“WARNING
INJURY AND DEATH
HAVE REWARDED CARELESS
SIGHT-SEERS HERE
THE OCEAN AND ROCKS ARE TREACHEROUS
SAVOUR THE SEA FROM A DISTANCE”
- Sign on Peggys Point Lighthouse in Nova Scotia
CHAPTER ONE
WHEREIN THEY BRAVE THE BITTERLY COLD SNOWSTORM
The wind whistles in their ears, and the old woman buttons her coat right up to her neck, turns to the boy and says, “We’re not far off from where Jesus lost His sandals.”
The dead leaves rustling along the ground are swept into vortices and breakdance around their feet.
“Why do we have to walk?” asks the boy. “It’s so cold.”
“The cold builds character,” says the old woman, “and you know we don’t have a car, Darren.”
“Well, why couldn’t we go when it was warm?” asks Darren.
“Because when it was warm, I didn’t need to go to the doctor.”
Darren doesn’t say anything. Where will he go if his grandmother dies, too?
“Anyway,” says Darren’s grandmother, “I was about to tell you the story of how Jesus lost His sandals.”
Darren nods, wiping his upturned nose with his glove. His ears feel like they don’t belong to his head. The wind whips about, blowing harder, and it chills both Darren and his grandmother through their large puffy coats. His grandmother’s gray hair is swept about by the squalls, and snow pelts her chiseled face. She’s a tough alley cat of an old lady. She squints her hazel eyes into the distance.
“See over there?” she asks, pointing to a far off tree. “A long time ago, there was a bakery there. And the manager there was Satan.”
Darren watches the tree, as if expecting Satan to appear with a pan of muffins at any second.
His grandmother continues, jowls shaking, “The employees were all demons and every day they made the most delicious pastries and cakes in the world. The scents wafted through the town and passersby couldn’t help following their noses. The foods the demons made were truly amazing and the temptation was great. As you know, Darren, Satan doesn’t take cash or cheque. He deals in souls alone. And these cakes were so good that you would sell your soul without a second thought.”
Leaves blow through their legs, and it begins to snow. Tiny flakes and then bigger ones swirling round and round. Darren takes off his glove, holds his hand out, palm up and watches flakes land on his skin and instantly dissolve into water.
“We better walk a bit faster,” says his grandmother. “What was I saying? Oh, yes. Satan was gradually acquiring everyone’s souls in the area. This was before franchising. He would pick clean an area of the souls and then move on to a new area. One day, business was slow and Satan ordered the demons to make a huge delicious cake and bring it outside. Once there, he told them to waft the scent toward the clouds with their wings.”
“To tempt Jesus, Nana?”
“Exactly,” she says. “And Jesus smelled the wonderful scents up in Heaven. So He descended to the bakery and walked through the door. Satan said, ‘Hello, can I help you, sir?’ and Jesus said, ‘I’d like a chocolate chip muffin.’ Satan smiled because he thought he had Jesus right where he wanted Him. ‘Certainly, sir,’ said Satan. ‘That will be one immortal soul.’ And Jesus said, ‘Actually, I was hoping you’d take sheqels.’ The sheqel is the currency in Jerusalem.”
Darren nods.
“Then Satan said, ‘I will give you this muffin if you fall down and worship me,’ and Jesus said, ‘Begone, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and only Him shall you serve.’ But Satan was unfazed. He said, ‘You begone, Jesus. You’re banned from this bakery.’ Jesus left the shop, fuming.”
“Jesus is going to get Satan, isn’t He?” Darren asks.
“Of course, Darren,” replies his grandmother. “Satan might seem like a tough guy, but really, he is weak and could never prove a challenge to the godly.”
“Good,” says Darren.
“Jesus decided to punish Satan,” says Darren’s grandmother. “So he built a bakery right next to Satan’s. People came from miles around to eat of Jesus’ pastries, which were not only better than Satan’s, but cheaper. Jesus accepted both sheqels and confessions instead of souls. Satan didn’t have a single customer for forty days and forty nights. Satan fumed, but there was nothing he could do to gain back the customers. At the end of forty days and forty nights, Jesus ambled over to Satan’s bakery and said, ‘Give me my muffin and I will forgive you. I’ll close up shop.’”
Darren sees the hospital come into view through the snowflakes. They would be there in five minutes. He hopes his grandmother will have time to finish her story.
“Satan was sitting on a stool behind the counter. Slowly, Satan stood up. His red face seemed to get redder as he screamed, ‘NEVER,’ and threw his stool at Jesus with all the force he could muster. The stool burst into flames in mid-air. Jesus simply deflected it with a wave of His hand. Jesus said, ‘Come on, Lucy. You can’t beat me.’”
“Why did Jesus call Satan Lucy?” asks Darren.
“It’s short for Lucifer,” says his grandmother. “Anyway, that didn’t stop Satan from trying to beat Jesus. He threw everything in arm’s reach at Jesus, but everything bounced off the air a foot in front of Jesus’ hand. ‘It is futile to continue, Lucy,’ He said. Jesus clapped His hands and everything made of glass — the windows, the mixing bowls, the glasses — shattered. The fragments of glass formed themselves into a sceptre in the air. The sceptre flew itself through Satan’s torso and he screamed and burst into flames. His legs turned to salt and he fell to the floor, grabbing at Jesus’ feet. Satan managed to take hold of Jesus’ sandals before his arms turned to salt as well. Then Satan, and Jesus’ sandals, were gone.”
“Wow,” says Darren. “That was awesome. Jesus killed Satan!”
“Just Satan’s corporeal form, Darren,” says his grandmother. “Evil lives on. But at that time, all was well again. Satan’s bakery burned to the ground and Jesus summoned some new sandals and went back up to Heaven. And here we are, Darren.”
She pushes open the front doors of the hospital and the sweet sterile smell that Darren hates wafts over them.
A nurse lets Darren and his grandmother into an office to wait for the doctor. It’s filled with all sorts of fancy objects that Darren doesn’t recognize. There’s a big spike sitting on top of a pile of paper, an apple carved out of wood, a long glass javelin sitting on a wooden stand and some masks on the wall. The nurse tells them that they won’t have long to wait and shuts the door.
Darren’s grandmother says, “You wait outside, alright, Darren?”
He nods his head and walks back out into the hall, taking a seat on a chair just outside the door. Taking off his snow-caked hat, his dishwater blonde hair tumbles out and falls down his forehead, nearly reaching his green eyes. He isn’t sat down for much longer than five minutes when his grandmother opens the door and says, “We can go.”
Darren hadn’t seen the doctor go into the office. “You’re done?” he asks.
“Yes,” says his grandmother, a long, thin tube in her hands. “Come along now.”
As the office door closes, Darren sees that the glass javelin is gone, leaving only the stand.
