Mammother

by Zachary Schomburg

  The people of Pie Time had been scared of death, and had been saddened by the deaths of their loved ones. They knew they had to be free from sin, and being good was the only way they knew how to not die. Going to church was one of the only ways they knew how to be good. But on Sundays at The Hole, they were able to forget about God’s Finger in the worldly stories and music of Father Felipe. Going to church was as much of an escape as it was a reckoning.

  “Thanks be to God,” he’d say.

  “Thanks be to God,” they’d say.

  “Thanks be to XO,” he’d say.

  “Thanks be to XO,” they’d say.

  Directly behind The Hole was now Pie Time’s second graveyard, XO Graves. Unlike The Shoveler’s Graveyard, which originally sparked Pie Time’s new craze for burials, the plots at XO Graves were less expensive, and it was open 24 hours a day for anyone who would like to visit their dead at any hour. Grief was on no reasonable schedule, and used no reasonable clock, so XO Graves would never close. At the entrance of XO Graves was a gate where the griever was to pay a very reasonable price to enter for a visit with their dead. Also, just inside the gate, was XO Flowers, a florist with fresh flowers that grievers could purchase to put directly on the graves of their dead. It was both convenient and respectful. XO Flowers also sold other items like rosaries, tiny crucifixes, tiny bibles, snow globes with the most famous scenes from both the New and Old Testament, and the same French wine and bread from Father Felipe’s eucharistic rites. If you liked the worldly taste of the eucharist, then you could have it at home as well.

  The one characteristic of The Hole that Mothers was never able to accept wasn’t the priest who was far more dapper than him, or his music or stories, or its graveyard. It was the one thing he was actually capable of competing with—the size of The Hole’s cross. Mothers thought if he could just build a bigger cross, much bigger even than the one that he had recently built with the money collected in the name of Father Mothers II’s death, then Lady Blood would be in a much better position to compete with The Hole. The new cross, according to Mothers’ plans for it, would need to be the size of a dozen men, so that everyone at the last supper, theoretically, could have comfortably died upon it at the same time.

  It was a project that Mothers knew he had to complete alone. The Builder, who had helped him with his most recent modifications of Lady Blood, had been seen in attendance at The Hole, and there was no one left to ask, alive or loyal. He would have to build the cross by himself, just as his own father would have, and his father before him. Sharing the name of Father Mothers had meant, up until then, that you were self-sufficient at the very least. And loyal. The new cross on top of Lady Blood would shine with newness, and be big enough for the Lord himself to climb down upon it from the heavens, on Easter Sunday no less, and speak about loyalty right there, in person, through the body of Mothers, for all to see. Yes, loyalty would make a fine subject for his Easter Sunday homily, Mothers thought. Where had loyalty disappeared to, he’d ask into the faces of his returning flock of believers.

  By himself, on account of Lil’ Jorge’s shortness of stature, shortness of breath, and general ineptitude, Mothers toiled over the cross’ construction for three days and nights. He hammered his own nails, tied his own ropes, and painted the entire thing gold. Upon the cross’ completion, Mothers was very proud.

  “Let us bless it, Lil’ Jorge.” Mothers and Lil’ Jorge stood together outside of Lady Blood and looked up at what was, in those moments, the tallest man-made structure in Pie Time. Mothers held Lil’ Jorge’s hand and then lovingly rubbed his table-top. He said a general Ash Wednesday prayer, and then he said a specific prayer about blessing the cross on account of its exceptional size.

  “What do you think?” asked Mothers.

  Lil’ Jorge clapped his fat hands together. He wasn’t looking at the cross.

  “You like it? I like it, too, Lil’ Jorge. We did a good job. I don’t want to thank you for your help, because you didn’t really help, but I do want to thank you for something far more important. Your loyalty. You have been loyal to me, Lil’ Jorge, and you’ve been loyal to this church. That is unmistakable, and irreplaceable. So, thank you. You have been like a son to me. No, you’re much more than like a son—you are my son. You are my son, Lil’ Jorge, and I love you.”

