The Not

by A. R. Braun

  The thought of not being able to get an erection terrified Don.

  Can he do that? I’ve never had a problem getting a boner. He realized Fay was watching him as he spaced out. Oh, never mind. Just ignore him.

  “Not an option!”

  Something thudded onto the roof.

  Fay screamed, recoiling against the door. Her wide eyes found his. “What in the Samhell is that?”

  Don moved his head closer to her, his chin on his chest. He looked up at her as if to say what the hell do you think it was, dummy?

  Fay pointed at the roof. “The Not?”

  Don nodded and fired up the engine.

  Fay grabbed the ancient book from the backseat and perused it.

  Don pulled out as she looked over the material. He was surprised The Not didn’t have a bitch fit, but figured since the deity had them red-handed, there was no need to. If either of them performed the ritual, their relationship was over. The engine purred as they traveled.

  Fay lifted her eyes from the book when he stopped at a stop sign. “Chew on this for a while, Donny: if The Not were to try to break us up again, I’d know it was him turning me against you. The last time, I thought you might be delusional because you were working too hard. Now I know you’re right because he briefly broke us up, so how can he do it?”

  Distracted from driving, Don sighed as he pulled away from the stop, the engine roaring because he pushed it too hard. “He’s a god; he’ll find a way.”

  Fay looked him over for a long space. Finally, she stuck her nose back into the book. Don continued to cruise, then spotted an old-fashioned church made of grey bricks. He slowed to a crawl and pointed it out. “What about that one? Our Savior Lutheran.”

  Fay looked up from the book. “That’ll work.” She went back to her reading.

  Don pulled into the parking lot. A few cars were present, so he figured the pastor, the secretary and the janitor were working hard. He pulled up next to a blue Nissan Infinity. “We’re here, babe. Let’s check it out.”

  “No, check this out.” Fay pointed to a passage in the book. “There’s only one Pueblo Indian deity whose purpose is to create strife and tempt human beings.”

  Don leaned in closer to have a look. The deity’s name was in bold print, the one Running Bear hadn’t dared to speak:

  PISHUNI.

  Don flinched when a screech like a thousand fingernails on a blackboard sounded out and made his ears ring. The roof of the car bent inward as if something had taken off. He looked over at Fay. “Did you hear that?”

  Blanching, Fay nodded.

  A murder of black crows crowded the hood of his car. A multitude of scorpions crawled through the parking lot. Fay gasped, then gawked at them. She trembled.

  “Apparently, he didn’t want us to know his real name.” Don sighed. “Let’s get this over with. We don’t have to find the best church; we just need to get it done.”

  “Shouldn’t we read up on this god so we know what we’re up against?”

  Don nodded and sat upright. “Go through it some more and find out more about him and how we can banish him. I’m not much of a reader.”

  “I gathered,” Fay answered.

  Then she shrieked.

  When Don snapped his head her way, he gaped at the scorpions crawling out of the tome and onto her lap, branching out onto the car seat. He burst out of the vehicle, ran around to her side, opened her door, grabbed Fay and yanked her out into the parking lot. She swatted herself until she realized the scorpions were gone. He looked into the car, and the book simply sat there, not one scorpion in sight.

  Don heaved a heavy sigh. “So much for that.”

  He gave Fay a hug, stroked her and, when she’d calmed down and stopped trembling, walked her toward the church, telling her that eventually they’d have to brave the insects and banish the deity.

  Understandably, she didn’t want to hear it. When it came right down to it, neither did he.

  CHAPTER 17

  Fay’s face beamed as if a spark of brilliance had hit her like a two-by-four. “Hey, Jesus is God. That’s what my family believes. Maybe he’s stronger than Pishuni and — ”

  “Don’t even say his name unless we’re banishing it! That’s what the Indian brave said.”

  Fay sighed. “Sor-ry.”

  “No good, palefaces. There is no Jesus. Fay’s got a short memory. How much good did Jim and Georgia’s prayer for Uncle Bob do? And don’t try to get help from church people. It won’t work — they’re hypocrites — they stole the country from the American Indians, remember? What do you expect from them? They’re not martyrs, at least not in America; maybe in Indonesia or something. Here, they care too much about war, the ball game, gossiping, hate, violence, vicious rumors and conceit to be of any use to you.”

