Objects of Worship (2 page)

Rose recoils from Sara’s glare.

“I don’t need you to tell me how to worship.” But Sara
nevertheless dips her knife into the jar and smears a dollop
of chunky peanut butter on her tribute before offering it to
the god.

Rose runs the six blocks from home to the video store. As
assistant manager, it’s her responsibility to open the shop
in the morning. Rose usually gets to the store a half-hour
early; she likes to attend to her morning tasks unhurriedly.
But today the home god was too upset. It hates when she
and Sara fight, or even when they exchange tense words.
After breakfast, they had to cuddle silently on the couch
with the god nestled between them until harmony was
restored. When Rose and Sara finally kissed, the god
rewarded them.

Rose looks at her watch as she reaches the storefront.
She’s made it with five minutes to spare. Two of the
employees are waiting outside. And smoking. They know
the staff rules. No smoking in front of the store. If they
have to smoke, they should do it in the alley, or at least not
so close to the door.

“We’re not on the clock yet, so don’t get on our case,”
says Vandana as she stubs out her cigarette under her black
construction boots.

“Yeah,” Maddie concurs, flicking away her own half-smoked cigarette with her long, crooked fingers. The green
polish is flaking off her chipped, overlong nails.

Rose unlocks the front door, steps inside, then quickly
punches in the security code on the pad next to the light
switch.
Ashley — cheerful
and
perfectly
groomed,
as
always — arrives; Rose waves in all three clerks before
locking the door again, so they can ready the store. But first
things first.

The store god rests in its altar, which is carved into a
column next to the counter. All four women kneel, cooing
prayers at the god. The god glows, acknowledging their
presence, but does not otherwise stir.

By the time the store opens, they’re six minutes late;
only one customer is waiting. Rose apologizes, but the
woman — a tall redhead with a striking face, long luxurious
hair, and big curious eyes — laughs it off. “I just got here.”
Her smile is playful; it’s enough to wipe away the remains
of Rose’s tension.

Rose is grateful for this change in the day’s course. She
should thank the store god. There’s a box of chocolates
in her desk. She’ll bring one out for the god. Maybe mint
cream? Or almond crunch?

Suddenly, the god moans painfully.

The god darkens.

Vandana, Maddie, and Ashley are already trying to
soothe it by singing to it. The store god loves song, but the
clerks’ efforts are having no effect.

The
only
customer — that
beautiful
redhead — is
browsing through the new releases as if nothing untoward
was happening.

Rose walks up to her. “Have you greeted the god?”

The woman frowns and tries to suppress a chuckle.
“What? . . . No.”

“The altar is by the counter. Perhaps a small prayer?”

“I don’t think so.”

Gods must always be greeted. It’s the same everywhere.
Showing proper respect to the gods is what holds society
together.

Rose just stares blankly at the woman, who resumes
browsing. She picks a shrinkwrapped DVD case off the
rack.
Burning Sky
, Rose notices, remembering that Sara had
asked her to bring a copy home.

The customer walks to the counter, holding the DVD.
Rose follows her.

The three clerks are still trying to soothe the god, but it
is more anxious than ever. Smoke spews from the altar.

The customer turns toward Rose. “Can I buy this?”

Rose snatches the DVD away. “Please leave. Right now.”

“Because of that thing,” she points at the god, “you won’t
take my money?”

“Get out.”

After the woman has gone, Rose fetches the box of
chocolates from her office and, piece by piece, feeds all of it
to the god. Finally, the god appears to calm down.

Then the god leaves its perch, finds the DVD the woman
had intended to buy, and destroys it.

Above the bed, in its niche in the wall, the altar lies empty.
Rose stiffens and stops herself from reminding Sara that
it needs to be cleaned. This has been such a stressful day;
Rose wants it to end on a good note. But Sara’s neglect nags
at her.

Sara sighs. “I’ll clean it tomorrow, okay? I can tell it’s
bugging you.”

