by Pete Hautman
“They let me out,” I say, feeling excessively surly and trollish.
“Hi, Jason,” Magda says, her face carefully composed.
I ignore her.
“Haven’t seen any graffiti on the water tower lately,” I say to Henry. “Was spelling out all those words too hard for your stooges?”
“Nah, but after your buddy Schinner tried to drown himself they put some motion detectors on the tower. We haven’t figured out how to get past ’em, but we will. Soon as this thing—” He raps his plastic splint with a crutch. “—comes off.”
Looking down at Henry, I wonder what Magda can possibly see in this skinny little guy on crutches. He can’t even go shopping without a girl to carry his bags. I can hardly believe that, just a few weeks ago, I was afraid of him. There are plenty of scarier things in this world than Henry Stagg’s knobby fists, especially to an oversize, leather-skinned mountain troll such as myself.
I look at him and laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he says suspiciously.
“You are,” I say, feeling reckless and angry. I turn to Magda and put an extra dash of nasty in my voice. “Haven’t seen you at TPO lately.” I had gone to the last three TPO meetings, mostly in hopes of seeing Magda, but she never showed up. Avoiding me, probably. Do I take it personally? Hell, yes.
“I’ve been busy,” she says.
“Busy with Henry?”
“That is none of your business,” she says, her big eyes becoming slits.
I look at Henry, who is scowling dangerously, then back at Magda.
“You could do better,” I say, jerking my thumb in Henry’s direction.
I see Henry’s right arm move, but he’s too fast for me. His crutch whacks me across the side of my head and I go down like a 230-pound sack of lard. Next thing I know I’m staring up at Henry Stagg’s flushed, knotted features, and above him the bright white fluorescent light fixtures are spinning and I hear Magda’s voice crying, “Omigod! Omigod!”
They’re keeping me overnight in the hospital because I have a mild concussion from my head hitting the floor. It took seven stitches to sew my scalp back together, which will leave a really interesting scar. My mother is hysterical, of course. My father wants to press charges. Henry is banished forever from Crossroads Mall. And Magda sent me a bunch of flowers and a get well card.
Yeah, my head hurts right now, but as Henry might say, “You live to be a hundred, you’re gonna remember it like it was yesterday.”
The middle of the night in a hospital is a good time to think. It’s mostly quiet (except for the constant beeping of machines, and the occasional death rattle) and there is nothing to do but think. So I’ve been thinking about Shin, remembering what he said to me last time I saw him—that you can’t really understand something until you believe in it. It sounded crazy to me at the time, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. For example, you can’t really understand what it means to be Catholic (or Muslim, or whatever) unless you have faith. And you can’t understand algebra unless you believe in numbers. Same deal with gastropods and water towers.
Maybe Shin’s got it right. He just decides to believe in something, then he dives right in. I suppose in a few weeks he’ll get rid of the water tower obsession just as he got rid of his snails, and move on to something new. Leprechauns, maybe. Does that make him crazy? I don’t know. In a way I envy him. He always seems to know what he wants.
I envy my father, too. I envy his unshakable belief in the Catholic Church—his faith gives him power and contentment. I envy everyone who has a religion they can believe in. I envy Henry and Magda, who believe in each other. I even envy Dan, who thinks I’m a dangerous heretic.
Me? I have Chutengodianism—a religion with no church, no money, and only one member. I have a religion, but I have no faith. Maybe one day I’ll find a deity I can believe in. Until then, my god is made of steel and rust.
