‘Le Loup wants to get as much out of you before your man comes to claim you back,’ Petunia explains. ‘No pimp would let a lizard as cute as a toe sack full of puppies, like you are, escape on them. Aha!’ she exclaims, pressing her hands to her head as if she were having a migraine. ‘You were seeing the Jackalope to try to recover from your recent tragedy of loss. And you were supplicating to the Jackalope that it might restore the elasticity to your after-birth vagina!’
‘You could have worked with the sheriff’s department as a psychic, Petunia,’ Stella says. ‘You’re way better at deducing the truth then doing whoring!’
‘I take great offense at that comment. I am a damned good lizard. I haven’t even needed to see the Jackalope, unlike your weekly pilgrimages!’
‘I have never been to see the Jackalope!’ With that, Stella stands, sending me sliding off her lap, under the table, and landing on the floor with a thump.
As they fight across the table, food flying, swearing, Mary Grace squats under the table beside me.
‘I’m sorry for all the grave adversity you’ve recently endured,’ she says and reaches with her hands for me. We duck down to avoid the flying cutlery and head into the kitchen. Lymon sticks a lemon wedge coated with sugarcane under my lip and leaves his finger a little too long in my mouth, so Mary Grace jerks it out.
‘Lymon!’ Mary Grace slaps his hand.
‘I wouldn’t’ve thought she was old enough to bleed. She ain’t knee-high to a duck,’ Lymon says.
‘I never ever had the monthly blood,’ I say.
Everyone in the kitchen gasps.
‘Never?’ Mary Grace pats my hand. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod. ‘I’ve had a bleeding hemorrhoid that I had to take to wearing a menstrual pad for…’
‘That’s a different hole,’ Mary Grace says gravely.
Everyone nods in agreement.
‘Well, you heard what happened to Sarah in Genesis. The Lord does not need blood to make a female with child. Lord!’ She caresses my face. ‘You are not only a figure of tragedy but are a miracle in our midst.’ She crosses herself and kisses my hand.
I feel a warmth spread through me, as if I were bending over the bed waiting for Sarah’s strap to comfort me.
‘Shit! Now Le Loup is gonna really charge more for a poke with you,’ Lymon moans.
The dishwasher kneels before me and begins to kiss my Mary Janes and sing religious songs in Cajun.
‘Maybe you are Sarah, Abraham’s wife reincarnated, and this time the Lord is starting you early so you don’t have to be one hundred by the time your kid is ten,’ says one of the ramp cutters.
I nod solemnly and picture the real Sarah back at The Doves. I feel a conspicuous ache of pleasure combined with shame that I am not sharing with her her probable rightful place as a religious icon, on account of her having lost her innards probably thousands of times and giving birth to me without knowing it.
‘Le Loup won’t know whether to fuck you or worship you!’ Lymon says, and Mary Grace slaps him.
Stella and Petunia come bursting through the kitchen swing doors.
‘Sarah here is in all probability and likelihoods Sarah from Genesis reincarnated,’ Mary Grace tells them, crossing herself again.
After Mary Grace updates Stella and Petunia on my status as a religious icon and probable sainthood, Stella nods, while Petunia immediately slides on her knees to my feet like she’s stealing a base. ‘I just know the
World News
and even
The Enquirer
will be here any minute! They always know when there is a supernatural occurrence anywhere in the world. I heard they have a whole team of psychics devoted to keeping them abreast of miraculous developments.’
A big burst of lightning flashes followed by a thunderclap that makes everyone jump.
‘Normally, we would’ve lost all our power from a hit like that!’ Lymon gasps.
‘I didn’t even see a flicker,’ says a ramp cutter.
Everyone moans like self-flagellated monks, and they all drop to their knees before me.
‘What y’all doin’?!’ Pooh says, slamming the screen door behind her.
Nobody says a thing. I feel hands sliding over my Mary Janes and knee-highs like a den of diamond backs.
‘Hi, Pooh,’ I say and give her a big detached smile.
‘What the hell are all y’all doin’?!’ Pooh stomps closer.
‘We’ve got to tell Le Loup! Where is he at, Pooh?’ whispers Mary Grace, not turning her head from me.
‘Tell him what?’ Pooh stomps closer.
‘Why that Sarah here is a Biblical figure reincarnated!’ proclaims Stella.
‘Or maybe possessed,’ says the ramp cutter and everyone shoots him evil looks. ‘In a saintly sort of way, I mean.’
