Godless (16 page)

What would Jesus do? I ask myself. What would Martin Luther do? What would Muhammad do? What would Moses do? They would cry out, “Let my people go!”

I will gather the Chutengodians, and together we will set off across the freeways and farms. I will part the rivers with my staff. We will cross deserts, and scale mountains and we will come to a new land, a new Eden, where water towers dot the landscape, protecting us with the power of their great wet heads.

I look out the window at the dome of the Ten-legged One, and suddenly I am back inside, swimming in darkness, holding tight to Magda's hand.

Me: Why is it that new religions always get persecuted?

Just Al: What do you mean?

Me: The Jews were persecuted by the Egyptians, the Christians were persecuted by the Romans, and the Protestants were persecuted by the Catholics. The Pilgrims came to America because everybody in England was giving them a hard time. Every time somebody starts up a new religion, the old religions get all twisted over it.

Just Al: I, uh, er …

Me: What does the pope care if some kid in St. Andrew Valley decides to worship dogs?

Just Al: Ha ha ha!

Brianna: Jason, you are so lame!

I catch Magda's eye and wink at her, Chutengodian to Chutengodian. She looks away, flustered.

Me: This is a democracy, right? I mean, I have a right to worship dog piss if I want to.

Brianna: That is just sick.

George: Why dog piss?

Me: Why anything? Why not worship the sun? Why not worship a water tower? Isn't it arbitrary?

Tracy: How can it be arbitrary? God isn't a made-up
thing
. He's
God
.

Me: Prove it.

Tracy: I don't have to
prove
it. I
know
it.

Just Al: I have to agree with Tracy here. I
know
that God is real. I feel his presence in my heart.

Me: What does it feel like?

Just Al: It's hard to describe, Jason. It feels good.

Me: Oh. I thought maybe it was like heartburn or something.

The TPO meeting ends with one of Just Al's ridiculous prayers, something about Jesus being “one cool dude.” On the way out I catch Magda in the hallway.

“Hey, how are you doing?” I ask.

“In trouble up to my ears.”

“Me too. I'm a prisoner. And my dad is making me read a bunch of books.”

“That's not so bad. You like to read.”

“You haven't seen the books. Plus, he wants me to write book reports on them.”

“Oh. Well, I've pulled permanent baby-sitting duty for my little brothers. They even made me quit my job at Wigglesworth's. I'm surprised my parents even let me out of the house for TPO. They think you guys corrupted me.”

“Did we?”

She grins. “Maybe just a little. Have you talked to Henry?”

“Yeah. He's already planning another swimming party.”

Magda laughs, and I feel it inside my chest.

There is nothing in the world I would rather do than make Magda Price laugh.

“He's funny,” she says.

“Who, Henry? I thought you thought he was scary.”

“Scary on the outside, sure. But he's got a good heart.”

I think,
Good heart?
What does
that
mean? Don't
I
have a good heart?

I say, “Oh.”

A
ND THE ELDERS OF THE
T
WO
T
RIBES FORMED THEIR PEOPLE INTO GREAT ARMIES, AND THE ARMIES DID GATHER UPON THE PLAINS AND THE DESERTS AND THE SEAS
.

24
 

For the next several days I stay close
to home, playing the part of a penitent sinner. I am Cain, I am Judas. But inside, I am Paul the Apostle, I am Nelson Mandela, I am the Bird Man of Alcatraz. They can imprison me, they can bury me in religious tracts, they can take away my Xbox—but they can never destroy the spirit of Chutengodianism.

Secretly, in the dead of night, I begin work on a comic book based upon the Chutengodian Midnight Mass. Only difference is, I add a scene where the Chutengodian Commandments appear etched upon the steel walls of the tank:

1. Thou shalt not be a jerk.
   

2. Get a life.
   

3. Thou shalt not eat asparagus.
   

The third one is kind of personal, I admit. I've never liked asparagus. But the first two offer good, solid advice for anybody, and they aren't really covered in the original ten. I move on to the baptism scene.

I'm not the best artist in the world, but I'm not bad. Usually you can tell what it is I'm trying to draw, but I'm having trouble with the scenes inside the Godhead. I can't seem to capture that vast, echoey space. After a while I give up on the background and just work on Magda swimming in her bra and panties.

Maybe I'll give it to her for a present.

Someday.

I tried to read some of the books my dad gave me. I got about ten pages into
Why I am a Catholic
before accidentally-on-purpose dropping it in the bathtub. Ooops. It is drying now. Amazing how thick a book gets when it's been drenched and dried.

Teen Spirit: The Holy Trinity for Today's Youth
, was not much better. I gave up on that one halfway through the table of contents. I looked at
Teen Jesus: His Life and Times
for about thirty seconds. I'd rather read a user's guide for a Korean DVD player—at least that's good for some humor. As for the other two books, I haven't exactly opened them.

I've got less than two weeks to turn in my book reports. Maybe World War III will break out, or a rogue
comet will destroy North America, or something else will come along to save me.

By Tuesday I'm pretty much stir crazy, so as soon as my mother leaves for her bridge club, I take off to see how Shin is doing. I knock on his window. No answer. Then I hear Shin's voice, chanting softly.