They hug, their breasts touching under the covers. Sara
continues, “You shouldn’t second-guess me so much. I know
your family does things differently, but I’ve always taken
good care of the god. We live in harmony.”

The god’s been in Sara’s family for generations. Sara
had been given to her mother by the god. And the god had
given Sara’s mother to Sara’s grandmother . . . Sara grew
up with the god, has spent her entire life with it. She and
the god are ritually bonded; there are duties the god won’t
allow anyone else to perform. But Sara is not as fastidious
as Rose would like.

“You’re
still
thinking
about
it.”
Sara,
grinning
mischievously, tickles Rose.

“No, stop!”

Sara pins Rose down, holding her wrists tight against
the mattress. She bends toward her and almost kisses her,
almost lets their lips brush.

Rose snags Sara’s lower lip between her teeth, and Sara
lets herself slide down on top of her lover. They kiss. Sara
jams her leg between Rose’s thighs. They squirm against
each other. They love each other.

Noise awakens Rose. It’s still dark. She groans, knowing
how hard it can be for her to get back to sleep when she’s
roused in the middle of the night. She looks up; the altar is
still empty. The god usually watches over them at night.

Sara snores, lost to sleep.

Worried, Rose gets out of bed and grabs her robe. She
follows the source of the sound.

Through the kitchen window she looks at the large
inner courtyard shared by five neighbouring houses. The
gods are gathered. The gods are singing.

A few other neighbours are sitting on their balconies,
watching the gods.

All thirteen resident gods are there — one for every
household with access to the courtyard. One of the gods lies
in the middle of a circle formed by the other twelve. One
by one, each god leaves the circle to rub itself against the
god in the centre. They go around many times. With each
round the singing intensifies, until it reaches a thunderous
crescendo and all the gods swarm toward the centre.
Abruptly the singing stops, and the mass of congregated
gods pulses with light.

Rose returns to bed, troubled and confused. Before
moving in with Sara, Rose had never seen gods together, and
she is still unfamiliar with their social habits. Unsettled by
them, even. It’s a city thing, with so many households close
together. Rose is still a country girl at heart, despite having
lived here for three years.

Eventually, just as dawn breaks, the god returns to its
altar. Rose has not slept the whole time.

Rose whispers a prayer to the god as it settles in. The
god glows. Then the god joins Rose in bed, slips under the
covers. It rubs itself against Rose’s toes, her soles, her legs,
her stomach, her breasts . . . It shares its warmth with
Rose. Rose’s heart melts with love for the god. The god
presses itself between her legs. She spreads her legs. The
god accepts the tribute of her moistness. And then the god
gives itself to Rose.

Rose gasps.

Rose makes pancakes for breakfast. Lots of pancakes. With
blueberries in them. She lightly sautés sliced apples and
bananas, to serve on the side.

Yawning, Sara emerges from the bedroom. “Babe, it smells
so delicious!”

The table is already set. Plates. Cutlery. Juice. Pot of coffee.
Mugs. Can of maple syrup.

“Do I have time to shower, or should I eat now and shower
after?”

“The pancakes’ll keep warm in the oven.”

“Fuck it. That smell is too delicious. Let’s eat now.” Sara
sits, and Rose brings the pancakes and the sautéed fruit.

Sara asks, “What’s all that ruckus outside?”

“I think one of the neighbours is moving.”

“Yeah . . . Didn’t Jocelyn say she might be leaving?
Something about a new job?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t really know her.”

“Ah, who cares? Let’s eat this great food before it gets
cold. Thanks so much for making this, babe.”

Sara stuffs herself like an enthusiastic child, grinning
at Rose the whole time.

The god settles on the table. Together, the two women
offer it an entire pancake, with banana and apple slices on
top. The god consumes the tribute. The god hums.

Sara chokes.

Rose pats her on the back, and Sara coughs, clearing her
throat.

“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.