‘What?!’ Pooh stares at me and I look down in embarrassment. ‘First she’s She-Ra the action figure, now a goddamned saint?!’ Pooh spits, everyone gasps, and three different people put their hands over my eyes, ears, and nose to protect me from the vileness spilling forth from Pooh. But I can still make out her words. ‘You want to know where Le Loup is?! He’s gettin’ the insides of his Trans Am steam-cleaned from a tornado of puke She-Ra the saint over there blew, yet walked out of there clean as dog balls.’
‘Ohh, I feel the presence!’ wails the dishwasher removing his hands from my eyes. ‘My hands are hotter’n the hubs of hell!’
Hands are removed from my ears and nose and blown on as if they were set afire.
‘So, she spewed like a tornado in Le Loup’s little Trans Am?’ Stella says slowly to Pooh.
‘Yep, that’s what your fuckin’ saint did, after guzzling my stumphole whisky, which I think y’all clearly been guzzling too!’
‘And not a drop got on her?’ Petunia says, her voice wavering.
‘Yup, like a spoilt brat! She coated me pretty good, though!’
‘Pooh, why didn’t you tell us of this miracle?!’ Mary Grace gasps.
‘Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’ someone shouts.
‘What the fuck are y’all even on about?’ Pooh yells.
‘We needed something like this,’ Stella says, massaging my calves. ‘This will put Three Crutches on the map!’
‘Give that old Jackalope a run for its money!’ Petunia whispers between licks of my shoes.
‘You all look like a bunch of pickled crab apples down there. Okay, joke’s over! You got me, ha-ha-ha! Okay, I got to get She-Ra back ready for Le Loup to baptize her, so if y’all kindly move aside there…’
‘Stella, remember to remind Le Loup that there is no cause to baptize her. She’s already a holy lizard,’ Mary Grace says.
Pooh glares at me. ‘She’s a whore, okay, just a whore, just like all of you. Ain’t nothin’ holy about her, okay? She’s gonna be digging for change on her back just like all of you come nightfall, so y’all just get over yourselves, okay?!’ Pooh lunges for me.
‘Oh, Sarah can’t work like you can, Pooh,’ Lymon says, holding her back while on his knees. ‘She’s missing her insides. The Lord can take her at any moment.’
Pooh’s eyes scrunch up real tight at me. ‘I knew there was something about you I didn’t like. I saw it in your eyes.’ She backs up toward the door. ‘Something too hungry in your eyes. I think you’re really a black snake and you got everyone charmed. Well, not me! And you can sure as bet Le Loup is not gonna fall for this bullshit spell.’
‘Pooh, if she were really a black snake, how would she’ve made it past all the ash trees planted around this diner? You know ash trees protect against black snakes!’ Stella says.
‘Might could slip through, if she took on the body of a rattler first,’ says the ramp cutter.
Everyone ignores him.
‘I heard this wind blow before and y’all gone fuckin’ nuts! And you’—she points to me—‘you’ll pay for this. You’ll pay.’ Pooh turns around and stomps out.
‘Think like you’re carrying tomato dumplings, y’all.’ Stella directs the crowd from Three Crutches Diner as they gently hoist me up onto the soft pads of their fingertips to carry me back for some rest before the coming media onslaught.
‘She’s lighter than a fart,’ the ramp cutter says.
‘You would be too if you were a saint missing organs,’ the dishwasher hisses.
Everyone shushes them and they carry me outside, down the aluminum stairs, and begin to sing ‘Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone?’ in the key of A.
‘ “Must Jesus bear the cross alone, And all the world go free?” ’ they sing.
I stare up at the gray clouds tumbling over one another like a circus act.
‘ “No, there’s a cross for ev’ry one, And there’s a cross for me…” ’
It feels as if I’m floating on hundreds of Q-tip heads.
‘ “The consecrated cross I’ll bear, Till death shall set me free…” ’
The sweet ozone smell of rain and the low sky above me fill me with a gracious tenderness.
‘ “And then go home my crown to wear, for there’s a crown for me.” ’
I let my arms fall to the side, outstretched like a T, the symbolism of which is not lost on the crowd carrying me, and they let out a loud moan of delectation.
‘ “O precious cross! O glorious crown! O resurrection day!” ’ they sing louder and I hum along.
‘ “Ye angels from the stars come down…” ’ Somebody stops holding my ass with their fingertips and instead cups it with their hands, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘ “And bear my soul away…” ’
‘Lymon!’ someone shout-whispers, and I feel the hands slapped away from my bottom.
I close my eyes and just float. I imagine Sarah next to me. I reach out my hand to her and she lets me hold her hand.
‘ “One did give his life up for an unworthy soul such as I…” ’ they sing, and I hum along to ‘Nailed to the Cross’ in the key of F.
