Posts Tagged ‘miracle’

The Man Who Made Women As Good As New ©

by Benny Thomas

camp: Svandalen, Norway

19 April 2010

The man had no special gifts except his hands. And he had made the city his home.

The city was called Sin City. The particular adjective gave no air of anything even remotely hinting of moral or ethical lapse. In fact the city touted quality of life as its promise. Quality of civic life nevertheless made the name stick. The city fathers had given their solemn promise and through thick and thin of economic meltdown the city did not let go its virtue: quality of life for all. Yet the civic fathers failed them not for wanting to try but for something none could put his finger on.

Men made the city work for them but women found something go out of their lives.

They could not exactly say what. They made their homes and kept their budgets tight and in all that computing and meeting their civic obligations they ceased to feel quality of life, assured by statutory laws and it did not make them feel precisely as a woman should feel. Nothing between their legs or their biology suffered but a general malaise of being alive. At the same time of being made less than before. They shielded their own brood from the brunt of life they carried on daily basis. In making the nest they merely stressed their own strengths and these didn’t account for the empty nests the chicks would leave behind. Somewhat similar to this, women felt city had carried them high only to deny them something they could not find words for. Quality of life in their pursuit of happiness was not equal to what their femininity expected them as due. That gap merely became ever perceptible as time went by.

Somewhere in a woman’s life what she is born to and what she ends up with is a fault line and it creates symptoms. Some tried alcohol and another coke; some tried acupuncture and another yoga. There were many stimulants and sessions and every thing worked up to a point.

One woman tried massage and discovered him. How the man worked on her pressure points made her feel as good as new. He worked well and what he charged was worth every cent. She passed on his name to another. This made the out-of-towner to stay on. He was a masseur more of a complete woman than a body. He solicited custom on that point and women accepted it as the truth.

Each woman,young,fading,floundering or dithering felt as new.

Twenty years he worked with his hands and he could not yet say what made them exceptional. His hands were well padded but not fleshy; it was neither hands well shaped or that of a brute. His hands were such ordinary as hands that stuck out of cuffs neither calling attention to them nor to the cut. He was ordinary and the spanking whiteness of his shirt or his pants added little to to his evanescent personality. When he worked with his clients he was almost not there. His work-out made each woman count the professional hour as homage paid to her and he spoke not a word that was out of place. He was loathe to draw attention to himself. His hands worked silently. Even where what some positions of his workout could have compromised him he was cool detachment all through.

He lived and made the quality of the city pay him dividends. His office gave him panoramic view of the city and he desired nothing except what his hands could earn.

He put every client at ease and never he rose to a higher or lower pitch to give himself away. Part of the hour he let her sat on his lap or he bent over her while his discreet stance gave nothing that she could have benefited. Her private thoughts were all hers and if these put out tendrils of hope or nostalgia, and she seemed to float back in womb of time it was all hers. He merely let his hands touch pressure points and if his clients took off from there he chose to remain an outsider. His service was faultless as his distance from his clients was thoroughly cultivated by sheer will power.

He performed with clinical efficiency that his secretary kept strict watch over. Daisy from her cubicle saw the naked bodies of clients contort or go limp and if she grimaced or nod in approval it was over the client and not over the man. His hands were miracle workers and nothing more. She noted in satisfaction no woman remembered afterward the face except her. She took down appointments and arranged his daily schedule knew his worth.Her position was secure and won over as with the man by her professionalism. She greyed and somewhat frayed around her supple body in service. She didn’t mind, Her quality of life she wrested from the city by her iron will.

Each day she checked with her boss before the day. He worked by appointment. His office on the 10th  floor was as unobtrusive as those who came in or went out.

Under the watchful eye of his secretary he learned to work as though he were a free agent. He never felt imposed upon by certain rules of office practice each expected from the other.  His ten minute recess at the end of one hour session was strictly enforced and he appreciated she saw to that he had sufficiently recovered from the previous before he began the next. He was a miracle that paid for her bed and board and a place in the community. She was not going to lose all that by neglect. Her selfishness he saw as altruism. If he were not placed by society women in their social engagements or made calls it was not her problem. He had to have work. That was all he insisted upon. There was no let up from day one.

