It was tense.  Always is when Webb Duval comes into town and stops by the Grounds for Divorce.  

He’s just an argumentative old cuss, and sows seeds of discontent wherever he goes. Probably why his wife left him 40 years ago. It’d almost be comical if he didn’t get everybody so riled up before he got back into his ol’ green ’58 GMC and headed back out the Brown Material Road to his place outside of town. Even Pastor Peterson isn’t immune from the effects of being around Webb Duval, and he is normally about as easy going and fair minded as anyone in Fort Stockton, or the GFD cafe, anyway.

Webb had come to town for the Wild Horse and Burro Event put on by the Bureau of Land Management, where they were offering up 50 wild horses and burros for adoption.  Wasn’t the first time Webb had come into town for such an event, seeing as the Bureau offers $1,000 for each animal adopted.  Folks over at the Rusty Hardware Store snickered that Webb probably ate the horse, and kept the burro around, just to have another ass to talk to, but who could say for sure.  

Only thing beyond dispute is that his 1958 GMC 100 “NAPCO” 4X4 pickup is damn near as gnarly as Webb, himself.  The 16” steel wheels are mounted with Samson Traker Plus tires that are as knobby as Webb’s knuckles.  Its green paint and scratched and dented bodywork reveals a life lived on the wide open prairie that has been as fraught with as many hardships and mishaps as Webb’s own.  The hole in the dash where a gauge was removed reflects the hole in Webb’s chest where his heart used to be.

When he wrangled the big old beast into two parking spots out front, everyone inside the GFD girded themselves for the experience they were sure would follow. The ripped and patched denim jeans he wore were probably as old as his truck. The felt cowboy hat looked like it could double for a commode in a pinch, and probably had a time or two.

“His baby blue eyes still tell a story,” Lucinda noted, always trying to look for the good in everybody.

“Not the same one as his truck,” I noted.

“I’m sure I’ll read that one in a week or two,” she said as he walked through the door.

Webb came over to the big table in the middle and shoved New Guy out of the way, pretending he’d never even seen him.  Sat down across from Pastor Peterson, right next to Rex Hall, from over at the RexHall Drug.  “If it ain’t the Preacher Man!” Webb exclaimed looking around for an empty Captain My Captain mug.  Not finding one, he took New Guy’s and took a big ol’ swig of Folgers, letting some of it drip down his chin and mingle with the tobacco juice already there.  “Imagine seein’ you here.”

Pastor Peterson nodded his head out of politeness.  “Good to see you too, Mr. Duval.”

“You know, Preacher, God himself presented himself to me back in 2013.  It was in a vision.  Gave me specific instructions.”

“Do tell, Mr. Duval.”  Pastor Peterson was regretting not having left five minutes earlier while he still had the chance.

Webb Duval proceeded to tell the table about his experience with the Lord.  “He told me that once again the world had become a wicked, overpopulated wasteland.  He said he was giving me the task of cleaning it all up, since the preachers had done such a poor job of making it happen.”  We all shifted in our seats around the table.  Lucinda got New Guy a new cup and filled it.  Webb Duval went on with his religious experience.

“He said it was up to me to prepare the way, as he was going to be forced to end all flesh once again.  He told me I was going to need to build another ark.  Then gather two of every living thing.  And a few good humans, provided I could find any around Fort Stockton.  He gave me the blueprints for the ark.  Told me I had six months, then he was going to send 40 days and 40 nights worth of rain and wipe everything out on the earth.”

New Guy got up and started to leave.  Webb grabbed him by the back of his belt and planted his arse back in the chair.  “Sit down, you little turd blossom.  I ain’t finished with the story yet.”  Everyone felt a little sorry for New Guy, and that had never happened before.

“Six months go by.  The Lord came down again.  Saw I hadn’t gotten anywhere with the ark.  Asked me what the hell was taking so long,” Webb went on.  Pastor Peterson had the slightest of smirks on his face.  

Webb continued his story. “I wept. I pleaded for the Lord to forgive me. I told him things were different since the last flood. I told him the city was dragging their feet with the building permit. I’d been arguing with the boat inspector over the plans God had provided. He insisted it needed a sprinkler system. My neighbors claimed I was violating the deed restrictions by building something of that height and the whole thing was submitted to the Zoning and Planning Committee for a resolution. The city council and Fort Stockton Power & Light each demanded a shed load of cash for the future cost of moving power lines to clear the way for the passage of the ark, once completed. I told them the sea was going to be coming to the ark in Fort Stockton, not the other way around. Didn’t sway the bastards a damn bit. ”

It seemed like Webb’s story was longer than the original version in Genesis, but damned if it wasn’t at least a little entertaining.  

