PASTOR MANDOLIN

His laced shoe was still the center of attraction as the wandering eyes of Eric Travis picked it up from the rear this time.

What was he thinking?

He wasn't sure what he was thinking either but then, the words that Mandolin Trump spoke last before the room turned silent still lingered fresh in his mind. It should have been stale by now considering the time interval it was spoken but he didn't allow that—he wanted it fresh in his mind as he kept on tossing it over.

He knew Mandolin Trump was right at some points but wasn't so certain of others.

But why must he think of a thing like that, a thing so desperate, heartless and possibly so adventurous?

He glanced at him, this time with his widened eyes shifted from his laced shoe as if woken up from slumber. Yes, they have been friends for quite a while now and have agreed on almost every issue of life until this moment.

Eric Travis knew Mandolin Trump was stubborn right from when they were in college and even through their university days. He had always been the party type, but how he graduated in an upper class was still a mystery to him. He had proven to be a goal-getter and had never slacked in achieving what he had proposed to do and that's why what he spoke about an hour ago was a very serious issue.

He pondered over it once more as he narrowed his eyes at Mandolin Trump. Though he had failed in one important area of his life—marriage. He was supposed to be married by now at the time his friends started picking ladies for marriage, but he had to shun the idea and now still looked not set for it yet.

Eric Travis stood up for the first time since he entered Mandolin Trump's little apartment that seemed to be consciously built for him alone and not for a wife or kids around. He could imagine as his eyes swept through the sitting room again.

He walked around the center table for a while and seconds later, stood in front of Mandolin Trump.

This time he was ready to engage him on a fiercer talk. His lips moved for a while and as he was about to give up, he heard Mandolin Trump coughed. Reluctantly he started. "I cannot believe what I heard—can't imagine you said such things. Listen Mandolin, as much as I know about you, you are not even a good Christian—talk less of having a calling to become a pastor—a pastor? This is impossible!" He hissed and wheeled around angrily, backing Mandolin Trump who just gave him a smug smile.

Mandolin Trump sat up again crossing his legs over as if in a sort of executive meeting except that he wasn't. His arm was on his broad chest as his eyes steadied on Eric Travis, boring through his back as he waited anxiously for him to speak another word. He could hear him talk now but wasn't that audible. He waited for him to turn around and immediately he did a few seconds later. He heard him repeating himself.

"There are other jobs you could do and not this pastor thing, agree jobs are hard these days, the population is exploding by the day and the government can't cope with the trend—planning method is poor and a whole lot of other things is making the economic sick. Pastor is not a job but a calling. Telling me that's what you want to do is the last thing I will want to hear you say, Mandolin!" He sat down quietly on the centre table he had been walking around for minutes now and gave him a sober stare.

"You could be something else, let's say an entrepreneur or something and not this idea of becoming a pastor. You don't have the calling; it is for special people—special—"

Mandolin Trump stopped him, didn't allow him to finish. "You make me sick, Eric. I have sat down patiently to hear you talk. Now just hear yourself talk—special, what makes pastor ministry special?—"

"Here you go again," Eric Travis broke in, "pastoral ministry is not a business as you think. There is a supernatural calling attached to it and I know—"

"What is it then?" Mandolin Trump flared as he lifted both hands to stop Eric Travis.

Looking angrier now, he dropped his left leg on the floor he had placed on the other for minutes.

Eric Travis ignored as he looked away. He felt so worried that Mandolin Trump was beginning to make a scene out of nothing. "It is a task, a godly responsibility given to anyone by God—it is a calling, Mandolin." Eric Travis whispered calmly as if he was beside himself with his hands in his pocket.

He was shocked at Mandolin Trump reaction but wasn't surprised. He knew he has not changed a bit right from their university days—always desperate.

He watched him frown and then also heard him talked. "How many Pastors have the calling you are talking about? They take your offerings, your tithes and build big mansions and drive around in the best cars and you sit here and talk about calling. Who cares? Damn it!"

Eric heard him hit his hand hard on the table in front of him and that got him shivering—and that was also enough to tell that Mandolin Trump was upset.

Upset by whom?

The church system, pastors or what?

He shrugged as he struggled to listen to Mandolin Trump piercing words screwing through his eardrums.

"And you know what? What if I tell you I was called? Or have been called, what will you say? What if I tell you I got a revelation from God telling me about this task? Of course, you have nothing to tell me because you weren't there when I was called, so you see! The work of a pastor is open to anyone who can talk, convince the people, I mean do the job—the rich job and the same time profit largely—I want in Eric—I mean I am entering the pastoral ministry as it is called and away with poverty."

Eric Travis watched smiles playing around the lips of Mandolin Trump.

Was he out of his mind or pretending he wasn't?

His smiles looked heartless but the interesting thing now was how he wants to go about it. Was he going for a pastoral school or—

His thoughts dropped as he watched Mandolin Trump walked towards the wine shelf and heard him whispered. "Good wine brings good memories—for a brighter future Eric. Always friends, still good friends and friends we are forever."

Eric Travis watched as he poured wine into his glass cup and they both drank with eyes fixed at each other. And deep down those red slit eyes, Eric Travis knew another deadly phase of Mandolin Trump's future has only just begun.