Toby

Mom led us into the den, carrying the holy head out in front of her, walking slow and religious—her, then me, then Ralph, then Lou.

She told me to take the lamp off the little table and set it down on the floor, which I did, moving in a religious way. Then she told us all to kneel down, and we did that, Lou on my left, Ralph on my right.

Lou was trembling all over like she was freezing.

Then Mom stood facing us with a stupid little dreamy smile, holding up the rock in her rubber gloves like the priest holds up the chalice for everyone to bow their heads to, so I bowed my head, and Ralph and Lou bowed theirs. Then I raised my head and so did they.

Sheep.

Then, real slow, Mom turned around and started to set the sacred rock on the little table, on the little doily, the little clean white doily. She was bending over, slowly lowering it—but then she stopped. She stayed there like that, her gigantic rear end in our faces.

I knew what she was thinking:

This rock is awful dirty...

But it’s from Our Lord...

But it’s still awful dirty...

She turned around and told us in a quiet voice to wait right there. Then she started back down the hallway with the rock, still moving slow and religious.

Ralph elbowed me. “Where’s she going?”

“Don’t be poking me, boy.”

“Where’s she going?”

“Kitchen.”

“What for?”

“Wash it off.”

He squinted at me.

“She doesn’t like dirt,” I told him, “okay? I know that’s hard for someone like you to understand.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked off towards the hallway.

Some people it’s impossible to insult, they’re too dumb.