God's flock 1


By Katzmarek


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Author's note.


This work is fiction with a lot of fact thrown in. Or maybe its fact with a little fiction. Anyway, its been scrubbed, cut and pasted, exagerated, mutilated, mashed and bashed.
It remains my property and can't be used for profit without my express permission in writing.
Oh! and the Assembly of God told me later in life that the tactics described in the story didn't happen. So that's all right then. I guess I must have halucinated it. {K}
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Part One


I was going through one of those low points in my life. The band had broken up acrimoniously, I was bored and seemingly friendless in the big city.


I guess I looked a mess, too. 5 years of constant struggle, drugs, arguments tempered with rather infrequent bouts of high excitement.


The band started out as a bunch of mates who used to jam after school. Anyone who had their own gear was welcome to hang out and if they knew how to play it was a bonus.


Shane, the drummer could do a reasonable 4/4. Bruce had ambitions to play progressive rock like Emerson Lake and Palmer, his heroes. He had an electric mandolin and a pal had built him a crude synthesiser with a bank of oscillators.


We went through a few bass players until we came across Ari, an Indonesian. He was always stoned and wore black clothes and dark glasses.
We thought he was cool and the girls loved him. 


My main asset was that my gear was bought and paid for, well mostly. A Gibson SG Custom with an Orange amp and speaker. The bright orange amp cabinets clashed awfully with the bright red guitar but it just added to our off-beat concept of ourselves.


We made a horrible noise that only marginally improved as we learned how to play in the same key and tempo. Occasionally the gods of music would smile and we'd hit on a period when we were all cooking to the same tune. We'd grin stupidly at each other and carry on until the drummer started to speed up or someone lost the key. The thunk of a bum note would spoil the magic.


We carried about 5 tunes to the local 'Battle of the Bands' competition and came third. More a statement on the quality of the opposition. I remember the second place-getter's guitarist playing rock and roll while lying on his back with a beautiful Gibson Les Paul, all pearly white and spotless. He looked about 14 years old.


The winners were a liveried pub band who could play pretty well. They'd brought a crowd of fans along who cheered at everything they did and sat stoney-faced through the other acts.


We were the only 'Prog' band on the bill and I have to say we played a faultless set. We had been practising for a year after all. We poured dead leaves over the drummer and Ari stood an a Persian carpet. Bruce kicked shit out of his amplifier while giving major to his synthesiser. He played   electric mandolin with his teeth and head-butted the keyboard. All to absolute silence from the partisan audience.


We did get better musically and became regulars on the University circuit.  But with only 7 Universities, 6 Teacher's colleges and about a dozen Technical Colleges and Agricultural Schools it was impossible to make any money.


We could have chanced our arm on the other side of the Tasman Sea, in Australia, but our agent didn't think the Aussies were ready for our kind of music. They suggested we learn a few hard rock numbers as Black Sabbath were all the rage. I was keen and even bought a fuzz box and effects pedals. Bruce, however wanted a Mellotron and a Coral Electric Sitar like his latest hero from 'Yes'.


Then Shane, our drummer left to get married, Ari went back to Indonesia and it was just the two of us. Then Bruce took off to Auckland to do Art/Music happenings with his mate from the 'Tall Dwarves' and that was it, gigless.


I did a bit of busking with my Yamaha Folk Guitar but it was cold in winter and there was a positive boom in busking going on. Whole bands would set up at night in the little parks and drown out everyone playing acoustic. Disgruntled I moved to the Railway Station but again I ran into competition with guys who'd been gigging there for years.


So it was I found myself at this park by the beach, sitting on a bench just picking out a few tunes to myself. A bunch of young people were playing some organised games, softball, hoops, that sort of thing, while having a BBQ.


They were all fresh faced and bright-eyed, clean cut, unlike me, and around their late teens. I thought the girls were uniformly gorgeous in that 'girl next door' kind of look. Different to the 'overly made up' party girls that used to hang out at the gigs.


It wasn't long before some dude came over to hear what I was doing. All white teeth and short hair like a Morman missionary. Of course I played to the audience a little with a few flourishes up the scales. A couple of girls came over and hummed a tune to me asking if I could play it. 


Well it was a simple G.C.A thing and I soon had it. They began to sing, shyly at first but with increasing gusto. Lyrics about 'the lord my God' had me figuring they were a Christian group.


