Becoming the Story (10 page)

As she headed out the door, Muffins did not
know she was
stealing
the slippers. She had seen them as a
sign of good fortune. The experience of walking through the
gravelly streets was much more comfortable, so much more. She
thought the snug slippers were the best thing she had found about
being human.

“Hey!” A voice behind her startled her. “Hey
miss! Where did you get those?”

The voice was a sharp blow to her senses.
She turned. A man with chunky sideburns was eyeing her
suspiciously. Muffins did not know why and she did not ask. She
sensed he meant to harm her.

She fled. Through the lamp lit street, past
stores and statues, panting, she went. The slippers were far less
comfortable to run in than walk in. At one point a slipper flew off
and she almost tripped on it. She should have left it. But she
loved those slippers so much and again, the jagged stones pierced
her soles.

When she went to recollect it, she was
grabbed violently by the waist and pulled back. She gasped and
clamped her teeth on the arm of her captor as hard as she
could.

The man unleashed a barrage of curses
Muffins had never heard. “I
was
going to go easy on you, but
now you have done it! I am going to call the police.”

Muffins did not know what a “police” was but
from the way the man said it, she suspected it was not favorable
and struggled even harder against his grasp, but he was too strong
for her. Soon another man, taller and even more muscular, arrived
to assist in the escort back to the shop. Between the two, each
hairy hand clamping one of her arms, Muffins had no hope of
escaping.

The first man grimaced. “How much perfume
are you wearing, Miss?” Muffins did not reply as she was led back
into the store.

The shop was well-lit, in contrast to the
outside. Muffins had to squint to adjust her eyes. A woman at the
counter that Muffins had not seen before gave her a stern look. It
reminded Muffins of how her mother used to nip her when she was
tired of giving milk.

The stocky man made Mittens sit down on a
bench against the wall, and he sat next to her. Though he had
released his grip on her, everyone was staring. Beneath their wary
gazes there seemed to be no possibility of bolting through the
door. She was hopelessly outnumbered. She missed her old life. What
had happened to her? Why had she changed? She had only wanted to
clean her toes.

She had never cried before, but now puddles
welled in her eyes. While wiping them away with her sleeve, she had
a flash of memory from another time she had been in an alien place,
a fond nostalgia for her first day at the house she had just been
forced to leave.

Muffins had been torn from her mother and
siblings, and was terrified. Evie had set Muffins on the bed and
dangled a string for her. The string had had sparkles on it, and
Muffins loved the way the light danced along with the string.

Any wariness about being in a new home
evaporated. Tentatively at first, Muffins batted at the string, but
before long she lost her shyness. She crouched, wiggled her hind
quarters, and began swiping without reserve, scampering, nipping,
and chasing as Evie laughed. Since that day, string and even the
thought of string had filled her with a delicious warmth.

Muffins dug into her housedress and
retrieved the chain with the golden cross and its red stone. She
held it to one of the ceiling lights and watched the luminescent
shift, and smiled a little through her tears. In honor of
nostalgia, she batted tentatively at the cross and watched the
pendant swing back in forth, predictable and calming.

A shriek came from the counter. “No, no, no!
What are you doing, you delinquent child? You should not do that,
not ever. You
do
not punch a cross! Oh my dear! Lord forgive
her!” In a moment, the lady was by her side and had snatched the
cross from Muffins.

The tears came on again. Was there no
comfort for Muffins anywhere? Was all that she loved to be taken
from her?

“What is she doing now?” the man with
sideburns who had caught her said. “Never mind. I am calling the
police right now.”

“No Dirk.” The woman held up a hand. “I just
realized something. If we do that, we are missing an opportunity.
Clearly this young lady is lost. If she has never known the blood
of the lamb, it is our Christian duty to tell her about it.”

Muffins looked up sharply. Lamb? She
wondered if a lamb was something to eat. She was terribly hungry,
despite the stress of the day.

The woman knelt to meet Muffins at eye
level. “My girl,” Muffins felt the warmth of caring palms on her
cheeks, “tell me. Are you lost?”

