Godless

by Pete Hautman

  “Tonight.” He sets his jaw. “Take me up tonight.”

  Resistance is futile.

  “Okay,” I say. “Tonight. Wear black.”

  “What time?” Shin asks.

  “I’ll come by at midnight.” I lift the gas can into the wagon. “I gotta go mow some grass.” I grab the wagon handle and start down the driveway. I look back. Shin waves, smiling.

  I decide to wait till later to tell him that Henry is our new High Priest.

  By the time I finish mowing the lawn it is ninety degrees out and I’m sweating buckets. I drag myself into the house and down a carton of orange juice.

  “Good lord, Jason,” says my mother.

  I set the empty carton down. “I was thirsty,” I say.

  “That was an entire half gallon of juice.”

  “It was half empty.”

  “Nevertheless! Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m just hot. It’s hot out there.”

  “We should get you in for a blood test. Your granduncle Herman had diabetes, you know. It’s in our family. How many times have you urinated today?”

  “Mom! I’m not sick; I’m just hot and thirsty.”

  She shakes her head. “Well, let’s keep an eye on you. Oh, by the way, one of your friends called.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m sure I don’t remember.” She points at the notepad next to the phone. “I wrote her name and number.”

  Her? I grab the notepad. My mother’s scrawl could be read in any number of ways—Mopdo, Waqude, AArgha—but I’m pretty sure the name she meant to write is Magda.

  * * *

  AND SO THE OCEAN BEGAN TO SPEAK.

  * * *

  13

  “I called to apologize,” Magda says.

  “Oh. For what?”

  “For dumping that drink on you, silly.”

  “Oh.”

  “I feel bad about it. I knew you were just kidding around.”

  “Oh …” I sound like a moron. Is “Oh” all I know how to say? “Uh … that’s okay.” A moronic moron. Zog the Neanderthal. I’m sweating like a pig (do pigs really sweat?) and I can smell my armpits. Good thing there’s five miles of phone line between us.

  “You’re not going to tell my boss about it, are you? I could get fired.”

  “Uh, no …”

  “Not that working at Wigglesworth’s is so great anyway.”

  “At least you got a job.”

  “Next time you come in and I’m working, I’ll give you a free Brainblaster.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. So, how’s it going?”

  What does she mean by that? I don’t know what to say. It’s weird. I can sit in a TPO meeting or a classroom with a bunch of kids and yak my head off. Or talk for hours to Shin, or even to a guy like Henry, but one-on-one with Magda, my brain seizes up like an overheated engine.

  “Jason? You there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You fall asleep or something?”

  “No. My mom thinks I’ve got narcolepsy.” Why am I telling her this?

  “What’s that?”

  “Sleeping sickness.” Shut up, you idiot! Do you want her to think you’ve got some tropical disease? “But I’m not sleepy right now.”

  “’Cause if you want to sleep we could talk later.”

  “I’m okay.” I hope my sweat dripping into the little mouthpiece holes won’t short out the phone.

  “So, how’s the new religion going?”

  “Going? Uh … I climbed up the tower last night.”

  “You did? Really?”

  “Yeah. Me and Henry went up.”

  “Henry Stagg?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s … I didn’t know you guys were friends.”

  “We’re not friends really. But he’s okay.”

  “I think he’s scary. I heard he hit you or something.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Some kids were talking about it.”

  Great. All of St. Andrew Valley is talking about how little Henry Stagg laid me out with a single punch.

  “So did he?” Magda is nothing if not persistent.

  “Yeah, but that was last week. He’s a Chutengodian now. Chutengodians don’t hit each other.”

  “So what was it like?”

  “To get hit?”

  “No! To climb up the tower.”

  “It was cool. You can see all the way to Fairview.”

  “I think I’d be scared. I mean, I’d do it, but I’d be scared.”

  I don’t know what she means by that. Does she mean she wants to climb the tower?

  “Jason?”

  “What?”

  “So are you mad at me?”

  “Why would I be mad at you?”

  “I don’t know. You aren’t saying anything.”

  “Oh.” I’m glad I’m not trying to have a conversation with me. It must be boring as hell. What can I say that is interesting? Perhaps an astute grammatical observation.

  I say, “Did you know that you start a lot of sentences with the word so?”

  “Thanks a lot. Did you know you’re an insensitive jerk?”

  Hmmm. Maybe she’s not into grammar.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just thought you might want to know.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks a lot. Like I need language lessons from a guy who can’t have a simple phone conversation.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Silence.

  I say, “Look, lots of people say stuff like that. Like ‘y’know.’ Some people say ‘y’know’ about ten times a minute. Y’know what else? A lot of people say actually all the time. I do it myself.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Really?”

  “Actually, I’ve got better things to do than pick on how my friends talk. So … will you take me up next time?”

  “You actually want to climb the water tower?”

  “So … isn’t that what Chatenoogians do?”

  “Not Chatenoogians. Chutengodians. You actually want to go up there?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  At precisely midnight, the uber-ninja emerges from the darkness. He stands at the edge of the smudge of light cast by Professor Peter Schinner’s office window. Inside, Professor Schinner is hunched over his thesis. He is hard at work, a labor that will prove lethal for the young professor, for the thesis contains the ancient secrets stolen from the ninja, secrets that must never see the light of day.

