Page 85 - WTP Vol. VI #4

me. He’s no smarter. Not worth more. A man’s a man. And that’s all. And—
“The crazy shit I’d pull,” I croak. The floor now— it’s a floor. No blood. No black mold. Jesus in the form of a goat—he’s still there, but he looks away. “When I was young, I tell you.” I’m still mudding, but when I look down the goatee is gone. “Drugs. Alcohol. And that wasn’t half of it. Too much money. That’s it. Young guy. Just like you. Making too much money.”
I can see the book in his hand. “What’s that— you’re reading.”
“Ah, it’s Nietzsche. The Anti-Christ.”
“Wild. Wild. That’s what did it for me. Finding Christ. But the Anti-Christ—that’s something.”
“Jesus in the form of a goat nuzzling grizzly
“It’s interesting.”
“Yeah, well. Too much money. Had this job fitting bathtubs. It’s the stuff that’s goes over top—over the old bathtub. Just put it down. Caulk it up. That’s a day’s work. Can do five in a day. Too much money.”
beard to beard, the young man holding fire in the form of a book daring me to say it...”
I look down again from my place on the ladder. The clock—it stops spinning. Not just the minute hand either. The second hand. And Jesus in the form of a goat—he’s standing by the door.
“They wouldn’t know better. I’d charge double or triple and they’d pay. They’d pay without a word.”
He’s not listening anymore, his face in the book.
“But I found Jesus, now. And I’m not taking advan- tage. Not no more.”
Jesus bleats. Dolan Mallory, still sitting in his chair, regrows his goatee. The horns are back and the second hand is flying.
“The water,” I say.
“Yes, yes, the water,” he says past sharpened ca- nines. “Yes. Tell me about water. Where’d it come from? The sink? Upstairs? Yes, yes. I know. I know
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