Donald and Sarah looked at each other over the dinner table. Sarah had made meat loaf and mashed potatoes. All week long she was making full meals. She found it tiring. At the moment, watching him chew green beans, she felt scared.
"You said something like you hardly remember your childhood."
"Yeah," answered Donald, "that's true. It's like I can't turn my head in that direction."
"But don't you remember anything? How were your parents? How did they treat you?"
"They had rules and they were firm about them. But they weren't mean. Dad didn't talk much."
"Where are they now? Have you talked to them about this stuff?"
"I don't know how to explain this to them. I don't understand it myself."
"The press is going to find them."
"Oh," said Donald, staring at a puddle of gravy in his potatoes, "I better warn them."
Sarah thought of the suffering Virgin, the Pieta. She saw herself at the grocery store trying to find ingredients for her meat loaf. She thought of the whore rubbing ointment on Jesus' head.
That night she started crying. She couldn't help herself. She sat up in bed and in between sobs she said, "Jesus, do you know what is going to happen to you?"
"No," said Donald. "Maybe the best thing I could do for you is leave you, but I don't want to leave you. Maybe I'm just not strong enough."
"Don't protect me," she said, still crying. "Protect yourself."
"God protects me."
"God?" thought Sarah. "You mean the God in the Ganges River who spreads disease all over India? The fiery God of volcanoes? Are you referring to that God who never lifted a finger to help anyone? Does He even have a finger? Or is He just a brain that every once in a while we feel thinking? Maybe you're just a whim of that Brain. Maybe God will sneeze and you'll be forgotten, surrounded by desperate needy people you can no longer heal."
Desperate needy people pulling him into Hell. She just then felt how hard she was gripping the blanket.
"I'm a devil," she cried.
Donald sat up. "You're my devil," he replied, embracing her. She felt as though he had pulled her from a raging river. She was so utterly his. She so utterly loved him.
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