Religion had never been a part of my life. My parents were agnostic, I think, and although they packed us off to Sunday School for a few weeks, I found the river a far more interesting place to be. I went a couple of times then started sneaking off.


That day at the park I was looking for some normalcy. Since school I had lived a crazy existance of drummers covered in dead leaves, people 
competing to be the most outrageous, drugs, alcohol and deafening halls full of sound. 


These people were so 'nice' in that 'normal' sort of way, and simply enjoying themselves and being friends. I desperately wanted some of that.


I even started singing to their corny little numbers and smiled when they began clapping and dancing to the beat. I had an audience and I was enjoying myself.


The guy introduced himself as John. They were from the local 'Assembly of God' and often came to the park on Sundays for 'fellowship.' He told me he'd played in a metal band in Australia and rode a Ariel Square Four customised motorcycle. That is before he'd found God who'd changed his life.


I was fascinated by his story, especially by the motorcycle, and we talked at length about how he'd turned it into a showpiece. I remember all the details, the chrome work, the airscoops on the back cylinders to improve cooling and the airbrushing and lacquering. The guy was a genius!


There was demure Diane and blond Nancy who got everyone to call her 'Nan'.
I think there was a 'Freddie' who was 14 and a 'Chrissie' who was twelve.


But Nan had me interested, not just because she was blond and 17 but also because she was a Canadian from Toronto and so damned interesting.


John invited me to their meeting that evening and suggested the girls and I do a number for the congregation. As long as Nan was going to be there I could think I've nothing I'd like better.


Now this was a new experience for me. How do you get to know a girl who was not a groupie and was not waiting to be asked to fuck? I was not used to just hanging out with people in that way, so I decided to just go along with whatever happened.


I scrubbed my hair and tied it back. Donned some reasonable clothes and cleaned the bike boots. Finding the AOG hall was easy but, when confronted with all these welcoming 'straight' people, I felt out of place. There was nobody that looked like me. I'd never seen so many suits in one place except at the railway station in the morning.


John sat beside me up the front and kept a running commentary of what was happening. It was difficult for me to suspend judgement but I tried hard and haleluyahed at the appropriate times. At one point the whole congregation got up and began speaking in tongues. If I wasn't so stunned at the sight I would have burst out laughing. It was so funny watching it, like everyone was on Quaaludes or something.


So the time came for my gig and I collected my practice amp and electric guitar from back stage. I then had to endure the Pastor introducing me as their new 'friend in Jesus' while everyone cheered and clapped. The girls trooped up and I counted them in for the first number.


Not long into the first chorus and the whole congregation began to join in, stamping their feet and clapping along. I began to have fun after a while and got a little bolder, introducing a few little runs and a lead break or two. All in all it went down well and the girls had enjoyed themselves.


Afterwards we had supper and people came up congratulating me on my playing and welcoming me to the congregation.


'Hadn't I picked the songs up quickly?'


Well, excuse me, but it wasn't the hardest set I've had to learn. They were mostly in 'G' and in 4/4 or 3/4. Not like the fiddly time changes and strange discordance I'd been expected to do with the band.


After supper I was asked to sign the book then John asked me upstairs. It was decked out like a sound studio with acoustic tiling and a control room. Inside my voice became disembodied and remote, like it just floated around me. A large window was on the angled ceiling, unblinded, you could see the stars.


John and another guy began to talk, encouraging me to pray and let Jesus into my heart, or something. Their voices played with my head, confused and disorientated me. I felt detached and terrified, no doubt the after effects of years of drug-taking were exerting themselves.


Their voices rose in volume, 'ask for Jesus' and 'out Devil'. I was scared, I wanted to go home, but I didn't think I'd be allowed to leave unless I did what they wanted. So I prayed, under the big window, and imagined a beam of light was coming down to baptise me with it's rays.


Afterwards I ran to the van and escaped leaving the precious Gibson guitar backstage.


The next day I rang John to ask him if I could retrieve the guitar and amp and we agreed to meet at the hall that evening. He said that Monday nights there were bible classes and maybe I'd like to join in.


'Maybe,' I thought, 'especially if Nan was going to be there.'


She was and I stayed. It was painless enough and afterwards I treated everyone to a little piece I'd been practicing for a while, an early Genesis instrumental based on a classical theme. It was difficult to play and it was cold, my fingers didn't move so quickly, but no-one seemed to notice that I missed a few notes. Nan smiled when I'd finished and that's what counted.


John told me about this Christian camp they were going on and asked if I'd be interested in coming along. They would be doing some concerts for some of the local congregations and would I like to join the band?


