Godless (17 page)

Henry looks at it and frowns. “You know something? I never got my boots back.”

“You won't be wearing them for a while anyway.”

“True. Hey, I thought you were permanently grounded.”

“I'm AWOL. I was just over at Shin's. He was up on his roof working on his fear of heights. He still wants to go up.”

Henry laughs, and I feel guilty for sharing this with him. Shin would hate me.

Henry says, “There is
no way
Schinner is going up that tower, I don't care how many rope ladders you build for him.”

“You don't know Shin,” I say.

“Why would I want to?”

“Well, for one thing, he's smarter than you and me put together.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “So's a computer. That doesn't mean it can climb.”

“You don't know him,” I say again. “He's stubborn as a cat.”

Henry looks past me and grins. “Hey! Mitch, my man! Burgers and fries, what a guy!”

Mitch Cosmo is standing in the bedroom doorway holding two large paper McDonalds sacks. Bobby Whatever and Marsh Andrews are crowding through the door behind him.

“I hope you guys brought enough for his Kahunaness,” Henry says.

Mitch looks doubtful. The smell of burgers and fries rolls into the room.

“That's okay,” I say. “I'm not hungry.”

“You sure?” Henry says. “It's in the commandments, right? Treat your fellow Choots right.”

“What's a choot?” I ask.

“We're Choots,” says Marsh.

“What commandments?” I ask.

“Show him, Mitch.”

Mitch sets the McDonalds bags down, reaches into his pocket, and comes out with a grimy, folded sheet of paper. He unfolds the paper, looks it over like a chimpanzee studying a menu, and hands it to me.

The Chootengodiun Commanments

For a moment I am speechless. Not only has Henry come up with his own set of commandments, he has invited his stooges into the CTG.

“You spelled Chutengodian wrong,” I say.

Henry laughs, echoed by the stooges.

“You spelled ‘Commandments' wrong, too,” I say.

“At least we're consistent,” Henry says, opening one of the McDonalds bags.

I read down the list of “commanments.”

1. Don't be a wuss
   
2. Don't forget to duck
   
3. Don't take any shit
   
4. Honor your fellow Choots
   
5. Don't fall
   
6. Don't get caught
   

“You couldn't come up with ten?” I say, ignoring the fact that I came up with only three.

“We're working on it,” Henry says, unwrapping a cheeseburger. The stooges are also digging in; the sound of crinkling paper is deafening, and my mouth is watering. “You want some fries?”

“No. Listen, you can't just make up your own rules.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already
have
the Chutengodian Commandments.”

“So now we got six more. Besides, I didn't make them up by myself.”

“You had help from
these
guys?” I say with a sneer.

“Me and the High Priestess came up with them. Mitch just wrote ‘em down.”

“Magda?”

“Yup.”

I rip the sheet of paper in half and let the torn paper flutter to the floor. “Your commandments are null and void.”

Henry laughs. “You can't do that. I'm the High Priest.”

“Well I'm the Founder and Head Kahuna.”

“I still don't know what a Kahuna is.”

“Like I told you, I'm your pope.”

“Not my pope. We Choots are Protestants.” He shoves a fry in his mouth. “Protestant Choots don't recognize the pope. It's the Choots versus the Chutengodians. And by the way, the tower is off limits to you.”

“We go where we want,” I say.

“Who? You and Shin? Gimme a break.”

“Me and Shin and Magda and Dan.”

“I don't care about Danny. As for Magda, she's with us, your Kahunaness.”

“We'll see about that,” I say, shoving my way past the Protestant stooges and out the door.

“Thanks for stopping by!” Henry calls after me.

I get home about five minutes before my mother returns from her bridge club. I am congratulating myself for my
excellent timing when the phone rings. A few minutes later my mother opens my bedroom door and crosses her arms and gives me a look that I do not like one bit.

“That was Mrs. Schinner,” she says.

Busted.

She is giving me that intense look she gets when she suspects me of having a new disease. “Jason, whatever were you thinking?”

“Sorry,” I say. “I just needed to get out.”

“That poor boy could have fallen and hurt himself.”

“He had a rope tied to his waist. He would've just sort of hung there.”

“Jason!”

“Look, I just went over there to see how he was doing. He was already on the roof when I got there.”

“Jason, I don't even want to hear it,” she says, holding up her palms.

“I'm
sorry
.”

She flaps her hands, beating away my words, then turns and slams the door behind her.

My mother, slamming the door. That's different.

S
O THE
F
AITHFUL GATHERED IN THE FORESTS AND ON THE MOUNTAINS AND IN DARK CAVERNS, AND THEY PREPARED THEMSELVES, AND ON THE NIGHT OF THE SECOND DAY THEY IMMERSED THEMSELVES IN THE RIVERS AND STREAMS
. A
ND OTHERS OF THEM WADED OUT INTO THE LAKES AND THE SEAS, OR MARCHED UPON THE GLACIERS
. A
ND AT DAWN ON THE THIRD DAY, THEY CALLED UPON THE
O
CEAN'S
A
VATARS TO STRIKE
.

26
 

Being pope sucks. I guess that's why
they hire those old guys to do the job. Maybe at their age they just don't care. I try not to care, but it's hard. I'm stuck here with no phone, no Xbox, nothing to do but read and draw pictures. I pick up the
Teen Jesus
book and flip through it. Did Jesus have problems like this? I guess so. They ended up nailing him to a cross.