His anonymity gave his hands their mystery and women found it an exhilarating. Consider he had moved into the City with one valise and the clothes that he had on his back and in a matter of some 20 years every woman who made the city her home swore by them. His hands made them feel as good as new.

That day the women waited for their turn. She saw him take on the first patient. She saw the blond and saw her hair roots were dark. He jawbones relaxed she was not what she considered as a threat. She had a body that was far below the expectations her dress called out to all. She saw him in his kimono and he divested of his clothes and go through his routine. Five minutes later she heard the body of the blond turning over. He was still a machine that performed and only then she relaxed. She went through the papers and made notes. First two hours made her keep her mind alert that the day’s routine went on without a hitch. She was somewhat over alert and she noted with a frown. On that day sky was grey and the weather made its chill in her bones speak up. She was cautious as never before. It was on that day as though her mind sensed lurking dangers and every sound made her jump and noise broke the thread of her routine. She heard one speak with some elation,’Ah that feels good, I can cry!’ Her forehead furrowed, hardly letting go her own defenses. Perhaps age was catching up before she headed into the dangerous Forties.

Each day she had to keep watch and yet seem not inquisitorial. Each client took something of him and he was indestructible,- not a moment letting his guard down.

She remembered it was she who insisted he take a recess after an hour long session.Only that day made she was none special. She was on the wrong side of thirty!

She carefully scanned his face and gestures. She casually let her eyes rest around his boxer. He was relaxed and concentrated on his work. His movements didn’t hit any hitch but he was as cool and controlled as before. Again her mind took a defensive stance with the last patient and she could mentally describe every spot he covered or every sigh that escaped women feeling the waves of unease escape their psyche.

Daisy didn’t ask what made her feel uneasy that particular day. Fifteen years she had spent manning her station while the man prodigiously worked with his hands.Was it her hormones her age or what?

As the last patient made ready to leave she sent him sms to ask for an extra session.

‘Under exceptional circumstances, she pleaded.

He texted back:OK

When she went from her desk the man awaited his patient from the door. He was not a whit puzzled or complaining to see her. Before she removed her dress she asked,’ Do you feel embarrassed?’

He raised his eyebrows.

‘All those women who come to you see you as a machine.’


I come to you differently.’ she stammered and feeling red. It was painful to express what was so long churning up inside.

She removed her clothes coming closer and closer. Her eyes teased him now. ‘They want to be put at ease.’

He stared at her puzzled.’I want to be excited. Feel my heart!’ She took his hands and put them against her heart.’You surely must feel something.’

‘No I feel nothing.’

Her face went pale. She had removed her panties and she let it drop.

‘I am lying down. Make me feel like a client’.

He just sat on his stool shadow of dejection expanding from his forehead to his chin.

‘Oh I had a hard day, and my hands are like wet rags.’

Daisy whimpered. ‘Twenty years I slaved for you. Do I mean nothing to you?’

He turned his head away. He heard her hands bunch up the hem of her dress. She let it fall on the floor in helplessness. He could not bear her accusatory eyes. ‘ I ask to be treated like any other woman’ Her voice trailed off in a moan. He sat there. ‘You have hurt me!’

Her voice faltered and she did not cry but shook in convulsions of despair and loneliness.

‘You are my wife, and not my custom.’

‘I put 200 dollars before I came,it is there in the day-book. Consider it as my fee.’

He rose mechanically and walked towards the curtain wall of glass that looked towards the sea. He stood there lost in thought as though he wanted to watch the rising mist from the sea. He could not bear meeting her eyes that were misted in tears.

He said,’Let us go home. After dinner we shall make love as we used to.’ He walked over to her and silently held his hand out. He felt her hand and he closed over it. He sighed. It was a relief. He felt the day was much more difficult than he ever thought it was.

They took the elevator down two figures numbed already by the awful silence of the tower that was easing itself for the night.


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“The miracle of life is such that two total strangers come together and decide between themselves to give you life; what is more they  let you live as you please, in  many cases with some examples thrown in by them, as though you are all sufficient to go on your own. Miracle is such that you find yourself adequate to the task.”

This is my life as it happened to me, of course compressed as much as I could without losing the essential contours of it.


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Monk Me-Alone turned his back on society, his folks and neighbours. He sat on a patch of barren land said,”I shall live here alone and live frugally so I do not owe anything to anyone”. He lived under a scorching sun and suffered the rain so much so some passersby thought he was indeed a divine fool to live so. They reported the matter to many others who were all waiting for something to distract them.

