Godless (11 page)

Not exactly the Sermon on the Mount, but they seem impressed. Except for Shin, who is still busy sending thought daggers in Henry's direction.

“That sounded pretty good. Blasphemous, but good,” says Magda. “I think
you
should lead the mass, Jason.”

“That's fine with me,” Henry says.

“I thought you wanted to be High Priest.”

“You
made
me High Priest. I never said I'd run your religious service.”

Shin suddenly slides out of the booth, his lips working silently, his eyes glistening. He moves quickly toward the door in his jerky, high-elbowed gait.

“See ya tonight, Schinner,” Henry calls after him. He turns back to us. “What's his problem?”

“Is he okay?” Magda asks.

“He'll be all right,” I say, hoping it's true.

“He's one weird dude,” Henry says. “Look how he walks. Like he's trying to hold a golfball between his butt cheeks.”

Dan and I laugh, but Magda doesn't think it's funny.

“You guys are mean,” she says.

Maybe she's right. I shouldn't have laughed. I don't blame Shin for being angry. I should have talked to him before making Henry a Chutengodian.

“You think we should go after him?” Dan says.

“Better not,” I say. I hate having to explain and defend Shin's behavior. “I'll talk to him later.” We need a change of subject. I slam my fist on the table. “Right now, I thirst! Brainblasters for everybody!”

“You buying?” says Dan.

“This round is on the CTG,” I say. “The church coffers will provide!”

“The church has money?” Magda says.

“We will as soon as we take up a collection.” I take off my baseball cap and set it upside down on the table. “Who's going to be the first to make a contribution?”

Nobody says anything for a couple of seconds, then Henry makes a suggestion.

“You are,” he says.

I was afraid of that. I put my cap back on my head and trudge up to the counter to buy the drinks.

The responsibilities of a religious leader are many and varied.

And expensive.

A
ND THEY LOOKED UP AND THEY SAW THE GREAT SILVER BELLY, FAT AND WET, AND THEY FELL DOWN UPON THEIR KNEES ON THE MOIST EARTH AND THEY BOWED DOWN BEFORE IT AND THEY NAMED IT THE
T
EN-LEGGED
G
OD
.

16
 

I'm knocking on Shin's window. I
know he's in there, but his blinds are closed and he's not answering.

It's supposed to hit 100 degrees this afternoon. Feels like it's there already. The sun is cooking my back and I'm oozing sweat from every pore. I walk around the house to the front door and press the bell thirty or forty times, hoping to irritate him into answering. No luck. I try the doorknob. It's unlocked. I let myself in, out of the heat.

Ah, air conditioning! How did people survive without it? I stand in the Schinners' living room holding my arms out, letting my body cool and looking around at the books. Books everywhere. Shin's parents both teach at Harker College, twenty-five miles away. They are insane for books. Every possible square foot of wall space is taken up by bookshelves, every shelf stacked two or three deep with volumes of every shape, size, and description. It feels like being in a library where there is no librarian, and nobody throws anything out—not ever.

After I cool off a degree or two, I make my way to the back bedroom, where I find Shin lying flat on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There is a nasty smell in the room, a cross between dead fish and gym socks.

“Hey,” I say. “What reeks?”

“You,” he replies.

I sit down on the foot of his bed.

“I'm sorry. I should have talked to you.”

“Go to hell.”

“There is no Chutengodian hell,” I say, hoping to get a grin out of him.

No sale. He won't even look at me.

“Look, Shin, I had to let Henry in the church. He wouldn't tell me how to climb the tower unless I let him join.” Was that actually true? Maybe not. Another holy lie for the greater good.

“You didn't have to make him High Priest.”

“It's just a title. You heard him—he doesn't even want the job.”

Shin says nothing.

“You're coming up with us tonight, aren't you?”

“He's not even serious,” Shin says, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees. “It's just a joke to him.”

“What do you expect? I mean, it
is
kind of a joke.”

“You better hope
he
doesn't hear you say that.”

“Who? Henry?”

Shin gives me a red-eyed look. “Not
Henry
. What do I care what
Henry
thinks? I'm talking about the Ten-legged One.”

“Oh.” Is he kidding? Once again, I'm not sure. Shin starts rocking back and forth. I hate it when he does that.

I stand up, looking around for a change of subject, and see his gastropodarium. “So, how are your slimers doing?” I peer into the glass tank. “Your little pond is all dried up.” My nose wrinkles at the fetid odor. “So this is what reeks!”

“I've been busy.”

None of the snails are moving. I reach in and nudge one. It tips over on its side.

“I think they're dead.”

“They're not dead,” Shin says. “They're estivating.”

“What's that?”

“It's what pods do when things get bad. They pull into their shells and cover the opening with a cap of dried mucus. And wait. They can survive for months, waiting for rain.” Shin grips his knees with his thin fingers and leans forward, his eyes shimmering. “Wouldn't that be great?”

“You want me to give them some water?”

“Leave 'em alone.”

“I think some of them are dead, Shin.”

“I don't care.”

