Choke

And I say,that's not fu

With bottles self-administered open end first, you have to in­sert a Robinson catheter around the bottle and allow air to flow past it and break the vacuum. With bottles self-administered closed end first, insert a retractor into the open end of the bottle, then fill the bottle with plaster. After the plaster sets around the retractor, pull it to remove the bottle.

Using enemas is another method, but less reliable.

Here with Ursula in the stables, you can hear it start to rain outside. The rain pat­ter­ing on the thatch, the water ru

And I say, "What else does the TV say about De

De

I say, "Do you think Jesus automatically knew he was Jesus from the start, or did his mom or somebody tell him and he grew into it?"

A soft rumble comes up from my lap, but not from inside me.

Ursula breathes out, then snores again. Her hand goes limp around me. Limp me. Her hair spills across my legs. Her warm soft ear is sunk into my stomach.

The hay itches up through the back of my shirt.

The chickens scratch in the dust and hay. The spiders spin.

Chapter 38

How to make an ear candle is you take a piece of regular paper and roll it into a thin tube. There's no real miracle to it. Still, you have to start with the stuff you already know.

This is just more flotsam and jetsam left over from medical school, something I teach now to the field trip kids at Colonial Dunsboro.

Maybe you have to work your way up to the real bona fide miracles.

De

And I tell him to hold still.

Rolling the paper into a tight tube, I say, "Just supposing," I say, "Jesus Christ had to practice being the Son of God to get any good at it."

I tell Beth to turn off the kitchen lights, and I twist one end of the thin paper tube into the tight dark tu

To concentrate, I try and not think of Paige Marshall's ear.

"What if Jesus spent all his growing up getting things wrong," I say, "before he ever got a single miracle right?"

De

"How is it we don't read about Jesus' failed first attempts," I say, "or how he didn't really crank out the big miracles until he was over thirty?"

Beth pushes out the crotch of her tight jeans at me, and I use her zipper to light a kitchen match and carry the little flame across the room to De

From striking the match, the room smells full of sulfur.

Smoke unwinds from the burning end of the tube, and De

The flame creeps in closer to his head. The burned end of the tube curls open and comes apart. Black paper edged with worm­ing orange sparks, these hot bits of paper drift toward the ceiling. Some bits of black paper curl and fall.

That's really what this is called. An ear candle.

And I say, "How about if Jesus got started by just doing nice things for people, you know, helping old ladies cross the street or telling people when they'd left their headlights on?" I say, "Well, not that exactly, but you get the idea."

Watching the fire curl closer and closer to De

And De

And Beth looks at me and says, "Victor?"

And I say, "It's okay."

Leaning back even harder against the kitchen counter, Beth twists her face not to see and says, "It looks like some kind of weird torture."

"Maybe," I say, "maybe even Jesus didn't believe in himself at first."

And I lean into De

Beth turns on the kitchen light.

De

I say, "Maybe miracles are like a talent, and you have to start with the small stuff."

De

"I don't mean like Jesus did card tricks," I say, "but just not hurting people would be a good start."

Beth comes around, and she holds her hair back with one hand so she can bend and look into De

Rolling another sheet of paper into a thin tube, I say, "You were on TV the other day, I hear."

I say, "I'm sorry." Just twisting the paper tube tighter and tighter in my hands, I say, "That was my fault."

Beth stands straight and looks at me. She shakes her hair back. De

And just holding the paper tube, I say, "From now on, I want to try and be a better person."

Choking in restaurants, fooling people, I'm not going to do that kind of shit anymore. Sleeping around, casual sex, that kind of shit.

I say, "I called the city and complained about you. I called the TV station and told them a bunch of stuff."

My stomach hurts, but if it's guilt or impacted stool, I can't tell.

Either way, I'm so full of shit.

For a second it's easier to look at the dark kitchen window above the sink, the night outside it. Reflected in the window, there's me looking as wasted and thin as my mom. The new righteous, maybe-divine Saint Me. There's Beth looking at me with her arms folded. There's De

"The thing is, I just wanted you to need my help," I say. "I wanted you to have to ask me for it."

Beth and De