“I’ve never heard the god sing like that after receiving tribute. Wow. It must love your pancakes.”
“Maybe.” Rose can’t keep the hint of something more out of her voice.
Sara looks at Rose quizzically. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Biting her lower lip and keeping her eyes focused on the god, Rose says, “I’m pregnant.”
Sara skips a few beats. Then, “When . . . ?”
Rose turns toward Sara. “This morning. At dawn. The god . . . it stayed out all night with the other neighbourhood gods. Singing. And something else. Dancing, maybe?”
Sara says, tersely, “They must’ve been saying goodbye to the god who’s moving away. But whatever.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Anyway, when it returned. It — ”
“The god made you pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“You.”
“Yes! I’m blessed! What will we call her?”
Sara looks away.
Rose gets up from her seat and hugs Sara. “I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry it wasn’t you. I know I should’ve woken you, so you could be with me and pray to the god . . . but it was so sudden. So fast.” She runs her fingers through Sara’s hair. “Aren’t you happy for me? For us?”
“Yeah . . . sure. It’s just so . . . unexpected. I wasn’t thinking about children at all. Not yet, at least. It’s just kind of a shock. That’s all.”
Sara skips a few more beats, but in her silence she strokes Rose’s arms.
Then, “Of course I’m happy, Rose. It’s going to be great having a baby. Plus, with your looks, our daughter’s gonna be cute as a button.”
The god wedges itself between the two women, settling against Rose’s belly, enveloping the family in a cocoon of divine warmth.
The moon is nearly full, the starry sky cloudless. The night air is a bit chilly; Rose and Sara are cuddled under a thick red quilt, pressed against each other and holding hands. They’re waiting for the gods to come out.
The new neighbour moved in earlier today, but neither Rose nor Sara has seen her. After dinner, Sara told Rose that, their first night, new gods are always welcomed by the resident gods. Sometimes, new gods will vie for dominance, especially rural gods, unused to the proximity of other gods. It never unfolds quite the same way, and it can be quite a spectacle.
So here they are on the back porch. Waiting. They wave at their neighbours. Everyone is out tonight, to witness the welcoming of the new god.
Time passes, and nothing happens.
Rose asks, “Does it usually take this long?”
“No. But let’s wait for it. It’s worth it.” Sara kisses Rose, and they neck. Waiting for the gods.
Rose is woken by Sara’s snoring. Dawn is breaking. “Shit. I missed it.”
Tabitha, their upstairs neighbour, yells down: “You didn’t miss anything. The gods didn’t come out. I’m gonna need so much coffee today.” Tabitha stomps back inside and slams her back door shut.
Maddie called in sick at the last minute. Rose, unable to find a replacement, is stuck working the evening shift at the video shop. She calls home, to apologize. She’s surprised that Sara doesn’t pick up. She leaves a voicemail message.
It’s a slow night. Petra and Ashley would have been able to handle it. The rules insist on a minimum staff of three, though, and Rose could lose her job if she left early and management found out. Ashley would probably rat her out; and she might get Rose’s position if she did. It’s not worth the risk, especially with a baby on the way.
At eight o’clock, while Petra and Ashley are taking a cigarette break out back, Sara walks into the store. Rose perks up. “Hey, you came by! Thanks.”
Sara’s carrying a little paper bag. “For you.”
Rose opens it and finds an almond croissant. She leans over the counter and gives Sara a quick kiss on the lips.
Rose breaks off a tiny morsel of the croissant and hands it to Sara. “Would you . . . ?”
“Uh . . . sure.” Irritation flashes on Sara’s face, but she forces a grin. She places the tribute on the god’s altar, hurriedly singing a line from a children’s ditty. The god accepts the tribute.
“See, I even remembered to sing. Be right back.”
Sara quickly scans the shelves and picks a DVD. Walking back toward Rose, she waves it in the air. “Weren’t you supposed to bring one of these home?” It’s a copy of Burning Sky.
“Shit. I forgot. Sorry. Take it, and I’ll handle it.”