  Don wondered why he should believe Pishuni. They stepped on a few scorpions, doing an absurd version of The Twist.

  “You’re making me angry. Sure you want to do that, Donny Boy?

  I don’t give a fuck!

  “You’d better quit plotting against me.”

  Don decided to ignore him, took Fay’s hand and strolled toward the church. They pulled the heavy oak doors aside and walked in. They walked up to a chubby dark-haired secretary in glasses. Involved in something on a computer, she sat behind a glass window. Her head snapped up to them. She rolled her chair closer and slid back the small sliding glass window. “Hello,” she said in an age-ravaged, screechy voice. “Can I help you?”

  Don forced a smile. “We want to get married, and we’d like to speak to the pastor, please.”

  “Oh, for fucking out loud! Let me know when you’re done with this bullshit. You’re boring.”

  Fay looked up at Don with beaming eyes, holding onto his hand with both of hers.

  The receptionist said, “Pastor Roderick is out, but he’ll be here in about ten minutes. Can you wait?”

  Don smiled. “Sure.”

  The secretary slid the glass window shut.

  Don looked around the foyer. Fay did the same. The only seats were green-cushioned chairs without backs. Don sat while Fay looked over the bulletin board that was littered with pictures and newspaper articles about the church members.

  Fay got up on tiptoes to read an article. “Oh, cute, one of the little ones won a spelling bee.”

  “Wonderful.” Don didn’t realize his voice wasn’t enthused until it was too late.

  Fay snapped her head his way. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Don’t mind me, I’m just stressed about this Not situation.”

  Fay made a chipmunk face, then continued to scan the material.

  Don didn’t know how much longer he could take this. Pishuni was really getting on his nerves, commenting on every little thing he did. That murderer of towns was in his mind. Just dandy.

  I need to get rid of him, at all costs.

  “You wish.”

  As if in answer to his thought, Fay strutted over and joined him. She gingerly sat, apparently afraid she’d ruin God’s wonderful cushion. “What are you thinking about?”

  Don shook his head. “I don’t want to worship that thing anymore.”

  Fay touched his cheek. “I know, honey.” She kissed him. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Revitalized, Don put his arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder.

  Don faced her. “Screw his threats. I’m gonna Bing Pishuni.” With his free hand, he worked the keyboard of his smartphone.

  “Aren’t you worried he’ll make something terrible happen again?” Fay asked.

  Don shook his head. “Know thine enemy, that’s the strategy.”

  A sound like a brittle bone breaking. His cell phone, cracked down the middle. One chirp, then two, then three. A black crow forcing its head out of the smartphone, knocking shards of glass coated with indium tin oxide onto the carpet.

  Don’s heart crawled into his throat. “Oh, oh God, oh SH — ”

  Fay trembled, screamed
and stood up stealthily. Don did the same, running outside with his phone. He hurried toward the dumpster, but the bird flew completely out, breaking the phone in two right down the middle. He dropped the halves. When the crow pecked at Don’s head, he had the insane thought that he was glad he wasn’t bald; that way, the hair would hide the blood. It was like something out of a Hitchcock movie.

  Don punched at the bird. When that did no good because of the wildfowl’s speed, he raced toward the church, yanked the door open, went inside and shut it before the crow could follow.

  Blanching and goggle-eyed, the secretary stared at him. Fay shared her panicked stare when he looked her way. She yanked him down to sit with her. Don bit his lip and struggled not to tremble.

  “Did that really just happen?” Fay whispered.

  Don didn’t have an answer for her. To say he was speechless would’ve been an understatement.

  Stricken with a limping gait, the pastor struggled to walk through the front doors.

  Saved by the church bell.

  The pastor wore a dark suit with a priest’s collar as if he were Catholic. His glasses had slid down his nose, and he was strikingly thin. Don guessed him at about fifty or sixty. The pastor conferred with the secretary, then walked over to them, sticking out his hand.

