The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show - Ariel Gore [18]
“Do you believe in God?” Judy wants to know, but mercifully her cell phone rings.
Beep beep beep beep beep beep.
“Judy here…All righty…Well…Okay. Keep me posted.”
Beep.
“No progress either way on the fires,” she says.
“Seems like a strange job. Always waiting around for tragedy.”
She shoots me a look like You’re calling my job weird? then clears her throat. “I don’t want to put you on the spot,” she says.
I take this to mean that she fully intends to put me on the spot.
“I want you to tell me the truth, Frankka. Your bleeding, it’s the real McCoy, isn’t it?”
I laugh, secretly praying some faraway tragedy will suddenly make Judy’s cell phone ring. “I didn’t realize it was so convincing.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” she insists.
I shake my head no, change the subject. “We’ve been in and out of L.A. twenty times. I’m sure Tony sent press releases. Why are you writing this story? Why this time?”
Judy smiles an ungodly smile, showing off her bleached teeth, says only, “Jesus is really big right now.”
Chapter 6
FAMIGLIA
Brigid of Ireland
(IF YOU NEED A BEER)
A.K.A. Brigid of Kildare, Mary of Gael
FEAST DAY: February 1
SYMBOLS: a white cow, a candle
When Saint Brigid comes to me, she wears a simple apron, wipes her hands before she greets me. Ruddy-cheeked Irish hostess.
Some histories claim that Brigid was made a bishop “by mistake.” The truth? Those sixth-century Celtic Christians were never as hung up as the Romans about a woman and her power. Female-headed abbeys were common as springtime. Women preached, heard confessions, even performed mass.
“Mistake” means “Don’t tell Dad back in Rome how we’re running the show up here.”
“Mistake” is what they called kids like Brigid, born to unmarried parents, half princess and half slave.
Her chieftain father claimed paternity right off but said that until she got older she should live with her mom—a Christian woman he’d unceremoniously sold to a Druid priest before the baby was even born.
Brigid spent her childhood working on the Druid’s farm and helping her mother run the household. But as soon as she hit adolescence, Chieftain Duffy showed up to claim custody.
Brigid packed her few things and moved in with Dad, but within a week he was already annoyed with his offspring. For one thing, he could do without her “Christian Charity,” which amounted to giving all of his stuff away. Silver sets and groceries went to the poor family down the street. Horses were led away by beggars. Even the clothes in his closet went to the poor. “They need them more than we do,” Brigid explained. But Duffy hardly considered himself the Goodwill. “Enough is enough, and I’m selling you to a king!” he fumed. He threw his daughter into his chariot and drove furiously to the castle.
Now, Duffy didn’t want to appear too aggressive in front of the king, so he left his sword outside with Brigid when he headed in to strike the deal. Dumb move. Here comes a poor leper begging change. Brigid didn’t have any money, so she offered him the sword.
When Duffy came out and discovered what she’d done, he lost it—started beating Brigid with his bare hands.
The king, who’d come down to meet his new bride, wrestled Duffy to the ground, questioned Brigid. “Why did you give your father’s sword away?”
She brushed herself off. “Because the beggar needed it more than we did,” she explained. “I’ll gladly give away all that you have, too.”
The king diplomatically broke off the engagement. Thanks but no thanks.
“My mother’s fallen sick,” Brigid told her still-livid father on their way home. “I’d like to go and take care of her. I’ll run the Druid’s dairy.”
Good riddance, Duffy thought. “Go on, then. Until I find you a suitable husband.”
At the dairy, Brigid resumed her habit of giving everything away. The Druid, less than pleased with the new management style, decided to confront her. After she’d handed out all the butter one morning, he demanded that she fill a large container for him.
Brigid said a quick abundance prayer and, miraculously, the vessel was full.
Impressed—but still pretty