“Alright, babe. I gotta go. I might be out late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
Sara gives Rose a quick peck on the cheek and is out the door before Rose even has time to utter, “What?”
Rose presses her face against the window. Already across the street, Sara walks away briskly, arms entwined with another woman’s. A tall woman with long red hair.
The home altar is still filthy. The god is flaccid, discoloured. Sara has been neglecting it.
In Sara’s absence, Rose offers tribute to the god, but it ignores her.
Rose worries about her baby.
When Sara finally gets home in the middle of the night and slips into bed, Rose feigns sleep.
The god instantly latches itself onto Sara, glowing brightly. Through half-closed eyelids Rose sees it take tribute from Sara’s mouth, drinking her saliva.
The god darkens, oozes stinking grey goo all over Sara, all over the bed. It rushes out the bedroom.
“Oh, fuck!” Sara wipes her face on the clean underside of the pillowcase.
“You kissed her,” Rose accuses. “That woman. That heathen.”
“Not heathen. Atheist. Heathens worship invisible gods. Jane doesn’t worship at all.”
“How can anyone not worship the gods? They are with us.”
“Whatever. Let’s not argue.” Sara gets up, walks to the bathroom, and cleans herself with a wet towel.
Rose follows her in. “I’ve met her before. At the store. She angered the god.”
“Yeah, she told me. She was scoping out the neighbourhood. Jane’s our new neighbour.”
“An atheist? The resident gods won’t accept her. It’ll cause trouble for everyone. Look what you did to our god.”
“Well, maybe we don’t need the gods.”
“The gods give us life, give us children.”
“And why do you think the gods do that? Maybe because they need us to take care of them? Is that what you want our life to be about?”
Rose clenches her teeth. “We are the chosen of the gods. We are blessed. What can be more important?”
“Listen, babe, Jane has lots of ideas that I . . . that I agree with. Things that I’ve been thinking about but was too afraid to discuss with anyone, even you. Talking so freely, it made me giddy. It opened me up. We just kissed.”
Rose makes an exasperated sound.
“Okay, well, maybe a little more. But it was just tonight. I was swept up by the evening. I still love you. And the baby.”
“What about the god?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to change our way of life . . . but things might not be how they seem, how we believe they are. Maybe society should change. It’s worth thinking about, that’s all.”
“So . . . how does she live?”
“Well, she doesn’t keep a god. Other than that, she’s just like everyone else.”
“But that’s no life.”
“Why not?”
“There’s nothing to connect her to the harmony of the world. It’s an empty existence. Meaningless. And it’s irresponsible. Selfish.”
“You don’t understand. Maybe you should meet her. She’s knowledgeable about the gods and their relationship to us. Talk to her.”
“Never. Especially not while I’m pregnant. Promise me you’ll stop seeing her. For the baby’s sake.”
“Rose . . . I can’t do that. You can’t dictate to me. Or blackmail me like that.”
Both of them stay silent for a few minutes, while Sara gets fresh lin
en.
Rose helps Sara change the bed. “You saw how the god reacted tonight. If I can’t stop you from seeing her — at least be careful. Please. But . . . I don’t know what to do. About us. I don’t know if I really believe that you still love me. Maybe I don’t trust what you’re becoming.”
Sara didn’t come home last night. She didn’t even leave a message.
Rose is tired. It was a big day for new releases, with nonstop waves of customers. She unlocks the door to the apartment, wondering if Sara is gone for good.
Rose walks in to devastation. The couches are shredded. The television is on the floor, the screen shattered. Most of what was on the walls or on shelves is now on the floor, in pieces. The kitchen is a mess of broken china and splattered food. Everything is covered in dark, stinky slime.
The god.
Rose rushes to the bedroom. The bedroom is mostly intact, with only a trail of dark slime leading to the altar. The god rests in its niche, exuding dark smoke. The air is thick and odorous. Rose coughs.
“What the fuck . . . Rose . . . ?”
Rose turns to see Sara enter the bedroom.
“What happened here?”
