The sound of pounding drums was manic, horrific. Vibrations pierced the fifth floor of the university library, penetrating Joe’s entire being.
Dammit! Another interruption. First it was a bunch of ditsy dames at the next table, who kept giggling. Next, a maintenance jerk spent ten minutes drilling something by the elevator. Then a buzzing, math study group parked themselves nearby. Joe moved three times so he could study for his Religion and Anthropology final. Now he had to contend with a bunch of wild drummers making a racket from which there was no escape.
Peering out a window, he saw nothing. Where was the noise coming from? He hadn’t seen a notice anywhere about a Saturday morning rally. Who the hell would be in a rah-rah mood anyway, on a chilly December morning?
Fifteen minutes passed without letup. Joe swore it sounded like recordings of frantic voodoo drums he’d heard in class. Were Haitian visitors plying their trade in broad daylight, substituting the jungle of downtown redevelopment for the Haitian bush?
He decided to investigate. Once outside, the noise was head splitting. Vibrations bounced off every surface, every pore.
Fast-walking five blocks, Joe turned a corner and beheld a spectacular scene. The Snake God. Worshippers. Sacrificial offerings. Frenzied dancers. Spirited drummers. A pagan pep rally right in the middle of the city.
He’d forgotten the city was erecting a statue to honor the Snake God, placing it exactly where, in past generations, the city’s Nativity scene had always stood. This was the day of welcome for the ancient deity: a black coiled snake, the god of blood lust and human sacrifice.
Realizing he was witnessing something from the pages of his Religion and Anthropology textbook, Joe tried to push through the crowd for a closer look. He didn’t get far. Believers kept curiosity seekers at bay. The intensity of their stares meant this was no mere pep rally.
What the hell? Now I’m gonna have to pass a snake god every day on my way to and from school. What about my rights as an atheist not to be harassed by religious symbols? I worked long and hard as an Anti-Religions Legal Union volunteer to get rid of that Christmas scene. This damn thing is a hundred times worse, sitting high up on a pedestal, head poised to strike. Who dreamed up this monstrosity? I think I’ll come back tonight when nobody’s around and egg the stupid thing.
Something knocked Joe to his knees. Barely able to breathe, his stomach lurched, gushing his breakfast. People scattered.
Just as he was about to pass out, somebody spoke directly into his ear.
“Joseph. What did you do?”
Joe couldn’t answer.
Two palms grasped his head, and foreign words were muttered. “There, that’ll fix you. C’mon I’ll help you up.”
Joe rose and faced his helper.
“Professor Stone?”
The professor was resplendent in a brilliantly plumed costume as old as The Americas.
“I asked what you did, Joseph.”
“I cursed that thing.”
“Haven’t you learned anything in my class about respecting religious beliefs? That’s not a thing. It’s our sacred God. How can you expect to curse God and get away with it?”
“I don’t believe in God. I told you that in class.”
“Yes, and I ignored it, knowing one day you’d change your mind.”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
An excruciating pain slammed Joe’s stomach, and he fell to his knees.
“Joseph, you are the sharpest student in my class. But you’re also the most closed-minded and least pragmatic. If you persist with this nonsense, I’m going to walk away and leave you here to suffer. So, what’ll it be? A long hospital stay with a painful, terminal stomach ailment nobody can treat? Or believe, make a sacrifice to appease God, and live?”
“I’ll believe,” Joe gasped, feeling darkness closing in.
The professor repeated the healing ritual. “Indeed you will,” he said, helping Joe up. “Now, take this flower, and offer it to your God. You’ll see how much better you’ll feel. Good things will happen. Just go and worship. It’s so easy, so pleasant, so life-changing. And more thrilling than you could ever imagine.”
Bewildered, Joe took the flower.
The drumming stopped. Believers sang an enchanting, seductive love song. The crowd parted, making a path for the convert.
With the professor at his side, Joe approached the coiled monstrosity. Now it glowed. Now it was an incredibly magnificent woman of gold, smiling, beckoning, spreading herself for penetration.
—
© 2004 Michael A. Kechula
Michael A. Kechula is a retired tech writer. His fiction has won first place in seven contests and placed in six others. He’s also won Editor’s Choice awards four times. His stories have been published by 124 magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, India, Scotland, and US. He’s authored a book of flash and micro-fiction stories: “A Full Deck of Zombies–61 Speculative Fiction Tales.” eBook available at www.BooksForABuck.com and www.fictionwise.com. Paperback available at www.amazon.com.
Tags: Michael A. Kechula
March 8th, 2009 at 7:43 am
Gladly read it twice. The second time, I got it. At least, in my head, I got it. The symbolism is brilliant. What do you see when you gaze upon it?Great story.
March 8th, 2009 at 12:43 pm
yep it’s a two times read. helped with my hangover. Great story, indeed.
March 14th, 2009 at 12:29 pm
Hi Folks,
Thanks for reading and commenting on my tale. You can find such a snake-god statue in downtown San Jose, California. A stone’s throw from the main library.