I toss the book back on the floor.

What if Shin and I hadn't run into Henry that day? What if Henry hadn't slugged me, and I hadn't looked up at the belly of the tower all woozy and stunned? Chutengodianism might never have happened. We would never have climbed that tower, or swum in the Godhead. Henry would not be lying broken in bed. Shin would be collecting pods instead of climbing on his roof. And me, I'd be doing whatever I wanted to do.

I wonder what that would be. Maybe Td be doing something with Magda. Has she really become a “Choot”? I just can't see her hanging out with Henry and his stooges, but you never know what a girl will do. I open my sketchbook and look at the drawing I made of her swimming in the tank, her mouth open, gulping air, her smooth legs kicking up bubbles, her breasts pushing out against her wet bra. I think I made her arms a little too short, but she's still beautiful.

Maybe Magda and I could start over like Adam and Eve. Convert some new members. Not violent juvenile delinquents like Henry, but normal, healthy, sane types. Like Dan, only not Dan. We could convert them one at a time. Me and Magda, Head Kahuna and High Priestess. Let Henry have his little sect.

As for Shin, he's gone off in his own direction. I wish I could call him. If I could get him talking about pods and video games I think he'd be okay. The thing about Shin that nobody else understands is that he has a highspeed, one-track, damn-the-torpedoes-full-speed-ahead mind. When he gets going on something he just goes. When it's something like snails it's pretty harmless, but now that he's fixated on water towers and Chutengodianism … I don't know.

Maybe I never should have brought it up with him. Shin was happier when he was his own god—the Pod God. Now his snails are all estivating. He's not a god anymore, he's just a cult of one, listening to voices in his head.

Something my father said comes back to me:
You have to realize, Jason, that your friends listen to what you say
.

Maybe Mrs. Schinner was right. Maybe I am a bad influence.

I turn to a fresh page in my sketchbook. I hold my pencil poised over the white expanse, but my mind is as blank as the paper. The Founder and Head Kahuna of the Church of the Ten-legged God has run out of ideas.

For the next two days things are very tense at Bock Penitentiary. The prisoner, sentenced to solitary confinement, is surly and unrepentant. The guards are suspicious and quick to mete out punishment.

On Thursday they force the prisoner to accept correctional therapy. He is delivered from Bock Penitentiary to the Church of the Good Shepherd Brainwashing Facility by armored vehicle. The transport route takes them past the St. Andrew Valley water tower. The prisoner looks up at the great bulging tank and notices graffiti spray-painted in bright red on its side. He looks closer and sees that the marks are words. He reads:

DON'T BE A WUSS

“Uh-oh,” says the prisoner.

“What's that?” asks the male guard. “Did you say something, Jason?”

“No,” I say. “It's nothing.”

Just Al: Jason? You haven't had much to say this evening.

Me: Sorry. What are we talking about?

Just Al: We were discussing the church's position on abortion.

Me: What about it?

Brianna: There's a Life Teen rally in Fairview next Saturday. A bunch of us are going.

Just Al: We've arranged to use three school buses, so there's plenty of room for everybody.

Me: Sorry, not interested.

Brianna: You wouldn't be, Jason. You probably think all babies should be killed.

Me: I can think of at least one who wouldn't have been missed.

Just Al: Come on now. Let's keep things civil.

Brianna: He thinks he can say anything he wants.

Me: It's called freedom of speech.

Just Al: Speaking of freedom of speech, let's talk a bit about the vandalism that occurred last night. I'm talking about the graffiti on the water tower.

Brianna: I think it's totally stupid.

Tracy: I heard it was a cult.

Magda: It's not a cult. Just some kids messing around.

Tracy: How do
you
know?

Magda: I just do.

Just Al: The question is, why isn't spray-painting a message on public property protected by free speech?

Brianna: Because it's
public
property.

Just Al: But we can have a pro-life rally on public property, and that is protected. How are the two things different?

Me: One is a waste of paint; the other is a waste of time.

Brianna: Jason, you are so lame.

I look over at Magda, but she won't meet my eyes. The meeting goes on. I have nothing more to say on any subject. Why should I get myself in more trouble? Ten hours later (or so it seems), Just Al finally releases us.

“Hey, Magda,” I say as we push our chairs back to the side of the room. “I've got to talk to you.”

“I have to go, Jason. My mom's outside waiting for me.”

“Can't you get out sometime? How about we meet at Wigglesworth's?”

“Jason, I can't. I'll get in trouble.”

“You got out to see Henry.”

“That was different. He was hurt.”

“He said you've become a Choot.”

“A what?”

“A Protestant.”

“Look, Jason, I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care. I don't care about your water tower, or being High Priestess, or any of that. Things at home aren't so good right now. I can't afford to mess up.”

“How about if I come over to your house then?”

“Somebody would see you.”

“I'll call you then, sometime when your parents aren't home.”

“I'm not allowed to talk on the phone.”

“So what? Neither am I!”

She gives me a pained look. “Jason, I'm sorry. I just can't.”

“How about—”

“I have to go,” she says, and she does.

A
ND AS THE SUN ROSE AND TOUCHED THE HEADS OF THE TOWERING
A
VATARS, THE
P
RAGMATISTS DID LOOK UP IN FEAR AND AWE, AND A GREAT CRY OF HOLY TERROR AROSE, AND WAS HEARD IN EVERY LAND
.

27