Blessed Virgin of the Circus- 5.



“Do you think God and Jesus love carnies?” The light flickered furtively, recessed into the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” replied Yana neutrally. “Most people hate us. I don’t see why they would love us.”

“Father Issa always said in church that we are forgiven, and that we are children of God and Jesus.”

“I don’t know.” Yana gently did some upper body stretches in bed. Her arms were somehow sore from fucking, not from the usual workout.

“Do you remember anything that Father Issa said in church when mom and dad were still around? I do.”

“Not really. You’d better not start bugging me about reading the Bible again.”

“It made me laugh when I tried. And they only talk about the Virgin a few times. They talked about Jesus a whole lot more. I don’t understand what’s so special about being a preacher and a carpenter. The Virgin got knocked up by God!!”

Yana groaned and exhaled air from her lungs. Mara was such a simpleton sometimes. She wondered if she were mentally off or something. She’d wondered this since they were children.

“ So do you remember anything about Father Issa? You were always so busy making fun of the Arabs in the congregation when they tried to sing. I don’t really know why.”

“Why does anybody make fun of anyone else? There were so fucking many of them.”

“So are you like, racist? Do you not like Arabs?”

“I don’t fucking know! What racist ever fucking admits they’re racist anyways!” Yana couldn’t stop herself from chuckling.

“I don’t guess that you’d want to come with me to see the statue, would you?” She had walked on her knees to it the other night. As a drill for something she was doing in the show.

“Just, like, warn me if you’re going to have a full-on nervous breakdown one of these days, Mara. I want to be able to warn LaShawn or the cops.”

“Can I have a hit of weed before I go?”


**

Mara walked in front of Mala’s tent. It was way past Lights Out. Camp was a lot like jail in some ways, or what she imagined it to be. Eyes on the ground, Mara’s eyes caught a shard of something bright and glimmering. She picked it up. It was a flat piece of glass full of rainbow prisms. She held it, her palms to the sky. Her past surface piercing practice wounds suddenly began to ooze. Not blood, but a fragrant, clear liquid.

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