Prairie Ostrich by Tamai Kobayashi Page B

Bittercreek, that is only on television, like on The Mod Squad . But as Egg looks up at the cross, she realizes that Jesus looks like a long-haired hippie.
    In the basement of Bittercreek United Church, surrounded by a mural of Jesus healing the Leapers, in Mrs. MacDonnell’s Junior Sunday School class, Egg raises her hand.
    Answers. She needs some answers.
    Mrs. MacDonnell’s nose twitches.
    â€œYes, Egg?”
    â€œIf Jesus died so we can be saved…why did He have to die so we can be saved?”
    â€œSo His blood can wash away our sins.” Mrs. MacDonnell speaks slowly, each word a biting clip.
    â€œBut couldn’t He do that anyway, being God and all?”
    Mrs. MacDonnell’s ears blush pink. “It was His plan. We cannot presume to know The Ways of God.”
    Egg sits, stumped. The Ways of God argument. There is no way around that one.
    â€œBut if we were made in God’s image . . .” Egg thinks of Mama and her whiskey. “Why do we need to be saved?”
    Mrs. MacDonnell twitches. Her eyes bulge like the classroom goldfish. “Sin entered the world when we ate of the Tree of Knowledge and for that all of mankind is tainted,” she says finally.
    â€œBut didn’t God put it there? I mean, it sounds like a trick to me, like the three wishes that make everything worse.”
    Mrs. MacDonnell burns red. “Out!” she shouts, as if to expel Satan himself. Egg still has questions about Mama and the Wine in Cana, about Papa in the ostrich barn — she just wants to know how to save them, for they are lost, lost in their own desert, their own wandering wilderness. The Devil is out there, she knows it, but Mrs. MacDonnell’s finger calls down the Wrath of Righteousness and it is out the door for her.
    Our Father, whose Art in Heaven,
    hollow be thy name;
    thy kingdom come,
    thy will be done
    on Earth as it is in Heaven.
    Give us this day,
    our daily bread
    and forgive us our trespasses,
    as we forgive those who trespass against us
    and lead us not onto the Temptations
    but deliver us from evil.
    For thine is the kingdom,
    for power and for glory,
    forever and never.
    Amen .
    And so Egg, banished from the doors of Mrs. MacDonnell’s Sunday school class, her head bowed against the heavy hand of God, whispers a prayer for the lost souls who have turned away from Jesus who loves the little children, all the children of the world. But then she thinks of all the little ones who have not heard the Word and she shivers. She knows that there are places without Jesus and radios and Gilligan’s Island . Hellfire burns hot and eternal and forever is a long, long time. Deep in the darkest depths of her soul, Egg knows that something is wrong, very wrong, wronger than all the burning barns and bloody lambs in all the Bibles, in all the world, so that when the church bell rings and Martin Fisken finally comes and hits her, she is almost happy.
    â€¦
    In the kitchen, Egg opens the cupboards, peers into the corners, behind the boxes and bins. The days have tumbled by and Egg still does not have any answers. It seems like she can’t even get the questions right. If she were smarter, and older, she would know what to do. She needs the bigger picture, the Moral of the Story. Yesterday she found the magnifying glass in her father’s tool box along with a cat’s eye marble. She promises herself that she will put it back. It’s not stealing if you put it back.
    If you hold a marble up in the air, you can see the world shift through different colours. Everything changes, Egg thinks. Newton will tell you that.
    Mama’s Jack Daniel’s hides behind the flour bin. Egg sloshes the half-bottle in her hand. She knows that whiskey makes her Mama blurry. She holds up the bottle against the late afternoon light and peers into the liquid that looks like the last moment of sunset, a deep summer honey that has mellowed into autumn. Carefully, she tops it up with