I smile at my mom. She hates the romantic spirituals, but tends to enjoy the ones that contain great bodily harm to Jesus.
‘Jesus is just like a trucker—takes a whore off her back,’ she’d rave after some lizard would find Jesus. ‘Convinces her he’s the fuckin’ Son of God and always fuckin’ leaves her. How the fuck is she supposed to make her money after she’s gotten used to sleeping on her side?!’ she’d spit. ‘Fucking Christ! Yeah, he’ll never fill me more than trucker dollars. Give me the first fuckin’ nail!’
‘ “…All my sinning is purged. They are hammered to the cross, nailed to the crucifix…” ’ everyone sings.
‘You’re gonna pay,’ Sarah says to me with her clouded smile, eyes glimmering like flakes of blue glaze.
‘It’s different this time,’ I whisper.
‘ “He bore so much willingly, the anguish, the loss, He suffered with glee…” ’ they sing.
She pulls her hand from mine. ‘You’re still stealing what’s mine,’ she says, her mouth taking a sarcastic downturn. ‘Like you always do and you always, always pay.’ She winks at me and points up to the sky.
‘ “Jesus died on the cross. My sins He took with him there.” ’
I jerk open my eyes to see a turkey vulture circling unsteadily above us, its two-toned wings spread into a wobbly V. A fat raindrop splatters against my forehead.
‘It’s fixin’ to come up a bad cloud,’ Lymon says and gives my ass a courteous fondle.
‘It is way too early for spirituals!’ Le Loup’s deep resinous voice booms over us, interrupting ‘Beneath the Crucifix of Jesus’ in the key of D flat. ‘And why are you carrying my new baby like you’re putting on a Sunday school Easter show?’
I lift my head to see Le Loup standing in his barn doorway, Pooh peeking out from behind him, laughing.
Stella stomps up to Le Loup and talks to him fervently, pointing at me occasionally. Pooh rolls her eyes, laughs, and spits. Le Loup narrows his small eyes at me. I try to look virginal by making my eyes look big.
When Sarah was after someone else’s man, she’d put her hair into pigtails and practice making her eyes wide in the mirror. ‘Nothin’ makes a man want you more than thinking you’re an unpopped virgin. This make the best virgin blood,’ she’d say, slipping a Burger King foil ketchup packet into her bra. ‘Makes them feel like fuckin’ God.’
‘Well put our little angel down!’ Le Loup motions to the group like he’s guiding in an eighteen-wheeler.
‘She’s gotta be put to the bed!’ Petunia insists.
‘Most of my babies do, Petunia.’ Le Loup winks at her and Petunia shakes her head and smiles self-consciously.
‘Bring the holy one in, by all means.’ He waves and they carry me in. As we pass Le Loup, he smiles and scans me over like a tray of deli slices.
Pooh is chortling in the background until there’s a sudden loud smack and a gasping for air. I look up and see Pooh, bent over, holding her face and Le Loup looking on with the same muted smile.
‘I see you got your baptizing sheets all made,’ Stella says pointing to the satin black-and-white zebra sheets they gently lay me onto. ‘She won’t be needing…’
‘I understand that,’ Le Loup says with a smile but with an undertone of force.
The 3D poster of Pope John Paul II on the ceiling is winking at me in a slightly lascivious way. Everyone is standing around the bed staring at me. I smile and wave like I did to Pooh earlier in the morning.
Two loud hand claps make everyone jump. ‘Okay, folks, thanks for bringing her ‘round.’ Le Loup claps his hands again and everyone starts to file out, humming ‘We Saw Thee Not’ in the key of F.
‘So, you’re a saint,’ Le Loup says in a buried voice, sitting on the bed and leaning over me, his small eyes gleaming with impatience.
I hear Pooh suck her teeth. I don’t move.
‘Well, Pooh, I guess you’re on your own tonight. Hope that Jackalope did you well.’
‘Le Loup, you don’t believe she’s a saint, do you?’ Pooh says while moving out of Le Loup’s striking range.
Le Loup plays with my curls like a cat toying with a mouse tail.
‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ He smiles sideways at her. ‘Whore or saint, don’t matter. They both bring in money,’ he laughs.
Pooh squeezes her fierce eyes at me. I tilt my head into Le Loup’s hand.
I practice smiling at Pooh, just like Sarah does when some girl would come charging at her, broken beer bottle thrust out like a torch. I’d wrap my arms around myself and watch Sarah lean deeper into her man’s arms, a masklike detached grin floating across her carmine mouth. I’d watch from the corner of the bar, hidden behind the dusty striated rays of light, as the man would toss a can at the crying woman and yell at her to go get lost and Sarah would lick her lips in triumph.