A Fishy End

Chapter 17

"What is that?" Sarah asked as her husband Rick pulled something out of his bag, wrapped in a rich piece of silk.

"Something very intriguing," he said with a smile. "Chief Aa-oo-deva introduced us to his spiritual practice, an ancient offshoot of Shoggothi, the cult of Dagon, a caste of great antiquity." He unwrapped the statue and showed her.

It was squat and ugly. God can take any form, Sarah reminded herself, and there is beauty even in the ugly. But Sarah always preferred the more easy-on-the-eyes aspects of God, she had to admit. She adored her Krishna statue, the one her father had given her when she married. She kept it above their sink, on a household altar.

This thing looked like a half man/half fish. Its face was wide and crudely drawn, with thick lips and gills on the sides. It gleamed.

"Hold it," Rick ordered, handing it over.

It was heavy, and it weighed on her mind as much as her hands, filling her with a vague disgust.

"Feel how heavy it is? It's real gold, through and through." Rick's eyes shone. "And Chief Aa-oo-deva just gave it to us."

"Us?"

"The other two . . . they got ones too," Rick said. "And we were instructed on the ways that they worship them."

"Is that what you intend?" she asked. "To worship this thing?" She stopped herself from saying monstrosity.

"You pray to Krishna for prosperity, for us to have good things," Rick said.

"And he has blessed me," Sarah snapped. "A loving husband with a good job. A good job myself. Three healthy children."

"Indeed," he said. "And I have seen the evidence the chief showed us, evidence with my own eyes. This will bring us even greater wealth. I promise. You'll see. I don't ask you to join me in this, not now. Let me do it; then you can judge for yourself. Mark my words, you will see."

He took the statue over to the household altar. She wanted to object as he sat it next to her Krishna, but what could she say? He was right. She prayed every day to Krishna. She'd tried to push Rick to be more religious, but he had merely shrugged the suggestion off. Now he wanted to try a different spiritual practice. How could she protest?

Once he placed the statue, he closed his eyes, made a prayer gesture, and spoke—a long, low prayer in some language she didn't know. The words themselves sent chills down her spine.

Sri-Krishna, she prayed silently as Rick chanted. Did it have to be this?