"Everyone was going," he told me and I looked at Nan, who looked back shyly and I said yes.


On Wednesday I met the rest of the band and the singers, who included Nan, to my relief. They already had a guitarist so I stepped in as extra rhythm.


It was strange working with a new band, with different temperaments and personalities. I felt I had to play my way in, to gain their respect, but really they were just a straight up backing band. The first rehearsal I wanted to cut loose with some lead breaks but I soon learned to restrain myself.


Nan and I were getting on pretty well. I practised my charming smile and complimented her on her singing. It was Okay, just a little whispy for my liking.


The next night I was out the back of the hall having a quiet cigarette when she appeared.


"There you are," she said, "don't you know smoking is bad for your health?"


I agreed and offered her one. To my surprise she accepted it and told me she hadn't had a Lucky Strike since coming to New Zealand. We listened to the voices from inside to see if they were coming nearer as we smoked like a pair of naughty children.


"So what was it like playing in a band?" she asked.


I told her a little about the life, the booze and the dope, the lack of money, the infighting, the groupies and the hassles with managers and promoters.


She told me about her childhood in Canada, about coming to New Zealand and the differences and similarities of the people. She could relate to living  in a country with a bigger neighbour. I told her the Tasman is a big sea and Australia is a long way from NZ compared to Canada with the USA.


"We're not overun with Aussies yet," I told her.


"Americans can drive to Toronto from Buffalo or Detroit in a few hours," she replied.


We agreed that Americans and Aussies were a pain in the arse. Curiously she never mentioned Jesus once, I thought that was significant.


We returned to the hall, keeping a little away from people in case they could smell the smoke.


After rehearsal I offered her a lift home and she stayed back while I played around a little with my effects pedals. We had a little impromptu jam with her banging enthusiastically on the drums while I clowned around on guitar.


I drove her home and she smiled and said she'd really enjoyed herself. Before getting out of the car she bent forward and gave me a little kiss on the lips. My lips tingled long after I'd arrived home.


The next day my Bible lessons arrived in the mail. I was expected to read and interpret some prescribed texts and send them back. I opened the envelop, then threw it's contents in the rubbish bin.


In those days I could think of nothing else but music, bikes and women in variable order. Religion just didn't get a look in. Later on I'd make my own choices, but then I really couldn't have cared less.


I really don't think the AOG leaders cared why I chose to come along to their activities. I guess to them everything was God's work anyway and if 'HE' chose to bait me with a beautiful woman, well... Fair means and foul, if in the end they saved another soul, that's all that counted.


I was still too chicken to ask Nan for a date. I knew I'd have to pass the parental examination and I didn't think there was anyway they would consider me a 'proper' man for their daughter.


Nan had told me her parents had been on 'mission' to the islands. In my book that made them pretty full-on holy rollers who would judge me to be a pretty miserable 'sinner.'


I was hoping this camp might open up some possibilities. I hoped that they didn't have too close a supervision of everyone and I'd have a chance to be alone with her.


The church had hired a bus to take everyone to the camp. I argued that my gear was too precious to bounce around in the buse's luggage locker and insisted I follow them in my little Bedford Beagle van.


The truth is I hated organised trips and sitting in buses for long periods.


They were disappointed because they said the bus ride was half the fun. I told them it was just my artist's temperament.


So off we went with me following behind in the Beagle. After a couple of hours they pulled into this cafe for lunch and I parked in behind. The kids stoked up their plates with pies and sandwiches and sat outside in the sun.


I was a bit broke so I grabbed a coffee with my loose change and looked for a seat. There was no spare places so I sat in the van with the door open. Pretty soon Nan came over and asked why I was not having lunch.


"I'm not hungry," I told her.


"But you must eat," she replied, " it's a long way and you'll get tired."


She passed me a sandwich from her own plate and said,


"You haven't any money, have you?"


I shook my head. I felt embarrassed, but Nan was all concern and understanding. She offered me ten bucks but I refused. Strange, from anyone else I would have grabbed the money and promised to pay it back, then 'forgotten. Hell, most musicians owe everyone money.


Nan asked me if I wanted company for the rest of the drive. I didn't have to ponder the question too hard and said yes. Unexpectedly, the leaders acquiesced to the suggestion.


So off we went behind the big Volvo coach. The bus had the luggage at the rear so there was no back window from where we could be observed by the giggling occupants.