He continued, “Getting wood was a problem.  The ban on harvesting trees due to the Greater Spotted Barn Owl situation hampered all my efforts.  I told the environmentalists that I needed the wood to save the Spotted Barn Owls, but they didn’t want to hear about it.  When I started gathering animals I got served papers by both PETA and ASPCA.  Said I was confining the critters against their will in spaces that were too confined.  Called me inhumane.”

Even Lucinda sat down at this point to hear just where all this was going.

“The EPA let it be known that the ark couldn’t be built till environmental impact studies were completed on the proposed flood.  Meantime, I’m in the middle of a lawsuit with the Human Rights Commission on how many minorities have to be included in the work crew I put together to build the ark.”

What was the Lord’s reply?” asked New Guy.

“The skies cleared.  The sun came out, shining brighter than it ever had.  The Lord told me not to bother with the ark after all.  He wasn’t going to destroy the world,” Webb said.  “The government already had.”

We all sat back in our chairs.  Nobody was quite sure exactly what to say.  But Pastor Peterson seemed to have something on his mind that he wanted to share.

“This morning I woke up to the alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the public power monopoly regulated by the U.S. Department of Energy,” the pastor began. “Then I jumped into the shower and turned on the spigot. Fresh clean water sprang forth provided by a municipal water utility. While I was shaving, I turned on the TV to catch the news on one of several FCC-regulated channels. I wanted to hear what the National Weather Service of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration determined the weather was going to be like, using satellites designed, built, and launched by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. I wanted to be sure I was dressed appropriately for anything God might throw our way.”

The look on Webb Duval’s face seemed to change just slightly.

“Shaved and showered, I went into the kitchen and made a bowl of cereal. I noted the contents of the box had been inspected by the U.S. Department of Agriculture. I took my morning prescriptions. They’d been determined to be safe by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration.” Rex Hall nodded in the affirmative. Lucinda ignored the customers who’d come in waiting to be seated.

Pastor Peterson was on an inspired mission.  “I glanced at my watch after breakfast and noticed the time.  I can trust it to be accurate, as it is regulated by the United States Congress to be accurate by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the U.S. Naval Observatory.  Sure enough, it was time to get in my Ford and head into town.  That’s the Ford deemed safe to drive by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.  It was a quick drive to get to the Grounds for Divorce because of the roads contracted and maintained by the local, state, and federal Departments of Transportation.  I had to stop at the Eggs & Ammo for gas.  Not a problem knowing that the quality of fuel sold there is regulated by the Environmental Protection Agency.  I paid for it using legal tender issued by the Federal Reserve Bank.”

The line to get into the cafe was getting long, extending out the door.  Lucinda just waved them in, “Sit anywhere you want.  I’ll be over in a minute.”

“After the Eggs & Ammo, I had to make a stop at the Post Office, mailing out care packages to the congregation’s members who are homebound.  There’s no doubt in my mind each will be delivered, as always.  Then I dropped the kids off at Alamo Elementary and Jim Bowie High, both public schools,” Pastor Peterson remarked.

Delgado came out from the kitchen to see why he hadn’t had any orders come back for a while.  He stood behind Lucinda for the rest of the story.

“After dropping the kids off at school, I had to swing by the church to check on the new addition being framed.  Luckily, none of the workers had been maimed or killed at work thanks to the workplace regulations imposed by the Department of Labor and the Occupational Safety and Health Administration,” 

Pastor Peterson’s remarks were longer than one of his sermons on a Sunday morning.  But he still wasn’t done.  “I pulled the Ford into the parking lot of the Grounds for Divorce, grateful that the place hadn’t burned down since the last time I was here, partly because of the state and local building codes and the regular inspections by the Fire Marshall and the Department of Health.  Normally, along with my morning Folgers I’d take part in the discussion of whatever cars or trucks had been pulled up by someone around the table.  Of course, to do that every day, we need the internet.  The one developed by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration.”

There was a hush around the cafe.  Nobody said anything.  Delgado made his way back to the kitchen, figuring there would be a flurry of orders headed his way soon.  Lucinda headed over to the Bunn-O-Matic to put on a fresh pot of Folgers.

Webb Duval and Pastor Peterson both stood up and stared at each other across the table.  Pastor Peterson reached out his hand towards Duval.  Duval extended his midway over the chrome caddy holding the salt and pepper shakers and ketchup.  They didn’t say a word, but shook hands firmly.  Both turned and headed to the door.  Duval opened the door, Pastor Peterson went out first, headed out to his Ford Taurus parked on the left side of the parking lot, Duval headed over to the ol’ green GMC in front, over to the right.

We’ll have to wait till Duval comes in next time to hear if he wound up with a horse or a burro from the Bureau of Land Management. We were tickled to hear that Pastor Peterson’s sermon on Sunday was on Mark 12:17.