend Pyke,” whispered his superior cleric when they were on their own and his surplice was back on, albeit back to front, “you have been having fun and games, haven’t you? And just when I was beginning to think that today couldn’t get any worse the good Lord waved his magic wand and made everything just hunky-dory!”

Jeremiah was at a loss. What on Earth, he thought, could be hunky-dory about his surplice being on back to front or his trousers being half, no almost entirely, off? He wasn’t of course, worried about such things as modesty because his underwear was army surplus and probably bullet proof. He’d long bought army surplus underwear out of a fear that there could well be people around who might want to take advantage of more feeble materials than those specially selected by the military in their efforts to protect the bits and pieces of their soldiers.

I rather like your legs,” said the Reverend Susan, “no, don’t bother, I rather think the angels in Heaven would like a holy glimpse of your patellas! And if not them, well, it’s an age since I’ve glimpsed the bare beauty of a man’s legs.”

Er… yes,” he gulped, not quite sure what a patella was.

Allow me to show you mine,” she smiled, “I think a comparison of knee-caps might say an awful lot about our Heavenly father and his imagination...”

And the Reverend Susan Delight pulled down the thick knitted leggings that had protected her skin from the ways of the world and left her pale legs open to all manner of inspections.

I was only telling my husband today,” she said quietly, “that besides being a twerp and an idiot he actually has very poor legs. I’ve seen those legs a dozen times before and they didn’t improve on close inspection!”

Er … yes,” he gulped again.

Whereas, let’s take a peek at your legs, Reverend Pyke. In particular the knees. I’ve seen quite a lot of knees in my time, it was the done thing for we students at college, for the knees to be up for examination, and I can honestly say that yours are the finest knees I’ve ever seen. May I, do you mind, may I touch them?”

And without awaiting his permission, she did. She reached out and moulded them as if they were putty. She crooned a little gospel-inspired hymn at them.

And to his horror he discovered she wasn’t merely satisfied with his knees…

© Peter Rogerson, 08.08.20

© 2020 Peter Rogerson

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Added on August 8, 2020
Last Updated on August 8, 2020
Tags: clergy, knees, palliative nurse



Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Forest Town, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom

I am 76 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..