I offered her a cigarette and she accepted eagerly, ducking down behind the dashboard to take a drag.


"Why are you so scared of them?" I asked, "after all, you're 17. If you want to smoke, then smoke."


"It's not that simple," she replied, "they say the body is a temple and you only put good things in it. Bad things are the work of the Devil."


"So where is free choice in all of that?"


She thought for a little while before replying.


"Its all about saving our souls from temptation. If we transgress once and the sin is not atoned for well... the next sin will be greater."


"What's that, the law of increasing degradation?"


"Something like that."


"Well I think that we're all human and as such we make mistakes. Hell I've made a few. My set of rules is my experience, I KNOW what is bad for ME. I don't need some preacher to tell me what I should or shouldn't do."


"How do you know all the answers... to life? You... I need some guidelines..."


"So what's wrong with common sense? And as for answers... I challenge anyone to give me all the answers to life... they don't exist."


"But the Bible says..."


"The Bible is just a book written by a bunch of guys to propagate the Christian faith to the Roman Empire. Okay, its got a lot of common sense in it, sure, but there's also a lot of ancient Jewish cultural mumbo-jumbo. It probably made a lot of sense 2000 years ago but..."


"It was written by God."


"It was written by men... who probably felt inspired by a God, sure."


After a while she asked,


"Do YOU believe in God?"


"Whose?


"There's only one."


"Depends on where you are in the world. Are you telling me that 2 and a half billion Asians have got it wrong and a few million Christians have it right?" 


"Its not about numbers," she replied, bristling.


"No its about fucking Western cultural arrogance."


"I wish I was as smart as you," she replied sarcastically.


We drove on in silence.


'My big mouth,' I grumbled to myself.


We were about half an hour away from the camp when she spoke again.


"Feeling the way you do..." she said, "why did you come along with us? I mean it must be hard for you..."


So what could I reply to that? Tell her the truth like a good little Christian and risk Nan running a mile, or more bullshit? I thought long and hard before answering.


"Ok!" I said, taking a deep breath, "Truth?"


She nodded, uncertainly.


"I like you," I told her, hurriedly.


"Oh," she replied and looked out the window.


"I think I knew that already," she said eventually,"Don I... um."


"No speeches, Nan. Lets just keep it simple, ok?"


"Ok sure," she shivered but it wasn't cold. "I think you're a nice guy," she went on, "but... I don't know... I don't really know you and..."


After a pause for thought she said, giggling,


"My parents would have a fit."


"So lets leave them behind when we go on a date," I said, flippantly.


"They'll never let me go on a date with you," she replied, " maybe when I'm thirty..."


"Thirty it is, then!" I told her.


She made this little half-laugh which sounded like a hiccup. Turning her head away, she stared out the window for the rest of the trip.


We arrived at the camp and were allocated a bunk. Mine, naturally, was in the boy's cabin but the idea of sleeping with a dozen other guys didn't appeal. I therefore emptied the van of the amp and speaker cabinet and made myself a bed from the packing mattress.


We all sat down for a meal in the dining hall, boys at one table, girls at the other. The leaders weren't going to have any shenanigans going on under the table, nosiree!


I pushed the sausages about on my plate while everyone said Grace. The guy next to me whispered that we wern't supposed to touch our food until prayers had been said. The youth leader scowled in my direction.


After dinner there were more prayers and Bible readings but I excused myself saying I needed to rehearse a few numbers, re-string and tune my guitar... anything.


It was beginning to dawn on me that my relative age, 23, allowed me a lot of license. The youth leader, John was around the same age or younger and hadn't figured out how to force me to conform to their rules and scheduals, or so I thought. Consequently I began to do as I pleased, within limits.


I was discrete about smoking, for instance, finding myself a little nook behind the hall where I couldn't been seen. I was off the booze at the time, so that wasn't an issue.


Making myself a coffee that first night before turning in, John approached me and explained, nervously, that the rest of the group could smell smoke on me. He didn't seem willing to get into an argument, but told me it was 'upsetting' for some of the younger ones. I then got the line about the body being a 'temple' etc.


I think he believed some 'gentle persuasion' would modify my behaviour but he failed to understand the nature of true nicotine addicts.


He told me he was always available if I wanted to talk or call on the 'Father' for assistance and I thanked him for the offer.


I went to bed in the van and smoked like a chimney before falling asleep.


