Blackburn

"What's that mean?"

"Hang out with me until the old farts come from town for their picnics tomorrow," Morton said. "Then you can snag a Buick and take a journey into a far country. But waste not your substance with riotous living unless your old man is a soft touch. Fatted calves don't grow on trees."

Blackburn decided that, at its core, Morton's plan made sense. His only alternative was to take off through the woods on foot again, and that would get him nowhere. He had no idea where the nearest road might be or what he would do even if he found it. He might as well consider himself settled in for the night.

"Speaking of fatted calves," he said, "I'm hungry. I had some bread and cheese, but I left it beside a tree. Do you have anything?"

"I have food for the spirit, my son," Morton said.

"Anything else?"

Morton reached behind his back and produced a small foil-covered box. "A few Cracker Jacks," he said. He held the box out to Blackburn. "Take, eat; this is my body."

Blackburn accepted the box and shook some of the contents into his mouth. He had to chew for a long time before swallowing. "You're a little stale," he said.

"Watch your mouth. Know that I am indeed the Morton, the Savior of the world."

Blackburn took another mouthful of Cracker Jacks. "No fooling?"

"I shit you not," Morton said. "For lo, Stan went up from Indiana, out of the city of Goshen, into Pennsylvania, unto the city of Bethlehem. And there Bernice his espoused wife, being great with child, brought forth her firstborn son and did call him Morton, saying, This city doth reek with the fumes of many mills of steel, and it is not meet that a child of decent people should be brought up in a stinking cesspool. So Stan took the young child and his mother, and turned aside into the parts of Kentucky; and he came and dwelt in a city called Nazareth, population seven hundred. But lo, there was no labor for Stan in the parts of Kentucky thereabouts, and he didst drink of the fruit of the vine and clobber his wife and child when they didst cry out for meat. And behold, an angel of the Lord appeareth to Stan in a dream, saying, Arise, and dump yonder bitch and brat. For what dost thou need this crap? And verily, Stan did arise, and gat himself the hell out of Dodge."

"You were better off without him," Blackburn said.

"Tell me about it," Morton said. He reached behind his back again and produced a quart bottle of orange Gatorade. He held it out to Blackburn. "Drink ye all of it, for this is the blood of Morton of Nazareth, which is shed for many for the remission of sins." His eyes narrowed. "You do have sins, don't you? I don't want to waste this stuff. We're talking blood here."

Blackburn was thirsty, so he took the bottle. "I only have one sin," he said, "but it's a big one. A woman was raped because I didn't do anything to stop it." He shook the bottle, took off the cap, and drank. The Gatorade was warm and salty. He drank half the bottle in seven gulps, then lowered it and caught his breath.

"I said all of it," Morton said. "Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life. So chugalug." He clapped his hands and chanted. "Chugalug, chugalug, chugalug."

Blackburn chugalugged, draining the bottle. Then he belched.

"Attaboy," Morton said. "Now, if thou wilt confess thy sins unto me and accept me as thy Savior, thou wilt be born again of water and of the Spirit and dwell in Paradise, a small town in Utah."

Blackburn dropped the bottle, and it clanked against the Python. He saw then that the Python's muzzle was clogged with mulch from his falls in the woods, so he picked up the pistol and removed its cartridge cylinder. "I told you, I only have one sin," he said, pulling a weed and running it into the Python's barrel. "And the woman I committed it against has already absolved me, so I don't need to be born again."

Morton sat up straighter and glared. "Unless she has written permission, she can't absolve squat. And even if she does, you still need a Savior."

Blackburn continued cleaning the Python. "I don't think so. I was willing to accept a Savior when I was a kid, but everyone who tried to sell me one turned out to be peddling snake oil."

"That which is born of the flesh is flesh," Morton said, "and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. They were false prophets; I'm the real McCoy."

"The Christians say that Jesus is."

Morton snorted. "Yea, but if Jesus had to die for Christians to be saved, and Jews killed Him, then shouldn't Christians be kissing Jews on the backside at high noon instead of burying them in shallow graves at midnight? Hear then my condemnation: That light is come into the world, and men love darkness rather than light. Verily, a new, improved Savior with superior night vision is required."

Blackburn finished wiping the Python clean with his T-shirt. "You?"

"As foretold in the prophecies," Morton said. "Witness my birthplace, my home town, my ministry, my scourging, and my crown of thorns. Witness that I yearn to submit to the sacrifice, and that I shall exalt whosoever offs me as the instrument of man's salvation. I'd do it myself, but that would be an act of selfishness and would queer the deal. So pack up your doubts and troubles in your old kit bag and behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!"

"I don't see a crown of thorns," Blackburn said.

Morton put his hands on his hips. "I took it off for the evening, okay? The damn thing hurts."

Blackburn snapped the Python's cartridge cylinder back in place and laid the gun on the ground again. "Sorry," he said. "No offense."

Morton took his hands from his hips and pointed a finger at Blackburn. "Art thou going to confess thy sins and be saved, or aren't thou?"

"I repeat, I only have one sin."

"I'll be the judge of that." Morton cleared his throat. "To begin: Hast thou had any other Gods before me?"

Blackburn peered across the fire at Morton, studying his dirty, lined face in the flickering light. "No," he said, "but I can't say that I've had you either."

"Close enough," Morton said. "Now for door number two: Hast thou ever taken my name in vain?"

" 'Morton'?"

"Okay, dumb question." Morton scratched his beard. "How about adultery? Ever done that?"

"No. It was done to me, though."

Morton gasped. "What'd you do to your wife when you found out?"

"I tied her upside-down in a closet. It didn't hurt her, but I guess I feel bad about it."

"You let her off easy," Morton said. "So forget it and tell me: Hast thou honored thy father and thy mother?"

Blackburn looked at the fire. "I tried to do what they said, when I was a kid. But I don't think I loved them. My mother was weak, and my father was-"

Morton interrupted. "A frustrated failure who became a mean-tempered, shit-heeled son of a bitch you wished you had the guts to kill?"

"Something like that," Blackburn said.

"Piss on 'em, then," Morton said. "My old man used to scourge me with baling wire, and when he left, my mom took up the slack. That's why in my church, commandments are conditional. Which brings me to: Hast thou killed? People and furry creatures, I mean. Serpents, bugs, and armadillos that jumped up into your transmission don't count."

"Yes," Blackburn admitted. "I've killed nineteen men."

Morton didn't seem surprised. "Did they deserve it?" he asked.

"Every one of them."