What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [94]
“But you just said somethin’. Just now, when you – when you talked. You can’t say you’re not sayin’ nothin’ when you just said somethin’. That don’t make no sense.”
Wayne shook his head and shifted his butt around on the seat twice before finally speaking again. “He’s the wrong one, ‘s all I’m sayin’.”
“He’s weird, ain’t he? He prob’ly knows everything,” said Jimmy, pointing a thumb in Festus’ direction.
“Who? Me? What do I know?” asked Festus.
Jimmy glared at Festus for a second. “Project Barfonit.”
“Baphomet?”
Jimmy gave a curt nod.
“Actually, I really don’t. I only heard about it for the first time this morning.”
This revelation did not improve the mood in the truck. The three men sat in silence. Well, not silence really. The knobby monster truck tires made a shockingly loud roaring sound as they rolled down the highway. But that didn’t really help to dispel the awkward quiet inside the truck.
“Well,” said Festus, helpfully, “I take that back. I do know that a lot of sheep died for their country.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Lots of sheep. And a horse, apparently.” He smiled to himself.
“What on Earth are you talking about?” said Jimmy.
“Shit. He don’t know nothin’,” said Wayne. “He’s a weirdo, but he’s the wrong weirdo.”
“What? No, he ain’t. He knows.” Jimmy waved his free hand at Festus in kind of a Captain-Picard, make-it-so gesture.
“Sorry, I really don’t know anything more than what I just told you.”
“See?” said Wayne. “I told you. You screwed up! Now we got nothin’ but a damned hippie.”
Festus jerked his head around to look at Wayne. “Hey—”
“Damnit! We’re soldiers of God, man. Soldiers of God!” Jimmy pounded the steering wheel. “The Lord wants us to kick ass. He needs us to kick ass.”
“Uh,” said Festus, “that doesn’t really address the point that Wayne’s making.”
“Shut up.”
“And,” said Wayne, “the Lord don’t like it when you hit people in the head with frying pans.” He gave a satisfied nod, signaling that if Jimmy had ever had any kind of rhetorical ground on which to stand, it was now sunk.
“Actually,” said Festus, making sure he had no allies in the truck, “God likes that sort of thing quite a bit.”
“What? You need to shut up. Right now,” said Jimmy.
“God—the Lord—loves violence. The Bible is full of people maiming and killing for God.”
Jimmy and Wayne both turned to stare at Festus. That continued for rather longer than Festus thought was really wise. It was actually only a few seconds, but one of the guys doing the staring was supposed to be driving the truck, which was now veering across the center line into the path of a military Humvee, and so the few seconds seemed to take kind of a long time.
Festus pointed out the imminent disaster with a panicked but articulate, “Na-na-na!” which he augmented with some hand waving in the general direction of the oncoming Hummer.
“Sheeyat!” said Jimmy (superlative form of “shit” in Texan), giving the steering wheel a violent jerk. He immediately turned his attention back to Festus, however, and it looked like he wasn’t going to stop staring (and resume driving) unless Festus explained, so that’s what Festus did.
“Okay, so in Deuteronomy, God says that you should stone your brother to death if he suggests switching to another religion. Or, in Jeremiah – I think it’s chapter 9 – God said ‘And I will cause them to eat the flesh of their sons and the flesh of their daughters.’ And, of course,” said Festus, ticking the instances off on his fingers, “let’s not forget the bit in the Book of Samuel where King Saul gave his daughter to David for 200 Philistine – uh – bits and pieces.” He nodded. “God is a violence junkie!”
The two other men in the truck just stared at Festus.
“Um, you seem to know the Bible pretty good,” said Wayne.
“No he don’t, you dumbass. He’s makin’ that shit up.”
“You got a copy of the Bible on you?” asked Festus. “I’ll show you.”
“No,” said Jimmy. He turned to stare at the road.
“God even engaged in some of the violence himself.”
“No, really?” asked Wayne, now fully out of his sullen-teenager