Mustard Man

By David Ward

The heroes are hidden among us.
Innocence is the gift that enables every new child to see the world in the splendor that it could be. For a while, it blinds them to the injustice and neglect, all the while opening their eyes to the marvels. Innocence is about all Poo Lezenby has going for him. How long can he hold on to it through a rotating door of caregivers, part-time dads, and finally an orphanage?
“Mustard Man” follows the events in the life of the child with the unfortunate name as he struggles to replace the lost innocence with faith in the absence of hope. The same abandonment that nearly shuts him down him also opens up the channel through which he connects with the heroes: miraculous people doing miraculous things. Armed with an ancient text, the tattered remnants of a small section of a New Testament, Poo sets out on a quest of internal discovery, specifically, the meaning of a parable of moving mountains with “..faith as a grain of mustard seed...”
As an adult, Poo is reunited with a childhood friend, Roland, and they run with an experiment that makes them a fortune in the condiment business. However, when the business threatens to reveal Roland’s dark secret, the duo develop an elaborate scheme to circumvent the system.
Along the way, a cast of colorful characters from a homeless man to a former preacher turned biker to a gang leader, each lend a speck of their own insight to guide his journey. Poo’s quest comes full circle where his spiritual journey meet his physical life atop a pile of broken dreams. In the end, his innocence is lost, but the greater gift is found, and he must move a mountain.
The heroes are hidden within us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Ward
• Release date: Jul 31, 2013

Book preview

Chapter One

Poo took one step into the room and stopped. He looked down past his feet into the gaps between the slats of the wood flooring and put his arms out for balance as though he were at the foot of a swinging rope bridge. The boards were thick enough to cast a concealing shadow over the mysteries that dwelled beneath, and if the surface of the floor ever had a finish, it had long since been worn away.

Yet undecided, Poo surveyed the room in search of either inspiration or deterrent. A set of built-in bookshelves to his right may have been made from the very same weathered oak as the floor. In one place a nail had surrendered and bent on its way in, but was hammered down anyway, scarring the surface with a silver check. The shelves housed an array of items from rusted die-cast toys to a burlap sack that could be marbles. Its only book was a dog-eared Bible with a cracked leather spine and a generous coating of dust. The upper shelves would remain a mystery to the three foot nothing child.

Opposite the bookshelf was a dresser with tall legs that seemed oddly out of place in its near elegance. On one corner of it sat the largest jar Poo had ever seen. What made this jar even more spectacular was that it was nearly filled with coins. Light from the small curtainless window reflected glints of silver and copper in all directions giving the illusion of majesty. Poo had never seen so much money- at least not in real life. The oversized jar was most assuredly the trophy of this room and curious enough to make Poo forget that he had been crying. He imagined the owner of this treasure must be a pirate.

The rest of the small room was taken up by the monstrosity of a bed. It was no wider than a standard full size, but it was tall enough that Poo would have needed a stool if he had any desire to climb upon it.

He didn't.

Poo’s gaze returned to the treasure. He began to absently suck on his thumb and hung in limbo until the screen door clapped closed in the room behind him. He spun to meet not a pirate, but a giant.

You doin' in my room? The sound came from the back of the giant's throat as though his lips, jaw, and tongue were only in the way.

Poo looked down in confusion at a new version of the old dilemma; one step forward would bring him out of the bedroom, but then he would be a step closer to the giant who blotted the screen door and the sunlight behind it.

Huh? The giant asked again.

I was just- Poo's voice tapered.

What? It was an invitation for him to speak up.

Poo pointed to the kitchen where the woman with a newspaper sat. She said you had comic books.

Oh.

The lines fell from the giant's face making him appear instantly less menacing and he moved toward the door frame and into the room causing Poo to back up to avoid being trampled. The giant closed the door behind him trapping them both inside and causing a skip in Poo's heart and a squeak to rise up his throat, before it became evident that the giant was only trying to free a large crate from behind the door. There was a more freshly worn area scratched into the wood floor that suggested that this crate often made its short trip from the corner to the center of the room where it now sat. The giant heaved the lid off and stood straight, presenting the crates contents with a bit of dramatic flair and he eyed Poo for a reaction.

The crate was packed with comic books in four stacks nearly two feet deep. Poo's eyes widened to take it all in and mouth froze in an o at the end of Wow!

Another treasure even better than the last. Poo looked up at the giant. His fear turned to admiration and the giant smiled and clapped his hands at Poo's unmistakable wonder.

They call me Bo and this is my comic book collection.

They call me Poo.

Bo nodded, finding no fault nor humor in the child’s name.