  “Hello,” the pastor said in a tinny, old-person’s voice. ‘I’m Pastor Roderick.” His silver crown of hair gave way to leathery skin. Wrinkles stood out like connect-the-dots.

  Don stood while shaking with him, the pastor’s grip limp-fish. “I’m Don Rack, and this is Fay Merrimount. We want to get married.”

  “Are you members of this church?” the pastor asked.

  “Um, no. You don’t marry non-members?”

  The pastor chuckled. “Well, of course we do, but we’d love to have you on Sunday.” He waved them toward the hallway. “Come on back.”

  Fay rose and took Don’s hand, tightening her soft fingers over his. The warm touch soothed him, as always. They followed the pastor to the first door on the left, walked in and stood before a wooden desk cluttered with papers. Don looked around the room, noticing an overstocked bookshelf and a cracked window bearing a screen. Birdsong, nature’s radio, filled the space.

  Pastor Roderick gestured toward a couple of green-cushioned chairs with wooden backs. “Please.” His chair was huge: brown leather with buttons. It looked comfortable.

  Don wondered why the church had a hard on for green cushions, and he and Fay sat, still holding hands. He stole some glances around the room again, looking at nothing in particular. Don was anxious to get this over with.

  The pastor powered up his computer, probably checking his email, then turned to them. He clasped his hands together. Don was sorry to interrupt him; he probably had pressing business to take care of.

  As if a mind reader, Pastor Roderick said, “You’ll have to forgive me for being so busy. I’ve got a lot more hospital visits to do after what happened in Rio Rancho. The relatives of the dead had heart attacks, strokes or they’re literally going crazy. Terrible tragedy.”

  Don and Fay nodded.

  If he only knew my god caused that.

  Pastor Roderick drew a deep breath. “So, how long have you known each other?”

  Damn it. That was the worst thing he could’ve asked. “It was love at first sight.” Whoa. Where did that come from? Oh, three guesses, and the first two don’t count; The Not. “Three days, actually.”

  Fay said, “Four.”

  The late, great Carmex vs. Blistex debate again, as Georgia had so eloquently put it.

  The pastor frowned and furrowed his brow, then took off his glasses and wiped his face with a clean handkerchief. He put the spectacles back on — God knew why because all that looked through them was his nose — and faced them. “Well, who am I to argue with love? Sometimes it happens like that, and sometimes it takes time.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” Don said.

  “Can you tell my mom that?” Fay asked.

  Pastor Roderick laughed, then looked her over. “Is your mother a believing woman?”

  Her eyes bright, Fay nodded. “She’s fallen out of touch with the church. She says you’re, um, how did she put it? Oh yeah, cliquey.”

  Again, the pastor chuckled. “Some churches can be that way. We try not to act like that here. Everyone is important. Tell your mother I’d love to talk with her.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Don said.

  Pastor Roderick unclasped his hands and then clapped them together, rubbing them. “Well, it’s easy, actually. We have a marriage class on Mondays. You’ll be in it for a month.”

  Don’s heart sank. Fay’s did too, he knew, because he saw her put her head down. All he could see was her hair. Don locked eyes with him. “Any way we can do this sooner? We want to get married as soon as possible.”

  Pastor Roderick shook his head. “It’s church policy, just to make sure you’re really ready for the commitment. Half of the marriages today end in divorce. 75% for second marriages.”

  Don sighed. “So I’ve heard.”

  Fay eyeballed him, her brow raised.

  “Anyway,” the pastor continued, “if you’ll be here on Monday at seven, we’ll get you taken care of.” He glanced at Fay, then turned to look at Don, as if the latter was the future family’s leader. “Like I said, we’d love to have you on Sunday. Bible study is at nine-thirty, but we have donuts and coffee at nine, and then we have a 10:45 service.”

  “Do you have a mid-week vesper service?” Fay asked.

  Don turned toward her. “What’s a vesper service?”

  “Night church, stupid,” Fay whispered.

