Objects of Worship (4 page)

George waited before replying. There was a tense,
uncomfortable silence — save for Scott’s constant crying
and yelling and pounding. The boy always had so much fun
when they locked him in that closet. After a few minutes,
George glared at Raymond and said, “Are you done? Can I
speak now?”

Raymond crossed his arms and nodded reluctantly.

“First, where do you think this meal comes from? From
dead animals — animals just like Scott. This is what these
animals are — food. Meat. They’re our only source of food.
And we have to farm them, or else we wouldn’t be able to
feed everyone. Do you — ”

“Farming’s not natural. The preacher said so! And she’s
right. You know she is.”

George was livid. “Don’t interrupt me! I let you drone
on. Now you listen to me.”

Pouting, Raymond said, “Okay, I’m listening.”

George wagged his finger, his mouth open, ready to
bark his anger at Raymond, but instead he let his arm and
shoulders drop and said in a neutral voice, “Oh, what’s the
use.” He walked out of the house.

What was really irritating George was that he found
himself starting to agree with Raymond and the preacher.
But he didn’t want to. He hated this kind of sentimental
anthropomorphizing. Meat was meat. He was starting to
regret ever adopting the boy. None of this would be an issue
if Raymond hadn’t become so attached to Scott.

He wandered around the neighbourhood for an hour or
so and then decided to go back home.

He heard the screams even before he opened the door.
He walked into the living room and saw Raymond playing
with the boy. Scott’s screams were so loud. He must really
be enjoying himself. George could see that the boy had shat
and peed himself in excitement, tears and snot running
down his face. Raymond and Scott looked so beautiful
playing hide-the-maggots that George’s anger melted away.
He took a handful of maggots out of his mouth and joined
the two of them at their game. Scott screamed even louder
when George started pushing maggots up the boy’s nose.
What fun! George softened even more and gave Raymond
a loving look. They kissed, the boy’s screams making it all
the more meaningful.

Basil and Judith Fesper were moonbathing on their front
lawn when George stepped out of the house to wash the
car. They waved at him to come over. Inwardly, he groaned.
What were they going to complain about now? What had
Scott done this time?

“Hello, Basil. Judith.”

They were both smiling. Basil said, “I wanted to apologize
for almost eating your boy last month.”

That surprised George. “Huh . . . thanks.” Scott had run
away a few weeks ago, and George had found Basil Fesper
about to pop the boy’s skull open for a quick snack. But
George had intervened just in time. Basil had said, “If I ever
find that animal on my property again he’ll be a meal!” Since
then, Raymond and George usually kept the boy chained up
to keep him out of trouble.

Judith shook her husband’s shoulder. “Ask him, Basil.
Ask him.”

Basil looked irritated for a second, but then recovered.
“What the wife and I mean is that hearing all those screams
coming from your house . . . Well, it makes us yearn for
the pitter-patter of little feet, you know? We’re thinking
about getting a little one of our own. We were wondering if
you could give us the number of the agency where you got
Scooter.”

“Scott.”

“Right. Scott. So, what’s the number?”

The preacher led George through the church. George looked
at the frescos depicting the seven-day meteor shower
that, according to Scripture, released God’s chosen from
the ground and allowed them to inherit the Earth from
the fleshie animals who had ruled it in prehistoric times.
It was so hard for George to remember that chaotic age,
centuries ago, when people first walked the Earth. All
he could recall was an all-consuming hunger for fleshie
brains. Scripture said the feeding frenzy before God gave
people consciousness lasted another seven days, but who
really knew? George had never really cared about religious
dogma. He didn’t see the point in arguing over details
nobody could prove or disprove. Maybe people had simply
been too hungry to think straight.

They reached her office in the back. She offered him
a glass of brain juice. “It’s organic,” she said. “From free-range fleshies.”

It tastes the same as regular brain juice
, he thought.
Sitting behind her big desk, she asked, “Is everything
alright with your family, George? How’s Raymond? And
little Scott?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong per se, but that is kind
of why I’m here.” George looked at the floor and shuffled
his feet, not sure how to continue. The preacher waited
patiently.