From then on, the two were inseparable. The giant and the child were visual opposites, but mental companions. Bo’s mama called him special, more distant kin called him an idiot. Poo didn’t know or care about any of that. Poo simply called him Bo.

They took their breakfast on the back porch every morning, then headed out for tores, as Bo would say. Most of Bo's chores were self-assigned, and Poo was glad to help- except for burning the trash. Bo insisted that Poo stay back ‘bout fity foot or so. Neither of them knew how far fifty feet was, but to Poo it seemed too far since Bo kept the fire contained in the cinder block pit.

The time between chores and lunch was spent cross-legged on the bed amid a spread of comic books. Most of the time each had their own and would sometimes poke the other, Hey, look at this part. Poo could put most of the story together by looking at the pictures. Sometimes, if Poo were really persuasive, Bo would read one to him, or at least tell the story to him. Bo knew some of the words, like bam and pow and some he made up, but his enthusiasm was good and Poo was convinced that Bo was the best comic book reader he knew.

After the post lunch nap each day, Bo would dig his hand into the jar of coins and load his pocket. Let's go get some can-can. So Poo followed Bo through the screen door and across the yard.

The sidewalk was split and volcanoed in several places with tufts of grass breaking through. One day, as Poo hopped over one of these he slipped his small hand into Bo's where it disappeared. Bo looked down at him and only nodded and gave his hand a small squeeze.

Ok, was all he said. Every day after that, they held hands on the walk.

As they crossed the railroad tracks, Bo would lift Poo by the arm as though the space between the tracks was too much for one so small. Poo would just jump and swing to the other side. The sidewalks improved immediately on the other side of the tracks where they entered the downtown area from a side street. Two more blocks and a left onto Main would bring them to their destination at the corner drug store.

Inside were a dozen rows of products that Poo never noticed because the area in front of and the wall on the left side of the counter was dedicated completely to candy.

Bo pointed, What kind can-can you want?

Poo answered in a wide smile and began scanning.

Good afternoon, Bo. The man behind the counter wore a white shirt and a paper hat.

G'afternoon, Mr. Duncan.

Well, who did you bring with you, Bo? Mr. Duncan nodded.

That's my friend, Poo. Bo said tossing a caramel rope onto the counter.

Poo? Mr. Duncan cocked his head, but his smile held.

Bo simply nodded.

Usually, this is the part where the adults make jokes as though Poo wasn't there or couldn't understand, but not this time.

Hmm, Mr. Duncan pondered as he made his way Poo's direction on the other side of the counter. Like the silly ol’ bear, huh?

Automatically, Poo retold what he had heard a dozen times before, Nope, like the stinky stuff.

Bo was unaffected as he weighed the pros and cons of taffy versus bit-o-honey, but Mr. Duncan froze. Again, his smile held, but his wide eyes betrayed his shock.

Then pity.

Then compassion.

As Poo continued to inventory the colorful stacks and bags of candy, Mr. Duncan resumed his movement toward the candy where he stopped alongside Poo and pretended to straighten the displays.

What kind of candy do you like best, Poo.

Poo shrugged. I don't know, Mr. Duncan. I've never tried any of these before, except for those Pixie Stix.

Really? Well, then I recommend that you try something different each time you have a chance until you decide what flavors suit you best.

Poo paused, then nodded, Yes sir, that sounds smart.

Indeed it is! You should always gather as much knowledge as you can about things, Poo. That way you can make the best choices. Smart choices.

Poo nodded, selected the candy with the ugliest package and made his way to the counter where Bo was waiting.

Mr. Duncan began punching into the cash register which dinged in response, then he paused, holding up Poo's selection. Black licorice. Interesting choice. He peered over the counter into Poo's face, and you've never had these before?

Poo shook his head no.

Mr. Duncan reached into a bowl beside the register and added a couple of brightly wrapped candies. Why don't you take a couple of these, too? Just in case.

Poo smiled and shrugged.

Mr. Duncan counted up the change Bo placed on the counter, bagged the candies, and then came forward to rest his elbows on the counter.

Well, you know, Poo, he said holding the small bag out, because I sell so much candy, it just so happens that I have met hundreds of boys about your age. And I don't believe that you are any stinkier than any of the others. Relieved of the bag, Mr. Duncan's hands pointed at Poo and his eye winked. As a matter of fact, I would go so far as to say you are quite charming.

Uh, huh! Uh, huh! Bo agreed with excitement.

Poo blushed, unsure what charming meant, but he could tell it was nice.