“… and first there was the Ocean and the Ocean was alone, and first there was the Ocean and the …”

I look around. No Shin, but I can still hear the voice. I back up a few steps. There he is, standing on the peak of the roof staring down at the ground. His face is pale and shiny with sweat.

“Shin!” I shout.

He jerks like he's been jabbed with a needle.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He looks down at me. “Practicing.”

I notice that he has a rope tied around his waist.

“Practicing what?”

“Being scared.”

“What's the rope for?”

“I've got the other end tied to the chimney. Just in case.”

“How'd you get up there?”

He points. At the corner of the house I see a bright yellow fiberglass ladder leaning against the eaves.

“Why do you want to be scared?” I ask, more curious than worried now.

“I'm going up.” His pointing finger swings toward the tower.

“I don't know if you should …”

“I
have
to go up.”

“There's nothing up there.”

“That's not what you said last week. You
swam
in him.”

“Yeah, and Henry almost got killed, Magda and I are under house arrest, and I think Dan is being tortured in a dungeon someplace. It's not worth it.”

Shin shakes his head. “You don't understand. I
have
to go.”

“Maybe
you're
taking this thing a little too seriously.”

“Maybe you're not serious enough.” He glares at me, his lip quivering. “He talks to me, you know. I hear what he says.” He looks toward the tower.

“Shin, you're scaring me.”

His face reddens. “You think I care if you're scared?” he shouts. “He doesn't want
you
, he wants
me
!” He is balanced on the edge of the roof, his fear of heights obliterated by anger.

“Be careful!” I say.

“
You
think it's a joke.
You
let Henry Stagg spoil everything.
You
left me on the steps.
You
left
me
” His cheeks are wet.

“Shin, come on down.”

“Screw you,” he sobs.

I hear a car pull into the driveway. Mrs. Schinner jumps out, gray-streaked red hair flying around her head. “Peter!” she screams.

Shin steps back from the edge and shrinks about a third.

“Peter!” she shrieks again. “What are you
doing?
”

“It's okay, Mrs. Schinner,” I say. “He's got a rope tied to him.”

She whirls on me. “You! What are you doing here?”

“Nothing! I just—”

She is looking up again. “Peter! You get down from there right now!”

Shin, his hands shaking, is untying the rope. Mrs. Schinner turns back to me, hair whipping across her face.

“You put him up to this, Jason.”

“He was up there when I got here!”

“You—” She stabs the air between us with a long forefinger. “—are a bad influence.” I take a step back. Her eyes are quivering, her lips tight and hard. “Leave here this instant.”

Shin is clutching the end of his rope, watching us with an expression I can only describe as shattered.

“You need help getting down?” I ask him.

He shakes his head.

“Leave!” says Mrs. Schinner.

I leave.

What would have happened if Shin had fallen while I was standing there? What if he had hurt himself, or died? Would Mrs. Schinner want me sent to jail for murder? How could she hold me responsible for Shin's behavior? I didn't
do
anything.

“Yes, your honor, I pulled up in my car and there he
was, the Kahuna, encouraging my son to leap from the roof to his death.”

“Objection! The witness could not have heard anything my client said from inside her car!”

“Objection overruled. The defendant's mere presence at the scene proves his guilt. Bailiff! Escort this lying, murderous scumbag to the rat-infested dungeons.”

I suppose that Mrs. Schinner will say something to my parents, and I'll be busted for violating the terms of my incarceration. Oh well, nothing I can do about that now. I start for home, then I remember that Henry Stagg was supposed to get out of the hospital the day before yesterday.

A
ND THE CLOUDS OF WAR DID DESCEND UPON THE
E
ARTH, AND THE GREAT ARMIES CAME TOGETHER IN A HOLOCAUST OF FIRE AND WIND, AND THEY FOUGHT FROM DAWN TO DUSK, AND THE
P
RAGMATISTS PREVAILED ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE
G
REAT
W
AR
.

25
 

Janice, Henry's older sister, answers
the door. She looks just like Henry, only with longer hair, and breasts.

“Well, if it isn't a member of the St. Andrew Valley Synchronized Water Tower Swim Team,” she says. “I suppose you're looking for my idiot brother.”

“Is he home?”

“Yeah, and he's not going anywhere for a while. C'mon in.”

I go back to Henry's room and find him in his bed reading the latest issue of
Analog
. He looks at me and grins.

“Kahuna! How's it going?”

“Okay. How are you?”

“How do I look?” His right leg is held rigid from his hip to his foot by a plastic and foam splint. It is open at the end, revealing five grayish toes.

“Not great,” I say.

“I know. This sucks. Hey, you want to sign my splint?”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?”

“Okay.” I take the pen he offers me. The plastic splint already has several signatures scrawled on it, including Mitch, Marsh, and Bobby—the three stooges. And one that says,
Get well soon! XXXOOO, Magda
.

“Magda was here?”

“She brought me a box of chocolates and helped me eat them.”

“Oh.” I draw a picture of a figure wearing cowboy boots falling off a water tower. In my picture, he misses the catwalk.