Read Objects of Worship for Free Online

camp.”
    Dad sat up.
    “No . . . they had other plans for me. Or, in any case, they
needed a body, and mine was convenient. They took me to
a laboratory in the dungeon of an old castle. I never figured
out where I was exactly because I couldn’t speak German
then — ”
    “But you can speak German now, right?” I asked.
    “Yes, Gordon, I can.”
    Bernard jumped in. “And French?”
    “Yes, but so can you two. You even go to French school!”
    My brother and I started listing every language we
could think of. “Spanish! Greek! Italian! Japanese! Chinese!
Swahili! African! Cree! Swedish! Ontarian!”
    “Some of those aren’t really languages, boys.”
    Bernard asked, “Are there any languages you can’t
speak?”
    “I don’t think so,” Dad said as Mom walked into the
room. She sat behind him and hugged him, pressing herself
against his back, smiling at me and Bernard.
    Wrapping his fingers around Mom’s, Dad said, “Now do
you want to hear the rest of this story or not? ’Cause it’s
gonna be lights-out pretty soon.”
    Mom said, “Actually, it’s lights-out now. The boys are so
excited it’ll take them hours to get to sleep as it is.”
    “Mom!” Bernard and I shouted together.
    “Okay, okay,” Dad said. “I’ll jump to the ending.”
    Mom nodded, grinning. She slipped past Dad and
squeezed between the two of us. We snuggled on either
side of her, and the three of us listened to the conclusion
of Dad’s war tale.
    “For more than two years, I was a lab rat for a team of
Nazi scientists. Their research was equal parts science,
torture, and occultism. They subjected me to all kinds
of
gruesome
experiments;
operated
on
me
without
anaesthetic; performed bloody rituals using my body as the
focal point; irradiated me with radioactive rays; injected me
with serums; forced me to drink foul-tasting concoctions
that burned my throat . . . I think I even remember, at
various times, having my limbs amputated, my tongue cut
out, my eyes torn out . . . I have this memory of one of them
reaching into my chest and ripping out my heart, holding it
up above my face while its blood dripped onto my chapped
lips . . . But I don’t know if any of that’s true. I’m not sure
at all what really went on while I was their captive. Even
while it was all happening, I had difficulty distinguishing
fact from delirium.”
    Bernard interrupted. “Did they do all that to you because
you’re Jewish?”
    “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
    Impatient, I prompted Dad to continue.
    “One day, a particularly messy, gory, and complex rite
was disrupted by the castle shaking. The Nazi guards
ran down into the dungeon to evacuate the scientists.
I recognized the sounds of an air raid: the castle was
being bombed. Part of the ceiling fell, and the scientists’
machines — these were like no other machines I’ve ever
seen; I never did find out what they were or did, exactly —
anyway . . . The machines exploded, destroying everything
in sight. A powerful blast catapulted me into the air, and I
lost consciousness. When I came to, I was naked — but, to
my utter astonishment, otherwise completely unhurt, my
body no longer showing any sign of the ravages the Nazis
had inflicted on it. I’d landed in the middle of some woods
with no idea where I was. So I just started walking, until I
was found by some American soldiers. It turned out I was in
Bavaria. They took me under guard, debriefed me, verified
my identity, and eventually I was shipped back home to
Montreal.”
    Mom beamed a proud smile at Dad. He smiled back,
and they exchanged glances that sparkled equally with
complicity, triumph, and mischievousness. Then Mom
giggled; pretty soon Dad was laughing, too.
    “What’s so funny?” Bernard asked.
    Dad said, “Nothing. Just some old joke between your
mom and me.”
    They kissed us goodnight and got up off the bed.
    “Dad,” Bernard said, “that was more than forty years ago.
The principal at school fought in the