  Lil’ Jorge clapped some more, like a dolphin would. He watched his own hands clap. He clapped and clapped until it hurt.

  30.

  The deaths lessened.

  Nearly half of the people of Pie Time were now living their lives entirely inside of their own XO Life Cages. The only people living outside of a cage, vulnerable to the plague of God’s Finger, were those who couldn’t afford one. What the caged were giving up in general comfort and freedom of movement was worth what they were getting in return: the security of not being poked or blessed too hard by God when they least expected it. The choice of cage was especially important, to get one large enough for their body so that they could complete simple tasks, like brushing their teeth at night or making sandwiches, or planting a tomato bush in the garden, or masturbating, but not too large so that their bodies would accidentally slip out of the cage’s bottom latch when attempting any of these kinds of tasks. The more expensive XO Life Cages were painted gold, not black, and custom-made to fit their torsos and their lifestyles perfectly, and were worn only by The Businessman, The Banker, The Lawyer, The Landlord, and The Foreman. They wore their gold custom cages very proudly, and were sure to be seen wearing them at the XO Cafe on a daily basis.

  The only person in Pie Time who could have afforded a custom life cage, but who didn’t wear any cage at all, was Vera Good, despite the fact that she had helped conceive of the idea of the life cages. Vera hadn’t spoken with her brother, The Foreman, since June Good’s death. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to anyone except for The Shoveler and his two sons, Ernesto and Ernest Horn, who also lived their lives uncaged.

  “Can we have coffee and cigarettes in the cafe today?” asked Ernesto.

  “No, our coffee and cigarettes are better here at home. Let’s drink and smoke here again. It’s better here,” said Vera.

  “Fran and her mothers took us to XO Cafe a few days ago and the coffee and cigarettes there are TDF.”

  “They did, did they?”

  “They have strawberry cigarettes for kids,” added Ernest.

  “What’s TDF mean?” asked Vera.

  “To die for,” answered Ernesto.

  “There’s only one thing I would die for, and it’s not coffee and it’s not cigarettes.” Vera looked at Ernest and Ernesto’s disappointed faces. Their faces had quickly become her favorite two faces in Pie Time. She changed her tune. “But maybe they’re just that good, yeah?”

  “Yes, yes, please, can we?” said Ernest, already walking over to his jacket by the front door.

  “I knew I shouldn’t’ve let you spend your afternoons at Fran Rile’s house.”

  On Mondays and Wednesdays, while The Shoveler kept up with his new grave digging business, Ernesto and Ernest were babysat by Rona Rile and Lana Rile, the mothers of Fran Rile, who was the same age as Ernesto. But on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and more recently also Fridays, Ernesto and Ernest were babysat by Vera Good. They spent most of their mornings in the music room or drawing room of Vera’s very large house, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and talking about their dreams from the night before. Ernesto would most often dream of space and the strange people who lived there, while Ernest would most often dream of himself on a stage. He talked about wanting to wear beautiful dresses and singing country western songs.

  After June Good’s death, Vera had never been as happy as she was on the days that she got to spend with Ernesto and Ernest. In the afternoons, they’d often sit on the swing on Vera’s wraparound porch. Vera would always wear June Good’s fur coat and pearls, while Ernest would wear one of June’s childhood dresses that Vera managed to salvage from The Foreman’s attic before he cleaned it out c
ompletely. Ernesto dressed like his father, with trousers and a work shirt. Together, just like that on the porch swing, they’d watch the people of Pie Time walk past them on the sidewalk wearing large black cages. The three of them liked to make fun of the cages and laugh.

  But today, Ernesto and Ernest wanted something different.

  “Ok, this one time. It can’t hurt, can it?” Vera indulged the boys.

  “Yay!” squealed Ernesto.

  “And there will be plenty of people in cages at the cafe we can make fun of.”