“What do you think? You’re so selfish. You didn’t come home last night. You can’t just abandon the god like that. If you want to leave, fine. Leave. But there are rituals.”
“I’m not leaving. We just talked late into the night yesterday. I didn’t even sleep. It was simpler to go straight to work from Jane’s.”
“You think I’m stupid? The god knows what’s really happening.”
“Maybe the god doesn’t know as much as you think it does.”
They don’t talk for the rest of the evening. Sara cleans up the apartment while Rose tries to comfort and placate the god.
In silent agreement, both women climb into bed at the same time, their backs turned. The god slips in between them. The women turn toward the god, toward each other. The god’s warmth is so delicious. Rose is surprised when Sara kisses her, and she’s surprised, too, that she lets her. The god hasn’t accepted tribute of any kind for days. It rarely leaves its altar, now, which Sara still hasn’t cleaned. It reeks.
Sara is snoring, but Rose wakes her up. “We need to talk.”
“Can’t it wait, babe? I’m too tired.”
“No. It can’t go on like this.”
“Fuck. What are you talking about?”
“Look at the god. You’re ignoring it.”
“So what? Why don’t you take over? I’ll even help with the transfer ritual. You care about the god a lot more than I do. And clearly it cares about you more, too.” Sara tips her chin toward Rose’s belly.
“Is that what this is all about? You’re jealous!”
“No . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Sara sits up and gently puts her hand on Rose’s arm. “Look. I don’t want to worship anymore. I started thinking about this stuff before the baby. And before I met Jane. I don’t mind if you still worship, but it feels wrong for me.”
“What does that mean? You can’t live here if you don’t worship. The god can’t tolerate that. Look at it. Do you want to live like that woman? She can’t even walk into a store without making trouble. Things are just going to get worse unless you stop being so selfish.”
“I’m not being selfish. And neither is Jane.”
Rose pushes Sara away. “Maybe you should just leave. Stop pretending.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe the god is the problem, and not me?”
Through the door, Rose hears voices inside the apartment. Isn’t Sara supposed to be at work?
Rose walks in. Sara is sitting on the couch. With that woman, Jane.
The god is lying at their feet, collapsing on itself. Rose rushes to it, offers it her saliva, holds it against her breasts.
“What is she doing here? What were you doing to the god?”
Jane says, “Only what should be done to all of them.” Sara interrupts her with a gesture.
“Rose, baby, this is for your own good. For the good of the baby. It’s safer this way.”
“You monsters. You were trying to kill it.”
“Baby, you don’t understand.”
“Leave. Don’t ever come back here. I’m having the locks changed. If you ever try to come near the god again, I’ll call the police. I never want to see you again.”
“It’s my family’s god, you know.”
“Not anymore. The god blessed me.”
Jane says, “Rose, the gods don’t care about us.”
“I don’t want to hear your lies. Get out! Both of you!”
Sara and Jane exchange a glance, and the two of them get up to leave. Sara turns back, looks at Rose hugging the god, and opens her mouth to speak. But Rose glares at her, and she walks out and quietly closes the door behind her.
Rose nurses the god back to health. She performs all the proper rituals. The god must let go of Sara, now. It must focus on Rose and the coming baby.
The god accepts tribute again. It lets Rose clean its altar. When Rose sleeps, it squeezes itself next to her.
Rose tries not to think of Sara anymore. That woman, Jane, has moved away. Good riddance.
Rose is three and a half months pregnant. It’s her birthday today. Twenty-five years old. She gives the god extra tribute at breakfast to celebrate the occasion.
Despite the god, despite the baby growing in her body, Rose feels loneliness gnaw at her as she slips into bed. The phone rings. “Hello?”
“Hi, babe. I just wanted to wish you happy birthday. I hope it’s okay that I called. I miss you.”
The god gets agitated, excited. It wraps itself around the phone, presses itself against the receiver, against Sara’s voice. It glows and hums.
Rose yanks the phone cord from the wall. She’s been faithful to the god. It must love her, not Sara. Not Sara.
