posted March 31, 2004 04:17 PM
And now, the worst joke in the world, presented to you in the form of a short story."The Bell Ringer"
It was a dark and stormy night. The bells in the bell tower of St. Anthony’s cathedral were silent – the position of bell ringer was vacant, and had been so for some time. Father Abraham had put out a listing in the local journals, and there was a job posting on the bulletin board in the lobby of the grand cathedral, but, until tonight, there had been no inquiries.
Father Abraham was tending to the needs of the cathedral – cleaning wax from under the votives, replacing prayer books in the holders behind the pews – when there was a loud pounding on the mahogany double doors. The priest hurried to the vestibule and pulled open one of the massive doors.
On the doorstep, huddled under the slight overhang to keep himself out of the pouring rain, was a man. A man with no arms.
“I’ve come about the position of bell ringer” Said the man.
“Why, yes, I am looking for a bell ringer,” replied Father Abraham, “but the job requires someone who is able to pull the rope that rings the bell. No offense to you, my son, but you have no arms and the job would be very difficult, I would think.”
“Nonsense!” Said the man with no arms. “I am the eighth son in a family of bell ringers. My father was a bell ringer, his father was a bell ringer, his father’s father was a bell ringer, and so forth. Show me to your bell tower and I will demonstrate my craft.”
Although hesitant, Father Abraham decided to give the man with no arms a chance. He lead the way up the creaking stairs to the top of the tower that housed the massive bells.
“Now stand back” said the man. Father Abraham stood back.
The man with no arms took three steps backward, and then ran straight at one of the bells. He launched himself face-forward, and slammed directly into the middle of the large bell.
BONG!
He repeated this process three times more, all while Father Abraham watched in stunned silence.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
“My son,” Father Abraham said after the ringing of the bells had died down, “I cannot allow you to continue in this manner – that looks incredibly painful, not to mention dangerous.”
“Father, please,” the man with no arms said, “as I told you, I am a professional bell ringer. You would not only insult me, but you would insult the seven generations of professional bell ringers that have come before me, if you were to turn down my services here.”
Although uncomfortable, Father Abraham was persuaded by the man’s argument, and he hired his new bell ringer on the spot.
And everything worked out fine, at least for a month. The bell ringer came and went like clockwork, ringing the bell precisely on time and with great skill. But one fateful night, something went wrong. Perhaps there was a patch of water on the floor of the bell tower, or perhaps the bell ringer miscalculated his approach to the bell. Whatever the cause, for it cannot be known for certain, the bell ringer missed the bell, and fell from the tower to his death.
When the police came to investigate the death, an officer approached Father Abraham.
“This seems like an obvious case of misfortune,” the officer said, “an accidental death. Not much more we can do here, Father. I just need to ask you a few questions and we’ll be on our way. What was the man’s name?”
“You know,” said Father Abraham, “although he’d been working here for a month now, I never did ask him his name. All I can tell you is that his face rang a bell.”
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posted March 27, 2004 10:27 AM