  As soon as Vera, Ernesto, and Ernest walked through the double doors of the XO Cafe, they noticed everyone but them was wearing gigantic XO Life Cages on their bodies. In a room like that, the three of them looked incredibly small, like the seeds of some pod had spilled out into the room, and were tiny on the tile with no soil to burrow into. Because so many people were now wearing cages, those who were not looked tiny and vulnerable wherever they went.

  “Look! June Good is alive!” said The Businessman, as they slurped hot coffee from their XO coffee mug. Everyone in the room laughed, and their cages shook around their torsos and rattled against the tables.

  Ernesto took it upon himself to introduce Vera to the caged hecklers. “This isn’t June Good. Her name is Vera.”

  Vera put her hand on the top of Ernesto’s head to let him know that he didn’t have to do any speaking on her behalf.

  “We know very well who that is, son,” said The Banker. Then The Banker spoke directly to Vera. “You haven’t made a deposit in a while. I’m wondering when you’ll be in next. I have a few ideas.”

  “I won’t be in anytime soon,” said Vera. “You can count on that.”

  “You can’t count on a lot these days. I can’t even count on you walking out of here alive if you’re not going to wear a life cage.” The Banker reached his arm outside of his cage, which looked like gold monkey bars, and carefully pulled the mug of hot coffee back through the bars and to his lips. “You want a smoke?”

  “No, we brought our own. Thanks.”

  “You buy your coffee up there,” Ernest pointed to the counter for Vera. A girl Vera had never seen before stood waiting for them wearing a white scout hat with black letters on both sides. XO.

  “Vera.” The Businessman introduced a new, more serious tone, the same tone they used on Enid in the confession booth. “If you choose not to wear a cage, that’s your own damn hard-headed stupidity. But it’s just not right putting the kids out there without one. You might as well poke them straight through their chests now by yourself and get it over with.”

  Vera ignored The Businessman. She and the two boys walked to the counter.

  “We’ll take three black coffees please.” Ernesto did the ordering. “And one strawberry cigarette.” He remembered to order Ernest’s cigarette.

  The girl behind the counter looked at Vera as if to get approval for the addition of the strawberry cigarette to the order.

  “Yes, one strawberry cigarette,” Vera said, reluctantly.

  “Did you hear what happened to The Humanitarians?” asked The Builder to Vera’s back. “The big ugly monster, Mano Medium, made them take off their cages.”

  “He didn’t!” interrupted Ernesto. “We were there. And Mano’s not a monster.”

  Vera shushed Ernesto, and she escorted the boys to their own table.

  “He did indeed,” The Businessman corrected Ernesto. “They had no choice. It was one of those Death Lessons he likes to do on people.”

  The Businessman, The Banker, and The Builder began talking among themselves. “As soon as those poor people took off their cages, they got fingered.”

  “You don’t say? Just like that?”

  “Just like that. A monster like that has no right...” The Businessman trailed off while reaching for their coffee, but they knocked it over. The girl at the counter walked over to sop up the spill for them. They tried to help, but couldn’t position themselves in their cage correctly to sop up any of the spill on their own.

  “It’s ok. I got it,” she said, and then she retreated to pour them another cup. It was the second cup they had spilled that morning.

  “Well, it sounds like they sure learned a lesson all about death.”

  “Hell if I learn about death like that.”

  “It’s a damn shame.” The Banker stood up to adjust the waist of his trousers, but couldn’t fit his arms around the gold bars far enough to tighten his belt. Then he dropped his cigarette, but he couldn’t bend down far enough in his cage to pick it back up.

  “A damn shame is right,” agreed The Builder while looking out the window to allow The Banker to struggle with picking up his cigarette without being stared at.

  “We all have to die,” interrupted Ernest.

  “It’s ok, Ernest...” hushed Vera.

  “Is that right, son? Go on...”

  Ernest kept talking. “It’s not a matter of fighting death, but a matter of loving it, like anything else.”

  All of the men laughed. “Did that big monster Mano teach you that?”

  “Yes, Mano taught me that.” Ernest was proud.

  “Did Mano teach you how to wear a dress, too?”

  The men laughed.