In a flash, the god darkens. It fumes and crackles. It attacks the phone and shatters it. Dark smoke quickly spreads throughout the room. The god knocks Rose onto her back. It pushes Rose’s legs open.
“No!” Rose stifles a scream.
The god squeezes itself into Rose’s womb. Rose feels the god inside her, twisting and thumping. Taking back what it had given her. It pushes its way out of Rose’s vagina. Blood oozes in the god’s wake, flowing out of her womb and spreading onto the sheets.
Silently, Rose weeps, clutching at her belly.
The god accepts the tribute of Rose’s tears and consumes them.
THE ETHICAL TREATMENT OF MEAT
Raymond and George had never thought much about religion. They’d tried going to services at their local church shortly after adopting the child — it seemed like the right thing to do — but the preacher said children weren’t allowed. No animals of any kind. Only people. It had never occurred to Raymond and George that there was that kind of bigotry in the world. They shopped around and found a more open-minded church about a thirty-minute drive away from their home. It was more trouble than they’d bargained for, but they wanted to be good parents.
They weren’t the first ones to adopt a fleshie as a pet child — almost a family member, really — but they were the first in their neighbourhood. They decided to get a boy, hoping he’d fit in with the all-male character of their household. The agency said his name was Rod, but they didn’t like that. So they called him Scott, instead. He was so cute.
They loved Scott like a son. It was biologically impossible for people to have children, and George had heard on the news that recent studies indicated that the lack of children was a probable cause of apathy and depression, an unconscious nostalgia for people’s animal past. So, when George noticed that Raymond was maybe getting a little depressed, he suggested that they nip the problem in the bud and adopt a fleshie child. Even if it was expensive.
The mere idea of it had so lifted Raymond’s mood that George had known it was the right thing to do. Besides, it wasn’t like it was a long-term commitment or anything. Scott
was already four years old; he’d only be a child for another ten years or so. Adoption was such a new fad that people didn’t really know what they’d do with the fleshie children once they grew up. This was the topic of the preacher’s sermon.
Scott was sitting between Raymond and George, with a gag in his mouth to keep him from shouting during the service and his hands tied to make sure he didn’t remove the gag. George smiled when he noticed how affectionately Raymond kept his arm around the boy.
Most people thought that, once the children grew up, they should be sold so their brains could be used as food, or simply killed by their adoptive families, their brains eaten fresh. Fresh brains were such a rare — and delicious — treat. That packaged stuff was never as good. Too many preservatives.
But the preacher at this church was a radical. She loudly advocated animal rights, even human rights, for fleshies. George listened. He had never considered these ideas seriously before. He used to snicker at anyone so naive as to buy into that sentimental propaganda. Glancing at the boy, he pondered the preacher’s words. He wasn’t convinced, but he realized that he now needed to think about all this more carefully.
Food was a problem. Pet food came in two formats. There was kibble, which wasn’t too smelly, but Scott clearly wasn’t that enthusiastic about it. He loved the other kind, the moist food. But neither George nor Raymond could stand the smell of the stuff, those icky vegetable, leafy, and fruity odours.
They argued about it. Raymond was willing to try, for the boy’s sake. Plus, the vet said that the moist food was healthier.
George, however, was far from convinced. “No! It’s just too disgusting,” he said as Raymond served dinner. They were having brain casserole with chunky brain sauce. The brain cake they were going to eat for dessert was baking in the oven. It all smelled so delicious.
He continued: “And who cares if it’s healthier? It’s not like he’s going to have a long life or anything.”
Raymond looked hurt. “Don’t say that! You heard what the preacher said! We have to work toward becoming a more compassionate society! To stop thinking about these animals only as a resource, a source of food. I mean, look at them, they look almost exactly like us. Sure, their skin is kind of sickly smooth, without any rot, and you can’t see any of their bones or anything, but, still, they almost look like people. They can talk. They walk on two legs. It’s not their fault if they smell, well, alive or something. Sure, it’s kind of revolting that they grow old and then just stop moving once they die. But what we do to them in those factory farms just isn’t right!”
Objects of Worship Page 2