  Still, the uber-ninja hesitates, fingering the razor-sharp points of a shuriken, for Professor Schinner is in fact his brother, captured at birth by missionaries, trained from an early age in the esoteric arts of detection by a cabal of insane Franciscan monks.

  The ninja knows that Schinner must die, but to kill him he must also destroy himself. Two brothers, both brilliant, both the best of the best, doomed to mutual self-destruction …

  I rap on the glass. Shin’s head jerks up. He squints at me through the window, looks at the clock, then motions me around to the side door.

  “You planning to climb the tower in your X-men pajamas?” I ask when he opens the door.

  “Shhh! I had to put ’em on for my mom. She always comes down to say good night. Give me a couple minutes.”

  I follow him to his room. He strips out of his pajamas. I can’t believe how skinny the guy is. You can count his ribs. He digs around in a pile of dirty clothes.

  “Wear something dark,” I tell him.

  “I know, I know.”

  While he dresses, I sit at his desk and look at the sketchbook he was working on. The open page is covered with Shin’s tight, crabbed printing. Shin used to cover the pages of his sketchbooks with ornate drawings of buildings and machines, but lately he’s been writing more and drawing less.

  “What are you working on?” I ask. “Some snail notes?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I start reading:


  … and lo! The Ocean spake, and his words did cause Men and Women to quail and cry out in fear for themselves and their children and even for their children’s children’s children and beyond, for though the planet might spin through space for all Eternity, it was suddenly made known to all that Mankind’s grip upon this planet of fire and ice was but a momentary scrabbling across its slippery surfaces, for lo! The Ocean did speak the words of Truth and Justice and the Watery Way upon which all must eventually drown or be crushed by the pounding waves of anger and rage and fury and hatred, and lo! It was revealed upon this Holy Day of Holy Days that the evil Men do must ever be visited back upon them with vengeance and justice and bloodshed, for the blood shall flow with the Water of Life, even as Life departs.

  I look up. Shin, watching me, puts on a pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “Genesis,” Shin says.

  “Genesis?”

  “The first Book of the Sacred Text,” he says. “I’m the First Keeper, right?”

  “Yeah, but … wow.” I read a little more.

  And so spake the Ocean, and the seas and lakes and rivers and puddles did carry His Words. And every drop of rain and every snowflake and every bead of sweat did carry His Words. And every driblet of snot and piss and vomit did carry His Words.

  And His Words swam across the earth in a great flood of sacred knowledge, and lo! The Ocean was not yet satisfied that all had heard, and so he caused his body to swell and rise and sweep over the deltas, the lowlands, the plains, the mesas, the mountains….

  “This is some wild stuff. Where’d you get it?”

  “It just sort of comes out. I started writing it last week.”

  I flip back through the notebook. There are about sixty pages covered with Shin’s minute script, with a few tiny drawings of water towers mixed in. Some of the water towers are airborne, jetting across the page.

  “You wrote all this in a week?” I read the first lines from the first page:

  In the beginning was the Ocean. And the Ocean was alone.

  “I don’t get it. What ocean?”

  “All of them. They’re all connected, you know.”

  And the Ocean did not know where it ended or where it began, and so it created Time. And the Ocean passed through Time.

  I flip through the notebook. Page after page after page.

  Shin says, “It’s like it’s not even me writing. I just watch the pen move across the page. I think maybe I’m channeling him.”

  “Channeling who?”

  “The Ten-legged One.”

  We lock eyes for a few seconds and I swear to god—whatever god you want—I have absolutely no idea whether or not he’s kidding.

  * * *

  AT FIRST, THE HUMANS DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THE OCEAN WAS SAYING. THEY HEARD ONLY CREAKS AND GROANS AND THE WHISTLING OF THE WIND. BUT ONE HUMAN, GREAT OF INTELLIGENCE AND GREAT OF SENSITIVITY, HEARD THE OCEAN’S WORDS, AND LO! HE BEGAN TO SPEAK WITH THE OCEAN’S VOICE.

  * * *

  14

  Being the leader of a growing religion is not all power and glory. For one thing, there is way too much politics. In other words, you have to lie a lot.

  On this day, the Founder and Head Kahuna of the Chutengodians uttered four lies.

  First, I told Magda that I would take her up the next time I climbed the water tower. But I knew that I would be going up with Shin that very night, so I couldn’t invite her to come. Why? Because I was sure that Shin would fail. There was no way a skinny, bookish, snail-raising guy like Shin could monkey his way up that leg, and I didn’t want him to fail in front of Magda. That was a good lie, I told myself.

  Second, I did not tell Shin that I made Henry Stagg the new High Priest of the CTG. Sooner or later Shin will find out. He’ll probably sulk for days. Shin is a delicate fellow. I don’t like to see him upset.

  Third, I did not tell Shin that I didn’t believe he could actually climb the tower leg.

  Fourth, as Shin was struggling to climb the first twenty feet up the tower leg, I shouted down to him, “C’mon Shin, you can do it!” even though I knew he could not.

