Jesus in Toast
(1,650 words)
Everyone needs a goal. Something to strive for, to give purpose in their life. For Alfred it was a simple idea. He had seen it on TV and the Internet, and now he wanted it to happen to him: he wanted Jesus to appear in his toast.
He had carefully timed his toaster, as well as diligently tested the various methods of placing the slice of bread in the fiery crevices of the device, to achieve the ideal burning area. But alas, so far there had been no sign of the morning messiah deigning to appear in his breakfast. Not one to be discouraged by setbacks, however, Alfred turned to scripture for guidance, and found the words that led him to enjoy toast during all his meals: But he said to me: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
Every morning, noon and night, as he pushed down the lever of his toaster, he pictured with sweaty, trembling palms the marvellous moment he knew would one day come, like a compulsive gambler scratching a ticket; and in front of his bathroom mirror he practised by dramatically pointing his finger at an unhallowed piece of toast and exclaiming Jesus, youre goin in mah belly!
One Saturday morning Alfred was preparing a shopping list with a regrettably secular piece of toast in one hand when a thud originating from the windowsill roused his attention. His black and white half-Siamese-half-stray cat had expressed its desire to be allowed to enter after a night of absence.
Come in, come in, Mr. Whiskers, he said as he opened the window. Welcome back to your humble abode. I trust everything is to your liking?
The cat made no answer, and instead made its way across the table to a foil that but a moment ago had housed a succulent blueberry pie; on weekends Alfred allowed himself to indulge in treats that had little to no chance of resulting in a holy apparition.
With his list complete, Alfred was ready to head to buy the provisions for the coming week. He stopped to bid farewell to his companion, who had made his way to stretch out on the floor of the vestibule, with a quick pat: such thoughtfulness was returned with a hiss and a swift scratch that left crimson cuts on the back of poor Alfreds hand.
Well I never! Alfred cried out. Mr. Whiskers, I do declare you to be the ghastliest beast I have ever had the misfortune to be acquainted with! Every day I fret you will take after that mongrel of a father of yours who scandalised an entire respectable family by seducing your beautiful and gracious mother.
At the door Alfred stopped and gave Mr. Whiskers one more look of chagrin as the cat stared right back at him with audacious eyes, its tail as thick as a pom-pon.
For shame, Mr. Whiskers, he said with a disappointed shake of his head as he went out. For shame.
*
At the store Alfred was making his selections while doing his best to put Mr. Whiskers ignominious behaviour out of his mind. He was gathering the usual supplies for his quest, as well as some potato chips for good measure: naturally he did not expect to find the face of the saviour on them; scanning each chip before savouring the salty crunch was merely a delightful addition to his weekend film viewing tradition.
As he brought his provisions to the check-out and was about to unload his purchases in front of the check-out girl - whom Alfred felt could have looked a bit like Jesus, had she had brown hair instead of blonde, and had had a beard and a moustache - he stopped by a magazine rack to peruse the headlines. One cover caught his eye: a minor headline a tad to the south-east of a pair of buxom pair of breast on a ladies magazine read: Religion in Relationships: Friend or Foe? He could not resist the urge to find out how someone could write such blasphemous drivel. He put down his basket and grabbed the issue, anxiously leafing through the pages to find the abominable article: consulting the contents page did not dawn on him in his vexation.
Sir, he heard the voice of the check-our girl say. You cant do that.
Displeased that his righteous search was thus disrupted, he lifted his eyes from the pages to give the insolent girl such a glare of disapproval as to make her wish she had found another summer job. But the look of anger quickly turned to one of shock and disbelief; the face of the blonde girl had altered significantly. Above the collar of the green cashiers uniform he saw a moist triangular nose, long whiskers like strings of a violin that glittered with the light they caught, and cavernous ears with fleshy ridges running through their hairy interior. Yes, there could be no mistake: Alfred was face to face with an enormous cat asking him questions he could not hear.
Alfred shut his eyes tightly and shook his head, but upon opening them he saw the nightmarish visage of the check-out cat as vividly as ever.
Sir, it spoke in a nasal voice. Youre going to have to buy that or put it back.
His entire body shaking, Alfred dropped the magazine and tumbled backwards, tripping on his basket and with his person brought down the entire magazine rack.
Sir, are you almeow, meow? Meow!
Alfred did not stay to answer, but jumped on his feet and ran down the aisles as fast as he could while a barrage of meows sounded from behind.
Running frantically down the aisles he would constantly look over his shoulder to make sure the devilish creature was not giving pursuit, and as he did so his body wet with perspiration in its disorientation would crash against the shelves, bringing down various merchandise. But still he kept on running, running and screaming.
Soon his wild antics alerted the attention of the ever-vigilant mall security, and at the end of one the corridors Alfred saw two men in blue uniforms awaiting him; always a welcome sight in distress.
Thank God youre here, officers, Alfred began in a frantic tone, turning around to signal towards the check-out. Some unspeakable abomination has taken control of your... As he turned back to the security he gave a shriek of utter terror: he was suddenly faced with two more catmen, both observing him through the narrow slits of their cruel eyes. He turned to run, but was so overwhelmed with fright he lost his bearings and tripped on his feet. Too terror-stricken to getup, but determined to continue his daring but desperate escape, he crawled away on all fours. Behind him he heard approaching foot steps and infernal meows, until he felt something faintly touch his leg. Screaming he flipped around, to better fight off his assailant, and now flat on his back he was furiously flailing his arms and legs. One of the cat security tried to get a hold of his out-of-control legs, while the other stood back and meowed something to his partner.
From the floor Alfred saw an upside down cat family at the other end of the aisle, theirs kittens hissing and pointing at him. Finally the guard managed to grab his ankles, and began to pull him across the floor.
Unhand me, you fiend! Alfred screamed, but did not receive a legible answer, nor did his captor release his legs.
In desperation he reached for the shelves that now passed him by in rapid succession, and managed to grab the handle of a heavy metal pot. He raised it, intending to hurl it at the guards in a last heroic attempt to vanquish his feline foes. But as the pot was above his head, in its silvery surface he saw blurrily pliant whiskers, a flat nose and a pair of emotionless green eyes. One final shriek of terror as the metal and the terrible reflection came crashing down from his enfeebled fingers; unconsciousness followed.
*
A haggard figure made his way through the breakfast line of the St. Jude's Asylum. Several months had passed since Alfreds supermarket adventure, and he had been most gently forced to take a break from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and to take advantage of the hospitality of St. Judes.
He brought his tray to a table by the window, which was most cordially barred with a white iron grating in many pleasing shapes: upon his arrival the triangles had been particularly upsetting, but he had made good progress and could now sit next to them with mere disquietude. His tray was laden with a most bountiful meal: a big bowl of oat meal, a glass of orange juice, and two slices of toast burnt to a crisp.
Alfred took the uppermost piece of toast and was about to splatter it with margarine when his eye caught the slice below. He stared at it in wonder. The top and the sides of it were only slightly burnt, giving the dark centre form the appearance of illumination, a halo. The burnt form itself was a face, a kind and proud countenance that invited respect without demanding it, bathed in shadows. Alfred looked at it long and hard. It was everything he had thought it would be, and nothing he had hoped for.
He took his plastic butter knife and scraped the dark flakes from the slice like mould from cheese. He smiled as he admired the results: an indistinct patch of white bread surrounded by a divine yellow glow.