“You don't care if they die?”

He shrugs.

I feel bad for the snails. Shin is their god, and he has abandoned them. “I think you should come up with us tonight,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Henry was right about one thing. There's no way I can climb that leg.”

“You won't have to.”

“Oh? You going to build me an elevator?”

“I'm gonna build us a stairway to heaven.”

My mother has decided I have a hearing problem.

“I've been calling you for five minutes, Jason!”

“I was in the garage, Mom. Gimme a break.”

“What were you doing in the garage? My God, you're dripping sweat! Aren't you feeling well?”

“It's one hundred and twenty degrees out there, Mom. Anybody would sweat.”

“What on earth were you doing?”

“Working on a project.”

“What project?”

“It's a religious thing, Mom.”

“Oh! Something for your TPO group?”

“Something like that. What did you want?”

“To tell you I've made an appointment for you at the clinic.”

“What for?”

“Your annual blood screening.”

“Mom, I just had a blood test. I'm not even sick.”

“I know that dear, but we don't want to take any chances now, do we?”

After a lifetime of this, I've learned not to bother arguing. It's easier to give up a few tubes of blood.

I am in my bedroom at my desk working on a drawing of Magda, Goddess of Love, when my dad knocks on my door.

“Anybody home?”

I shove the Goddess of Love under some other papers.

“C'mon in.”

He pushes open the door and looks around my room with a nervous frown, as if he's afraid he might find a python curled up on the bed, or a pound of heroin, or a dead body.

When none of the above appear, he smiles. “How's it going, Jay?”

“Okay, “I say.

He sits down on the edge of my unmade bed. “Mom tells me you've been working on some sort of project for church.”

“Oh. Well, I was, but it didn't work out.”

“What were you making? Maybe I can help.”

“It's no big deal.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

We look at each other for a long time, maybe two seconds.

“So!” my father claps his hands on his knees. “How's it going with the TPO?”

“I go to the meetings. Some of the kids are all right.”

“I hear you talk about quite a number of different things.”

“We talk about whatever,” I say, wondering where this is going.

“I bet you kids come up with some pretty wild stuff.”

“Not really.”

“When I was your age, I had some pretty strange ideas.”

“Really? Like what?”

“When I was in college I questioned my faith,” he says, shaking his head as if such a thing were almost too bizarre to be believed.

I wonder what would happen if I told him I was a Chutengodian. He'd probably send me to a Catholic military academy, or have me committed. An alarming thought occurs to me.

“Have you been talking to Just Al?” I ask.

He looks puzzled.

“I mean, Al Anderson,” I say.

“Oh. Actually, I did run into Al this morning over at Good Shepherd.”

I say, “You know, we have a pact at the TPO meetings. Everything we say in those meetings is private, just like what you say in the confessional. What did Al tell you?”

My father shifts his feet and licks his lips the way he does when he wishes he were somewhere else.
“Nothing. He was just saying that you kids have a lot of strange ideas, that's all.”

“Well I think that sucks. I don't know how he expects us to be open and honest when he's going to repeat everything we say to our parents.”

“Now calm down, Jay. It wasn't anything like that.”

“Then what
did
he say?”

“He told me that a lot of pretty radical ideas get tossed around in those meetings. I asked him to give me an example. He told me about this one kid who's invented his own god called the Ten-legged something-or-other. We had a good laugh about that. Then I asked him how you were doing, and he said, ‘Why don't you ask him?' So that's what I'm doing. It's not like he handed me a transcript, Jay.”

“Still, he shouldn't be saying anything.”

“Maybe not, Jay.” He stands up and claps me on the shoulder. “But I'm glad to hear you're doing so well.”

“Me too,” I say.

After he leaves, closing the door behind him, I pull out the Goddess of Love and get back to work.

A
ND SO IT CAME TO BE THAT A GROUP OF DISCIPLES SET FORTH TO SPREAD THE WORD OF THE
T
EN-LEGGED
O
NE THROUGHOUT THE LAND, AND THEY CALLED THEMSELVES
C
HUTENGODIANS, AND FOR A TIME THE
O
CEAN WAS CONTENT
.

17
 

I watch the worshippers arrive.

First there is Dan, who shows up a predictable ten minutes early. He strolls up the slope, tips his head back to gaze upward at the majesty of the Ten-legged One, then sits down on one of the leg bases to wait. He does not see me.

A few minutes later, Magda and Henry arrive together. Henry is carrying a large backpack. Magda is dressed in black jeans and a halter top. Having recently drawn a picture of her wearing far less than that, I feel as if I can see right through her clothing. Interesting. But why is she with Henry? Maybe they ran into each other—they both live on the same side of town. Dan sees them and walks over. I can't hear what they say.

At exactly midnight, they are looking around, probably wondering where I am. They move closer and I hear Dan say, “He probably went to get Shin.” Henry says something in a low voice and Magda laughs. I feel myself clench up. I don't know what Henry said, but I don't like that Magda thought it was funny.

“I'm hot,” Magda complains. “It must still be in the eighties.”