Remember this, Poo: Mr. Duncan continued, Don't ever think that you don't deserve the best, because you do. I can tell that there is something extra special in you.

Poo's eyes glassed and his brows rose up and down unsure how to respond. He looked up at Bo for help.

Bo just smiled, his nodding was ceaseless and animated.

Mr. Duncan shifted to ease Poo's discomfort. That's right, Poo. Just like Bo. Did you know that Bo is incredible?

Poo perked at the familiar word. You mean like the Incredible Hulk?!

Mr. Duncan threw his head back and laughed, Exactly!

Bo clapped, Yeah, if I could know... I knew...If I could do ... Bo paused and shrugged. How does it go, Mr. Duncan? That thing you told me?

Mr. Duncan smiled and told him, If you KNEW more, you could DO more.

Before they reached the first corner, Poo appreciated the extra candy that Mr. Duncan had added. His response to the black licorice flavor was so dramatic that it sparked a crazy-face contest between him and Bo. After the railroad tracks, they detoured from the path home to throw the licorice whips into the woods where they could do no more harm to mankind. Later, Bo had second thoughts, so they circled back to the around and dug through the fallen leaves and twigs until they found each whip they had thrown. Bo was afraid they would poison the forest animals.

In the days that followed, Poo picked out the brightest packages and avoided everything in even close proximity to the black licorice. But, he kept the package so that he would remember what not to buy.

Chapter Two

The following excerpt is from the Journal of Poo Lezenby recovered by the Indiana State Police and reviewed by Detective Branson J Keller who references these pages as exhibit 14C in his report calling into evidence Mr. Lezenby's early psychological problems.

Since my outburst at the assembly, I have been assigned to a daily therapy session with Dr. Marcia. She said that I should keep a journal. Actually, she insisted. She has this hourglass with blue sand in it, and when she flips it, I either stare at it or start writing stuff down. It’s supposed to help me keep my thoughts organized so that I won’t confuse all of my emotions with anger or something like that. I have ASU. It’s a disease we invented: angry-stop-unlucky. It’s the opposite of happy-go-lucky, which is generally considered more desirable. Dr. Marcia is a lot different from the other adults around here and she makes me laugh. But she doesn’t really understand life in the orphanage- she thinks I should report Roger. I told her I have ASU, not a death wish, and I’d like to live to see fourteen. Besides, I catch enough crap for being pulled from class for these shrink sessions. Not to mention everyone thinks it was me that shredded that Bible. Some of the younger guys are afraid of me now. They all think I’m crazy- guess that’s why I’m here now in the Dr.’s office writing this stuff down.

Anyway, the rest of that Bible is held together with a paperclip. I just call it Matt, since all that remains is the front cover and the book of Matthew. I still try to read it, but now I have to be sneaky because evidently, reading it makes me seem even crazier. At first I didn’t care, but then...well, then I did. The guys here can be pretty harsh, which is messed up because if they knew the kinds of things that Matt says, they would all be reading it, too. Surely. How can they have it so wrong? So bass-ackward?

I guess the same way I did. I’ve made fun of church people before, too. I guess I didn’t know any better. The guys here don’t know any better either. Now I do, though. And once you know, you can’t go back- not really.

By definition, God created all things, earth and sky, fire and ice, metal and music, volcanoes and sharks, skateboards and chicks... What’s not freakin’ awesome about that? So why is it that people who try to learn about God are geeky, weak, weird, or otherwise lame? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they’re right- either I’m crazy or most everyone else around here is. I guess crazy is not so bad. At least I’m not in math class. Ha, now who’s crazy?

Besides, what if by learning about the most powerful force in the universe, you get a little more powerful yourself? I’m willing to look into that. And maybe that seems like a self-serving reason. It’s not; I can justify that, too. (crazy) Anyway, it’s a start.

There’s this one guy in our bay, Sammy, who says he’s an atheist. He thinks that there is no such thing as God. So absurd. To deny the creator is to deny the creation. I asked him if he denies his own existence and he just made fun of me. He acts like religion is for small minded people- simpletons. He thinks he is above that, which is exactly the opposite! Contemplating God is so incredibly complex that it surpasses our physical brain’s ability. So we need spirit. It is an absolutely challenging endeavor. I think atheists like Sammy are just lazy.

It’s unfortunate that more people don’t try to figure this thing out. But I guess I know why. It’s funny, when you realize that the reason is fear. Maybe funny is not the right word, but its close because the whole world is so ridiculously well-disguised that you have to laugh to keep from crying.

Life: none of us are doing it right.

Whatever force that is antagonizing us, (I guess the Matt