George plunged ahead. “I’ve been thinking a lot about
all that animal rights stuff of yours. At first I was pretty
dismissive of it, but now I’m not so sure. I think I might be
starting to agree with you. Especially the part about how
it’s unnatural for people to live apart from animals. I mean,
since we’ve adopted Scott, Raymond’s happier than he’s
ever been. And even I have to admit that the boy’s fleshie
screams are soothing for the soul. They make me feel . . .
I dunno . . . complete or wholesome or something. And even
the neighbours, who were antagonistic when we first got
Scott, have been adopting fleshie children, too.” George
was getting wrapped up in what he was saying, talking
more rapidly. “For example, just next door, the Fespers
have adopted three children. Three!” He shook his hand to
emphasize his point, and a morsel of flesh snapped off his
index finger and fell to the floor.

“Now, there’s a real sense of community in the
neighbourhood. There never was before. People throw
parties and invite the neighbours to meet their new
children. That kind of thing. There’s never a moment
without at least some screaming on our street. And it feels
so right, so natural.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, George. But I don’t understand
what your problem is.”

“Well . . . I’ve been thinking about the appalling conditions in the factory farms, and all that. And . . . And I
think I want to do more. I want to help change things. Make
this a better world for others like Scott, for the fleshies.”

The preacher stayed silent, scrutinizing George.

He fidgeted in his chair. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. Absolutely not. Have you gone crazy?”

George couldn’t understand why Raymond was so
upset.

“You’re going to get arrested. And where would that
leave poor little Scott, with you in jail and only me to look
after him?”

“But, Raymond, I’m doing this for Scott, so that he can
grow up in a better world. I thought you’d be proud of me.
That you’d want to do this, too. You’re always talking about
this fleshie rights stuff. Arguing with me to see things your
way. And now I do. I really do. And I want to do something
about it. Talk isn’t enough. It won’t change the world
without action to back it up.”

“That doesn’t mean that I condone this kind of . . .
of
terrorism.
It’s
criminal,
George.
Plus,
your
first
responsibility should be to your family. To me and little
Scott.”

George
was
getting
angry
and
impatient.
First,
Raymond fought with him because George didn’t believe in
animal rights, and now they were arguing because, more
than simply spouting slogans, George actually wanted to
do something to help the fleshies. Before he could stop
himself, he yelled at Raymond, “You’re such a hypocrite.
Such a coward. You don’t really want what’s best for Scott,
just what’s best for yourself!” And, with that, he stomped
outside and drove away, to the rendezvous point the
preacher had given him.

The preacher said that they were going to hit a fleshie
factory farm. Blow up walls and liberate the fleshies. Make
the authorities notice that people really cared about this,
that it wasn’t just empty rhetoric.

There were nine of them altogether. George recognized
some of them from church. They split up in three vans. One
of the vans, not the one George was in, was loaded with
explosives. They were going to aim that van at the wall of
the farm. The explosion should blow a hole big enough to
let the fleshies escape. In the confusion, they’d slip in and
make sure all the fleshies were freed. There shouldn’t be
too many people at the plant. They’d chosen a religious
holiday for their operation: the first day of the Week of the
Sacred Meteors.

Well, that was the plan.

The first part went off well. They drove far out of town,
to where the factory was. The driverless van hit the wall.
It exploded. It brought the wall down. They waited a few
minutes, but no fleshies ran out. In fact, no-one ran out.

Confused, the group advanced toward the factory. They
walked through the damaged wall and into the building.
Inside, they saw that the van had hit the security guard’s
office. His head had been torn off his body. It lay on the
floor in the doorway to the corridor.

As the animal liberators walked by, the head said, “Hey!
Who are you guys? What the flesh is going on here?”

The group ignored the security guard. George thought,
I
sure hope that guy has good medical coverage. Recapitation’s not
cheap
. Then one of the guys kicked the head. The preacher
got mad: “Ralph! There was no need for that!”