Muffins thought yes, there was no doubt
about it, she was definitely lost. Even if she was welcomed home,
she had run here without thinking. She doubted she could find her
way back. With a sniffle Muffins nodded.

“My dear,” the lady said gently. “What is
your name?”

Muffins only knew what Evie had always said
when addressing her. “Muffins.”

The woman blinked in surprise. “Excuse
me?”

“Muffins.”

“Oh, you poor, poor dear.” Her eyes became
moist and she dabbed at them with a tissue. “Were you never given a
proper Christian name? What have your parents
done
to you? I
bet I know. Were they
atheists
?” A flash of fire crossed her
eyes. “I bet they were atheists.”

Muffins did not know the term so she
supposed it was possible. She had never known her father, but if
her mother had been an atheist, she had never told Muffins about
it. Muffins mainly remembered her mother as a wall of warm fur that
bore milk. “If they were atheists, they never said so,” Muffins
said.

“Well,” the woman said, “they must have
been. Must have brought you up to be like them. That would explain
why you were going around shoplifting mouse slippers and punching
crosses.”

“Please,” Muffins said. “I
beg
you.
What is an atheist?”

“Do not be silly, child.” The woman looked
at Muffins sharply. “Everyone knows what an atheist is.”

“Please.
Tell
me.” If Muffins was an
atheist, she certainly wanted to know about it, especially since
the woman seemed to think it was so important.

The woman took in a sharp breath and held a
hand over her heart. “An atheist,” she breathed, “is a wicked
creature who has rebelled against God by not believing in him.” Her
eyes were wide with caution, as if just reciting the definition was
a dangerous act. “They are bad people who murder and burn Bibles
and hate prayer.”

Muffins had no memory of ever defying
anyone, but it was true that she did not believe in something
called God. Mittens had never believed in anything other than what
was in front of her face: her food dish, strips of twine, or a
plush blanket to lie down on and clean herself before the
hearth.

But she had never killed anything except a
few mice and would not have known how to burn anything if she
wanted to.

She had never heard of God but asked, “How
can an atheist
rebel
against anyone that they think is not
really there?”

“Because,” the woman said, “everyone knows
God exists, no matter what they say. How could anyone
not
know they have a maker? Like those mouse slippers you tried to
steal.” She pointed to the checkout counter where the twin mice now
sat. “They did not come into being all by themselves. They had to
have a
creator
. Anyone who says otherwise is just being
ornery. Especially if they have heard the good news and rejected
it.”

“Good news?” Muffins would certainly have
loved to hear some of that. She felt terribly alone and
confused.

“The gift of God to humanity. Eternal life.”
The woman took Muffins by one hand. “Oh my dear, have you never
heard?” When Muffins shook her head, the lady said, “Then perk up
those ears.” Her eyes glowed. “I have a story to tell you.”

Muffins was excited and leaned forward. She
had never heard a story before.

“Well it begins with God making the world,
and he was so good at world making, he did it in just a week. Made
humans too, and gave them clear instructions, but they disobeyed.
And because they were disobedient, all their kids and grand-kids
were too.”

“Ah,” Muffins said. “Do you mean they
taught
their kids to disobey the way they did?”

The woman frowned. “No. The disobedience,
the wickedness, they passed it on in their blood. And all their
offspring after that were sinners.”

Muffins tried to imagine what sin looked
like when suspended in blood. “So they had no
choice
but to
sin?”

“Well, yes and no. Once the evil got into
their blood, they were bound to sin. But everyone has free will,
child. Otherwise, being moral makes no sense.”

“But how?” Muffins felt even more confused
that she had before. “How can it be both ways?”

The woman dismissed the question with a wave
of her hand. “Such questions we of mortal flesh were not meant to
understand. The good news is, God will forgive you; all you have to
do is ask.”

“Please, if I had no
choice
but to
sin, why must I be sorry for it?”