  I never used to lie to my friends this way, especially Shin. And now here I am, thirty feet up God’s leg, while a few feet below me the First Keeper of the Sacred Text is frozen in place, too terrified to move.

  “It’s okay,” I say—another lie. It’s not okay. “Just relax, then move one foot down a few inches.”

  “My legs won’t move.”

  “Yes they will.”

  “Help me.”

  “I can’t climb over you, Shin.”

  Shin does not reply.

  “You’re only twenty feet from the ground. Even if you fall you’ll probably survive.”

  Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

  “Shin?”

  Uh-oh. I look down. Shin is clinging to the leg, not moving at all. He’s gone into his shell. Now what? I can’t climb over him or around him so, as the saying goes, there’s no place to go but up. So up I go.

  It’s easier this time, because I know I can do it. Also, I’m worried about Shin. I don’t know how long he can hang on. Maybe seconds; maybe hours. I reach the catwalk, head straight across to the spiral staircase, and climb down. At the bottom of the staircase I let myself hang by my hands—I hate this part—and let go. I hit feet first and roll like a paratrooper, then run over to Shin. He’s still hanging on.

  “Shin? You okay up there?”

  Nothing. I grab the cables and climb up to a point just below his feet.

  “Shin? I’m right here.” I touch one of his ankles. “Right below you.”

  He makes a sound, something like “Urgh.” I take that as a good sign.

  “I’m gonna grab your foot and move it, okay?” Without waiting for another “urgh,” I clasp his right foot in my hand and slowly pull it out from where he has it wedged between the cables, move it down six inches, and shove it back. He doesn’t resist, but he isn’t exactly helping.

  “I’m right here. I’m not going to let you fall.” Another lie? I hope not. “You gotta move one of your hands now, Shin. Do it slow, like a snail. I won’t let you fall.”

  “Okay,” he says in a small voice.

  I wait. It takes almost a minute, but finally he manages to loosen his death grip on the cable and slide it down.

  “Okay, now your other foot.” I tap his ankle to let him know which one. A few seconds later he twists his foot and wriggles it out from between the cables and moves it down. “You got it, buddy, I say. Now your other hand …”

  Five minutes later we are down. Shin is squatting on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, shaking.

  “I’m useless,” he says.

  “No you’re not.”

  “I froze up.”

  “Look, Spidey, it ain’t that easy. I froze up too.”

  “You did?”

  “Henry had to talk me up.”

  “What did he do—threaten to slime you?”

  “No…. Would that have worked on you?”

  “I don’t even remember. We were climbing, and it was really hard. My arms hurt and I was starting to get dizzy … then all of a sudden you were underneath me, talking.” He gives me a startled look. “How did you get underneath me?”

  “I took a shortcut,” I say, pointing up.

  Shin is rocking back and forth. “Some First Keeper I am. The Ten-legged One won’t even let me climb him.”

  He looks so miserable that I say, “Sure he will. The Ten-legged One was just testing you. I know a way to get you up there. I mean, you’re coming to Midnight Mass, right?”

  “Midnight Mass?”

  “Next Tuesday.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  “I just decided. The entire CTG is going up. All of us.”

  “Even Magda?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  He tips his head back and stares up at the belly of the god.
“You really think you can get me up there?”

  “Absolutely,” I say with complete confidence. “I have a plan.”

  But, of course, I’m lying again.

  The next day I happen to decide to take a walk, and I happen to walk in a southeasterly direction, and I happen to be walking past Wigglesworth’s Juiceteria when I happen to glance through the front window and happen to notice the Chutengodian High Priestess behind the juice bar blending a raspberry smoothie. I happen to open the door and walk inside.

  “Hey,” I say, suave as can be.

  “Hi, Jason,” Magda says, smiling.

  “I came to collect my free Brainblaster.”

  “Coming right up.” She grabs a clean blender bowl and starts adding ingredients.

  “What’s in those things, anyway?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “There are no secrets between Chutengodians.”

  “If I tell you, I could get fired.”

  “Just tell me what makes ’em green. It’s not asparagus, is it?”

  Magda leans across the counter and whispers, “Kiwi fruit.”

  “Ah!” I watch as she blends the kiwi concoction into a wicked-looking froth.

  “There you go.” She hands me the cup, then says with a grin, “Don’t spill it this time.”

  “I’ll try not to.” I take a sip. “Well blended!”

  “I’m a professional.” She is looking right at me and smiling. I feel all foamy inside, and I don’t think it’s the Brainblaster.

  “You still want to climb the tower?” I ask.

  She nods, making her eyes big.

  “We’re thinking Tuesday night.”

  “Will Henry be there?”

  “Um … I think so.”

  “Good, that sounds like fun.”

  “Good? I thought you didn’t like Henry.”

  “I just think he’s kind of scary.”

  “Oh.”

  “But interesting.”

  I slurp my Brainblaster. Uh-oh. Too much. The pain hits me high on my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut. Ow, ow, ow!

  “You okay?”

  “Brain freeze,” I gasp, my eyes watering.

  I hear Magda’s laugh and the pain slowly fades.