Ralph, who was so tall he had to bend down to walk
through the doorway, looked sheepish. “Sorry. Got too
revved up.”

The factory felt empty, deserted. The corridor led to a
number of closed doors. The preacher said, “The fleshies
must be behind those doors. Come on. Let’s do what we
came here for.”

The first door led to a broom closet. George opened the
second door. Jackpot.

The room was huge. Naked fleshies were stacked in a
big cage, pressed tightly against each other. Their arms and
legs had been amputated, but they were still alive. There
must have been hundreds of them. They were all covered
in excrement. Their mouths were sewn onto transparent
plastic tubes that led to a big vat above their cage. Some
kind of liquid goop flowed from the machines and into the
mouths of the fleshies.

George
could
never
have
even
imagined
these
conditions.

Between the door and the cage, there was a long stretch
of tables, on which were piled mountains of amputated
fleshie corpses with their skulls sawn open. On the floor,
there was a long and deep tub filled to the rim with
unprocessed brains.

The smell of the raw brains was overpowering.

The group of animal liberators, George included, mobbed
the big tub and started chomping away at the cornucopia of
raw meat.

In less than an hour, the tub was licked dry. High on
food, the activists approached the cage that held the live
amputated fleshies. They tore the iron bars apart with
their bare hands. They ripped the tubes from the fleshies’
mouths. They cracked the skulls of the animals on the
floor and gorged themselves on fresh brains.

They fed until they’d eaten all the meat stored at that
factory.

George lay on the floor in a stupor, his body covered in
blood, gore, and brain goo. He was roused by the police
sirens.
Around
him,
the
other
liberators
were
slowly
starting to come out of their post-binge daze. George,
alarmed
by
the
sound,
collected
himself
and
hurried
outside. A half-dozen police vehicles were on the road,
driving fast toward the factory farm. He ran to a ditch and
jumped in. He prayed that the police hadn’t seen him.

From the ditch, George saw the police round up all
of his cohorts and search the would-be liberators’ two
remaining
vans.
After
a
while,
they
drove
off.
He’d
managed to escape. Raymond had been right. This had
been a crazy idea.

They hadn’t done any good for the fleshies. All they’d
done was eat.

George got angry at the preacher for putting all these
stupid ideas into his head. Eating was natural. Meat was
meat was meat. And that’s all there was to it.

George and Raymond invited the whole neighbourhood
to their backyard barbecue. The Fespers were the first to
arrive, but soon dozens of people were milling about the
yard, their children tied up and well-behaved, screaming and
crying. Scott was tied to the fence, next to the barbecue.

Basil Fesper said, “I’ve never trusted preachers. All that
holiness. It warps the mind.”

Raymond said, “Basil, it was only that one preacher who
was criminally insane. Not all of them!”

Basil harrumphed. “They’re all trying to contaminate us
with their subversive notions, I tell you. I’ll breathe before
you ever see me in a church!”

His wife giggled. “Oh, Basil! Like you need an excuse
for not going to church! Honestly, if I hadn’t insisted on a
traditional wedding . . .”

Holding hands, George and Raymond left the couple to
bicker with each other.

Raymond turned to George and said, “Darling, I don’t
know why I got so depressed before we got Scott, but,
almost losing you because of that stupid stunt, it really put
things in perspective. I love you, and that’s all that really
matters.”

“I love you, too, Raymond. I’m sorry we fought so much.
That I got so tense and angry all the time.”

“And all that over an animal! Over a ridiculous fad!
What were we thinking?” They laughed.

Raymond clapped his hands to get the guests’ attention.
“Okay everyone, I guess we should get started!”

George fired up the barbecue grill.

Everyone grabbed their children. Raymond looked at
George, “He’s all yours, darling.”

George dug his fingers into Scott’s skull and cracked it
open. He was looking forward to better and better times
with Raymond now that they’d worked things out.
But
,
George thought,
I’ll miss the screams.