  The pastor smiled, showing teeth, as if he’d overheard her and was struggling not to laugh. “No, I’m afraid not, unless it’s Lent. We feel Sunday morning is enough. Every once in a while we have a special service, like on Maundy Thursday or Good Friday. Sometimes we get together to watch Christian movies, but not often. We do have three mid-week holiday services: Thanksgiving Eve, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

  Don didn’t know if he could even take Sunday morning. What the hell is a Maundy Thursday?

  Fay took Don’s hand and put it on her knees. “Then we’ll be here on Sunday, won’t we, Donny?” Her eyes pinned him.

  Don nodded. “Sounds great,” he lied.

  “Good, good, good.” Pastor Roderick stood and shook their hands again. “Well, I have some work to do, so…”

  “Uh,” Don said, “we’d like to talk to you about one more thing.”

  The pastor became squinty-eyed and sat. “Yes?”

  Don took a deep breath.

  Fay looked at him out of the corner of her eye as if daring him.

  Don turned to the pastor. “We, um, oh, this is hard to talk about. We have… a spirit that’s been harassing us.”

  Pastor Roderick cocked his head to the side. “A demonic spirit?”

  “Well…” Don breathed deeply again. Fay squeezed his hand, and the support helped him spit it out. “… He’s a Pueblo deity. He comes to us as a huge bird when I can see him, but he’s destructive. He’ll break us up if I don’t worship him.”

  The pastor’s eyes became tea saucers. “A huge bird?” He shook his head so hard Don thought sweat would fly from his hair. “I’m afraid we don’t believe in that sort of thing here, just God, Satan, angels and demons. Every other kind of spirit is a lie.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Even if I did believe it, which I don’t, how could he break you two up unless you let him?”

  Don shook his head. “I don’t know, but he succeeded once.”

  Pastor Roderick sighed again. “It’s probably a demon disguising itself as a bird. It’s definitely of the devil if it wants to break you up. The only thing I could do is pray with you.”

  “Will it help?”

  “Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt. What did you think I’d say, that it was useless?” He pointed at his collar. “Pastor, remember?”

  Don laughed
and nodded.

  “Would you like me to pray with you?” the pastor asked.

  “Sure,” Don answered. “We need all the help we can get.”

  “All right, then. Let’s join hands.”

  Don took his right hand and Fay took his left. Don shut his eyes.

  “Father, thank you for the fellowship of this wonderful young couple. It’s no accident that they stopped by to see me today, and I ask that you grow their faith and show them how to become a family because the family is holy. Please fight against this oppressive demonic spirit that has manifested himself to them, and I ask you to cast it out in your holy name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Don and Fay parroted.

  Pastor Roderick stood, as if in a hurry. “Well, have a great day, and thank you for stopping by.” He walked them to the door. When Don looked over his shoulder, the pastor stayed in the doorway. “Good day.”

  Don said, “Thank you, sir.”

  With that the pastor shut the door.

  Don took Fay’s hand and they headed out.

  Fay looked up at him after tossing her hair out of her eyes. “He was really nice.”

  Don chuckled. “He thinks we’re nuts.”

  “Oh, you.”

  Don stopped. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Will you wait in the foyer for me?”

  “Sure.” Fay headed that way, probably to peruse more newspaper articles.

  She’s a reader, that one.

  Don headed into the bathroom and did his business in a sparkling-clean urinal.

  Gas stations have a lot to learn from these people.

  Don flushed, then watched himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. His eyes looked unnerved. He glanced downward to make sure he’d scrubbed and rinsed correctly.

  “See as I see.”

  Don jumped as he looked up at the mirror.

  The pastor and the secretary, along with what must have been other parishioners (because they were overdressed), moved toward him, their eyes completely white, their ashen skin cracked. And they growled — yes, growled! — at him, balling their hands into fists. Don was so frightened he thought he’d have a heart attack.

  They inched his way, closer, closer, then raised their hands and bashed into the mirror, probably wanting to choke him or tear him limb from limb. The glass actually rattled. Don flinched, his heart skipping a beat, then he shot out of the bathroom like a cannonball, power walking into the foyer where he overheard the secretary talking on the phone.