Cacophony

Saturday night was a beautiful night for a walk around town.  We'd made our way uphill to the old section of Pinal to deliver some spicy soup to friends.  There was a fresh slice of quarter moon riding in the sky, the night was warm in the upper eighties, the air almost tangible it had so much body to it, as the rich dusk slid in behind a hasty red sunset.  As we left our friend's home, the dusk had settled to a black velvet, feeling like summer in the desert night.  If you could import that kind of evening to Dillon Beach, you'd have yourself some Tourist Trade, I was thinking!

But as we finished our good-nights at our friend's big wooden gate, the soft desert night was sliced through by strident noise.  At first, I thought it was a teenager's car, windows open, streaming his music through the quiet streets.  No, this didn't move.  It stayed, spraying its message around the neighborhood. 

"What's going on?" I asked Bill.

Our friends just shrugged as if to say, "Gee!  He's at it again," telling us good-night again and shutting their door.  The noise had been obliterated behind their eighteen inch thick adobe walls.  We'd heard nothing while we'd been in their home.

"Jesus, save these sinners!" an old man's shrill voice boomed from a hand held electronic megaphone.  "Jesus.  Jesus.  Jesus."

"A revival?" I asked Bill, struck by the thought on what should be a soft moon velvet night.  The old man's voice cut the velvet darkness to shreds as he sing songed his so-called praise to Jesus and damned the sinners.  "Is that legal?"

"I dunno!  He seems to be doing it."

We glanced across the street to where a family group had been gathered on their patio playing with their grandchildren  when we'd entered our friends' home.  The patio was empty.  You couldn't hear yourself think with that noise going on in the next street.

"He's clearing the streets," I muttered.  We turned and headed down towards Main Street, as the old man's voice gained volume, then stumbled a time or two as he apparently gasped for breath.  He sounded like maybe he might have COPD and was having trouble maintaining his monologue.  I imagined he was a retired miner, intent on spreading the word of God, albeit his methods, while his lungs steadily decreased after decades of working the mines.

But even as his voice stumbled a time or two, it didn't deter his speechmaking.  As we moved up the street, you couldn't hear all his words, but you could tell he was still screeching out the word of God.  I'm sorry to repeat myself, but I just can not believe that this could be legal!  Yes, we've got freedom of speech and yes, we've got freedom of religion, but what kind of freedom are they taking away from me when I'd just as soon enjoy a quiet warm evening....quietly!

We walked the rest of the way up Main Street and turned on Magma to make our way down to the Dari-Queen on Highway 60.  Shouldn't a summer night's walk be finished up with a soft serve ice cream?  Darned right!  But even there, as we sat outside and licked our cones, you could hear the old man's strident demands.  Now, it sounded like he'd moved his act to the South side of town and was probably pissing off the residents on the other side of town.  Nothing like getting everybody Hot and Bothered on a warm night.

Today, I put a call in to the Town Manager, asking if such a thing is legal, or should I have reported it to the cops.  I know the police have better things to do than shush people up, but you know what?  He was intruding on my liberties and I don't think I want a Bible Thumper intruding on my warm fall nights walks!   

Thanks!  I feel better getting this one off my chest!  HA!