They exulted that they had a miracle in their midst. Instantly they adopted him and touted of the miracle man in their midst. Soon there were tourists cartloads who visited him and shops naturally sprang up to cater to the needs of the pilgrims.

The Monk Me-Alone said,”Bah!” He did not care an onion for those who made money at his expense. Suddenly a spring sprang up right before the spot where he sat. King of the Northern Kingdom  while passing that way heard of the miracle and asked if there could be a reasonable explanation for it. The villagers in one accord attributed the springs to the presence of the monk. The king and his party immediately called on the monk and said,” O Holy Monk, our kingdom is reeling under a severe drought and not a drop to be had. I have come in order to solve the sorry plight of my subjects.” The monk did not reply. The King said in the end,” You have diverted all the water that was meant for my people. Either you send it back to us or we take you as our prisoner till you solve our problem.”

Monk Me-Alone couldn’t answer. He had to go along with some whom he had nothing to do.(c)


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A Miracle Off Broadway©

The otherday I called on a friend of mine at his office on the 32nd street, Mañana Ave., off Broadway. Applebaum worked for Paranormal Absurdities Inc., Knowing how keen he was to expose every fraud that went under psychic phenomena I had to be wary notwithstanding our 20 years of friendship. He was a dragracer and one who tinkered with anything that came with wheels. After exchanging pleasantries I paused unable to find an opening line. Noting my fumbling he asked me to shoot. Well it was a clear and succinct invitation. So I took my .45 magnum and shot. The bullet went right through his shirt and hit the rubber plant in the corner of his cabin.
“What was that?’ Applebaum sat up suddenly and wrinkled his nose. “ Sounds like a gunreport.” He said. Seeing me grin widely he sat up on his swivel chair and said,” What is the matter with you?” You look weird!” I explained triumphantly,”I just shot at you. You survived. If you can prove this isn’t a miracle I shall believe you are holding a proper job and not wasting your talents in some fraudulent set up.” My friend guffawed. “You are on. I can smell a fraud miles away!” He took the gun from me and checked to say,” One bullet less here. His eyes narrowed and looked at me suspiciously,” So you did shoot at me?”
“Then it is a miracle?”
“ No. Don’t be in a hurry.” He levelled the gun and aimed at the cabin of his boss where his name Henry Winkleman was neatly written on the frosted glass.
Bam! The gun went off and the glass shattered in zillion splinters. The man came out and checked the damage to his cabin. It was sign for the personnel to converge around their boss. They all were in a shock. Mr. Winkleman came in quick steps followed by the staff. He stood before my friend red in the face and cursing him he wanted an explanation. My friend said,
” This guy here a nut case. I happen to know him from school. He came here with a cock and bull story of a miracle. I had to prove him wrong.” The boss took the gun and checked “A real McCoy, obviously.” Before I could reply he added in irritation,” Must you waste time, Mr. Applebaum with every nut who comes to you with a miracle?”
As my friend floundered I found my voice.” Miracle wasn’t in the gun sir. I have miraculous powers.That is all.” While I said my piece I had deftly extricated a manila envelope with the Army seal. I said, “ As you can see I would have enlisted but because of my powers I was exempted.”
It was true a gun was a toy in my hands.” If you don’t believe I can prove with AK-47. Or Kalashnikov?”
Applebaum looked at me as if I had gone off the rocker. His boss with his rat like face looked at me. “I suspect fraud here sir. Would you mind if we put you to a series,- non-invasive tests? ’ Before leaving the office I had to surrender the gun for close examination. I agreed and went to the lab specified by the company. For three days I was probed, swabbed and pinched by a few nurses and I had all my extremities connected to a number of panels where I could see needles recording everything that was to be known of me. For a good measure I underwent psychological tests and what not. Applebaum was there to keep me company. A fortnight later I received an envelope, which was stamped: PERSONAL. Beneath in red, For your eyes only
I scanned hastily the report. It read.” “The patient under reference is non-existent. There was an annexure that had a heading GUN REPORT
Only one line was neatly typed: The gun with serial number X@-A-23674: real.
Since then Mr.Applebaum refused to take or return my calls.

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