The woman heaved an impatient sigh. “So that
you can receive the gift of eternal…” A new customer came in and a
bell chimed, which made the last word hard to understand. Mittens
was still thinking of the string she had played with as a kitten,
and maybe that was why she thought the word was, “twine.” Eternal
twine
.

Muffins had never heard a phrase so lovely.
“Please tell me. What is the Eternal Twine?” She was thinking of
the calm she had felt when introduced to the sparkling string long
ago, and how afterward Evie had treated her to a warm bowl of milk,
rich, more like cream really, and how perfectly at home and at
peace she had felt, all warmth, cream, and sparkles. To her twine
was not just a string; it was a
feeling
. And a twiny feeling
that continued forever sounded wonderful.

“Twine? My goodness, no,” the woman said.
“Something much better. Eternal
life
.”

Muffins was confused. “Do you mean some
lives are
not
eternal?” Muffins had never heard of death and
had always assumed her life would go on forever.

“My lord, child, have you been living in a
cave? Death was the penalty for disobedience. All living creatures
die, as punishment for the first people sinning.”

“But if it was the humans who sinned, why
did he punish
all
the creatures? Like cats, say?”

The lady huffed. “Stop talking so much and
listen. You, Miss Muffins, are a terrible sinner. That makes you an
abomination in the sight of God. But he loves you. And if you ask
him to forgive you, he will. And you will get to live in a pretty
mansion with floors made of gold instead of writhing around in
fiery agony in the stench of hell for all of time.”

Muffins was more confused than ever and
afraid of the fire the woman described. She had walked across a hot
stove once. She had never done it again. “I do not remember
sinning,” Muffins said, “or disobeying anyone.”

“Well, let us look at the facts. Not long
ago you shoplifted a pair of slippers and slapped a holy cross. Not
to mention,” the woman sniffed, “that you are
reeking
of the
harlot stench. What are you wearing anyway? Oh, my lord, did you
raid a perfume factory?” She sneezed. “Never mind. It is easy. All
you have to do is ask God to forgive you, and he will. And give you
the greatest gift of all: eternal life.” The woman smiled
beatifically. “Pray to him. Ask him to save you. And because he is
gracious, he shall.”

“What is
pray
?”

“I will show you. Come, child. Bow your head
with me.”

Muffins only blinked and stared blankly at
first. But then she thought of the Eternal Twine, which was really
eternal life; she did know better now. But to Muffins they were one
in the same, a feeling of comfort and love never-ending, and
security against having to turn into other things without
warning.

The woman had bowed her head, so that
Muffins could see the soft billows of neck beneath her chin. She
had cut her eyes toward Muffins. Muffins bowed her head and the
woman closed her eyes. “Okay now. Repeat after me,” the woman
said.

“Dear heavenly father, hallowed be thy
name.” Muffins did not understand what the words meant, but she
said them anyway. She was particularly baffled about how a name
could be hollow since names were usually not solid to begin
with.

The lady went on, with Muffins repeating
every word. “Dear Lord, I know that I have sinned and I humbly beg
your forgiveness. In particular, for shoplifting a pair of mouse
slippers and batting at your holy cross like it was a dirty old
carport rug.”

Muffins was not exactly sure what sinning
was, but at that moment, she was deeply remorseful about having
done it.

“Thank you,” the woman continued, “for dying
on the cross for my sins and washing them away with your precious
blood.”

Muffins dutifully repeated the words,
although she could not see how blood could wash away anything. She
thought about the last time she had decapitated a mouse. There was
blood everywhere, all in her fur. It had been sticky and had taken
a while to lick off.

“Amen,” the woman concluded. Mittens opened
her eyes, half expecting to see a room awash in endless glittering
string, the Eternal Twine, and a saucer of creamy milk. But
everything looked, disappointingly, the way it had before.

She became aware that the woman was staring
at her. “Well? How do you
feel
, my dear?”

Muffins blinked. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“The twine.”

The woman frowned deeply, and Muffins
watched how the corners of her mouth slanted, creating little
puckers in the surrounding skin.