  “Smoke your cigarette, Ernest.” Ernest puffed on his cigarette, and Vera and Ernesto puffed on the ones they had brought.

  Ernesto got up from the table to help The Banker pick up his cigarette. He handed it to The Banker, but The Banker didn’t thank him.

  “You can’t even bend over, mister,” said Ernesto.

  “I can, too, look.” The Banker bent halfway over, but his cage knocked the corner of his table, which then tipped over onto the floor, spilling all three mugs of hot coffee onto the tiles.

  “I bet you can’t do this either.” Ernest slid around on top of the coffee spill, and kicked his right leg up high. His dress flew upward and got caught on his shoulder. His exposed legs were bending into his cowboy boots, and he started singing a country song into an imaginary microphone.

  The girl came from behind the counter with a mop.

  “Well, I may not be able to bend over in this cage, and I sure as hell can’t do whatever the hell that little girl is doing. But I’m not going to be the next person poked dead by God.” The Banker was looking right at Ernesto, and pushing his finger back and forth into his own fist. “You and your little sister are going to be the next people poked dead by God! Or maybe it’ll be your new pretend mother. Is that right, Vera? Two death-poked mothers in a row for the Horn boys. Now, that’d be a real shame wouldn’t it?”

  “Let’s go.” Vera stood up, and walked toward the door with her XO mug of coffee left untouched.

  The Businessman stood up to feign politeness as Vera exited. “No one has died in a week, Vera. Not since those poor Humanitarians. And no one has ever died inside a life cage. We’d like to keep it like that.”

  “Would you? Is that really true?” Vera asked knowing the answer to her own question. “You of all people want to keep people from dying? Is that the best way for you to make money?”

  “Of course, we don’t want anyone to die,” said The Businessman.

  “This coffee is terrible,” said Vera.

  “And the cigarettes are too sweet,” said Ernest.

  31.

  Mimi Minutes was on her sister Mary’s back inside their shared XO Life Cage. Mary was standing by the table full of fruit salads, egg salads, potato salads, jello salads, crustless triangle ham sandwiches, fruit pies, and two very similar refried bean dips. Behind the dishes was a two liter bottle of XO Cola. Sharing a cage with Mary felt to Mimi like she was conjoined with her sister again.

  Mary stuck her finger in the apple pie that her father, The Baker, had made specially for the pot luck, but Mimi, who was growing slowly like a large hump on her back, licked it clean before Mary got the chance. Mary stuck another finger into the apple pie, but used a finger on her other hand so that Mimi couldn’t reach it with her mouth. Mary tu
rned her head away from Mimi and licked that finger clean.

  Father Felipe corrected them. “Patience is a virtue,” he said. “You need to wait, Mary. We will all eat after the smile contest.”

  The pie looked like Sisi’s Medium’s torn apart body.

  “Can I be in the smile contest, Father Felipe?”

  “No, Mary, you’re much too old. The smile contest is for children.” Father Felipe poked his hand out through his cage to indicate that a child was someone who was only as tall as his knee. “But your sister! She is welcome to compete in it.” Father Felipe tilted his head to the side and gave Mimi a very charitable look. “She has such a beautiful smile.”

  “But we’re the exact same age,” complained Mary, with a tongue smear of pie on her finger. “We’re twins.”

  “Patience, Mary.”

  As a way to celebrate the unprecedented week-long span without a God’s Finger death in Pie Time, Father Felipe announced that he would be honoring the heavenly gift of XO Life Cages, in addition to the resurrection of Jesus Christ, by hosting the first ever XO Pie Time Easter Sunday Contest Fest and Pot Luck. There would be four contests: a pretty baby contest for the newborn babies, a smile contest for the young children who had yet to set their sinful feet down the path through puberty, a beauty contest for men dressed as women, and a life cage decoration contest. There was also a row of carnival games, including a ring toss, a balloon dart game, and a weight guessing tent.

  It was a particularly cold and windy Easter Sunday with no spring sun in sight. The celebration seemed terribly important for a town that had, until now, only death to celebrate.