Cold Ennaline by RJ Astruc Page A

began to wilt. We thought it was the soil at first, and then we found out that a truck carrying oil had crashed near our land. The oil got into our water somehow, this black, floating oil…. I don’t know.” She pauses. “My husband could explain this better, I’m sure.”
    “And after the crops?”
    “My husband got a cough. He’s a very healthy man. He’s always been a healthy man. But now he coughs and sometimes he coughs so hard that when he stops there’s black stuff in his hands.”
    “Why do you think this is happening to you, Mrs. Evans?”
    This is where things often get tricky. A lot of people deny they’ve done anything wrong—they’re too ashamed. That means we can’t work our miracle because you need to know the source of the evil before you can be healed. But Mrs. Evans is a faith full woman. She sighs.
    “My husband’s mother was ill. We didn’t go to help her. We were told by our Father to visit her, it was our duty, but we were… we were busy. We did not make the time for her. We were selfish.”
    “Do you think your husband’s mother placed a curse on you?”
    “No. She’s a good woman. She wouldn’t do that.” She sounds so certain I can only assume that this avenue of inquiry has already been explored.
    “I see.” Father Nerve presses his hands together, and the twins and I take the cue and clasp our hands too. We murmur the First Prayer of the god as Father Nerve continues. “You need a miracle. We will work here to cleanse your house. Your children will need to go. You must send them to your neighbors.”
    Mrs. Evans nods but makes no motion to leave….
    Father Nerve’s tone grows testy. “Go, now.”
    Mrs. Evans appears to suddenly grasp that an action is now expected of her. With apologies, and her head low, she gathers her children and leaves the house.
     
     
    T HIS—THE time when we’re finally alone in someone’s house—is our busy time. Immediately the twins spring into action, scouting out the lay of the structure. As they go they set up our “accessories.” A tiny speaker tucked under a chair, a thread tied to a door handle, a small package of dye slipped between the bed sheets. When we perform our miracle, we will use these for dramatic effect.
    When I first became Father Nerve’s companion, I wasn’t sure about the accessories. It felt like the mind games and petty tricks of a magician, or worse, a con man. But Father Nerve explained that the real reason for the accessories is to strengthen people’s belief in the god.
    I help Ro and Ray replace the lightbulb in the living room with a special bulb Father Nerve created, which shines like a regular lightbulb for an hour before starting to flicker and flash. We finish setting up just in time. Then Mrs. Evans is back again, without her children but with her husband.
    The husband is a thin, narrow-faced man with heavily veined forearms and broken capillaries across his face. He’s too shy to speak to Father Nerve and only manages to mumble out a welcome.
    “We will begin,” says Father Nerve. “Come to the kitchen table.”
    We all sit around the table—Father Nerve between the couple and me between the twins. We all link hands, entwining our fingers. The twins’ hands are warm and dry; I always hope mine aren’t clammy. I bow my head, but not before I see Ro wink at me out of the corner of my eye.
    Father Nerve says, “The hole is here. We will close it.”
    We begin to pray. Our first prayer is to the earth and the second is to the sky and the third is a prayer for the hole itself. During the third prayer, we hear a scratching noise, like something clawing inside the walls or floor of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Evans exchange fearful looks. I know the sound is made by the twins. Their shoe soles are embedded with small metal hooks, and they’re using them to scrape the floorboards.
    “The god is listening,” says Father Nerve, and at that very moment the light in the living room starts to