The next day was a matinee performance for a local Christian Primary School. We just took along the acoustic guitars and the singers and sang our songs outside in the Quad. I remember standing next to Nan and brushing her arm as I played. She pushed back, grinning with embarrassment.


Back to camp afterwards, then a rehearsal for that night's performance at a 'Youth for Christ' festival.


One number was a reworking of 'the Lord is my Shepherd,' hymn. I suggested I put in a little lead after the bridge and, surprisingly, the rest of the band gave me the Ok.


I got the band to change to a 12 bar rhythm and did a little BB King type solo. It worked and the band loved it. Well Gospel's not a world away from the Blues, anyhow.


Afterwards I was playing around with the intro to 'Stairway to Heaven,' when the the other guitarist told me how much he loved that song. He said it was very 'spiritual' if you listened to the words.


In those days any pretending rock guitarist used to learn 'Stairway' first of all and I was no exception.


For the next hour we worked out the tabs and the two of us taught the song to the rest of the band. Then I took electric and the other guy picked out the acoustic bits and we did a fair rendition of Led Zeppelin. I did the vocals.


Ok, I'm no Robert Plant but in those days I could belt out a pretty good vocal. So when Plant does that high 'G' I think, with,


'There walks a LAAADY we all knowohoo...'


I had to drop and octave but, hey! it sounded alright, you know!


The girls leapt around and shook with the music in the auditorium. John came in the door, stared at what was going on, then left. I guessed that meant it was back to the gospels.


The concert that night went off well, apart from a PA which threatened to crap out. Afterwards there was supper, more prayers and a dance. They had this guy doing disco but he was so cheesy and told these corny jokes which weren't funny that someone suggested the band get up.


We did, playing mostly unrehearsed dance-type jams that everyone loved. Right at the end we did 'Stairway to Heaven.' At the lead break the other guitarist swapped the acoustic for his Fender Telecaster and we launched into an extended instumental, swapping leads back and forth. It was the best fun I'd had in a long time, leaping about and hamming it up.


On the way back to camp, John said he thought the song was 'inappropriate,' I laughed and told him to, 'chill out.'


I sat next to Nan on the bus. She was flushed with the excitement of the evening and kept leaning into me and rubbing my back. In response I stroked her around the shoulders, she didn't seemed to mind.


Of course we were noticed by the other teenagers who ribbed us a little, John just scowled in his practised fashion. I gathered he was the only one not enjoying himself.


Thinking back, I believe John's problem was 'control.' He took everything personally and a challenge to his 'guidance,' that is 'control' over the group.


Ever since we had arrived at the camp he had turned sullen, especially  when I was around. He was no fool and saw the relationship developing between me and Nan. He didn't like it, maybe a bit of jealousy? I don't know.


What he saw, also, was my growing popularity among the younger people. The young teens thought I was 'cool' and began to hang around me. He had to figure out a way of wrenching back the centre of attention.


Back at camp after the show, I found an excuse to seek my little nook for a quiet cigarette. I'd just lit up when I heard a rustling. I froze until I heard a whisper,


"Are you there?"


It was Nan. I guided her over to me and we both sneaked back into the shadows.


"How did you know I was here?" I asked her.


"Followed you. Have you got a cigarette? I'll by you a packet."


I passed her one and we settled down, watching the night sky and taking in the cool breeze. The sounds of the camp began to die down as the kids settled down in their bunks.


"Won't you be missed?" I said.


"Not for a while," she smiled.


She settled against my shoulder in the close confines of my bolt hole. The back of the hall had a door with a porch and steps leading to an old path. Behind the porch there were some shrubs with a gap in the corner where the porch joined the main building. Two people could hide in there with a tight squeeze.


Behind us was a gap leading to the crawl space under the building. It used to have a little door but it had long since been taken off.


Nan began to wriggle backwards through the gap and under the building. I followed her into the darkness. Underneath, the concrete piles were sunk in a bed of sand, it was nice and soft once we'd pushed the occasional rock out of the way.


Outside, there was an old security light by the porch, but the glass cover was half full of water and dead insects. It suffused the area with a soft, yellow luminescence.


The pale light highlighted Nan's blond locks and gave her oval face a pinkish glow.


"What are you staring at?" she asked, grinning.


"You," I replied, " you're so incredibly pretty!"


It was hard to tell, but I think she blushed. Her expression was expectant, her eyes surveyed my face before eventually dropping to my mouth. I took the hint and moved forward for a kiss.


Part 2 follows.


Katzmarek (c)