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wrestling with books too old for him. Mad, treacherous, murderous; a liar and a black magician and a
breaker of sanity, yet somehow brave and noble and strangely sad. The high god of the North.
Odin.
"That is my gift to you," Oski had said, calling him no coward. But Martell felt himself a coward as he
took the can of reindeer meat in a trembling hand and carried it outside to the trash dumpster.
He knew the story, from theHeimskringla . The one-eyed wanderer with the hat and staff had come to
Olaf Trygvesson one night at the farmstead of Avaldsness, and had kept the king up nearly all the night
with one mad, glorious tale after another.
But the wanderer had been gone when the king woke the next morning. Olaf had gone to the kitchen
and asked the servants if the stranger had left any meat with them. They said he had. Olaf instructed them
to throw the meat out. "For that," he said, "was Odin."
Scholars still debated the precise significance of that meat.
Martell did not want to know.
* * *
MEMORANDUM
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FROM: A. Carnegie Hall, Station Mgr.
TO: WEEP Announcers
RE: It has come to our attension that some of our personnels have been rumored to have televesions in
their homes. This will ceace immediately. Not only is telivision an incidious menice on our moral fiber of
our nation, but is the COMPETTION, and a conflict of interests.
Also, in the future ahead, any personels found to have attended the theater, movies, or dance, or any
similar unspiritual entertainments, will have given cause of the termination of those personnels.
Also, the Lord has revaeled to us that so-called Daylight Savings Time is displesing in His Sight. This
months change-over will be the last for WEEP. From now on all time checks all yer long will be given in
good, Christian, Standard Time.
Don't bother me.
A.C.H./cak
"You know what the trouble is, Rory? I'll tell you what the trouble is. It's heathenism. I got this book in
the mail that explained it all to me. It's not the Commies, or the niggers, or the Jews it's heathenism."
"Heathenism? What kind of heathens you mean, Pontoon?" Rory spoke into the telephone receiver
cradled between his cheek and his shoulder as he loaded a CD with one hand.
"Not heathens, heathenism! It's as plain as the face on your head. This guy explained it in the book. We
celebrate Christmas, but it's not Jesus' birthday, it's just a heathen celebration they've slapped Jesus'
name on. We celebrate Easter, but that's just a heathen celebration too the name comes from some
old heathen goddess "
"But Easter is celebrated pretty much when the Resurrection happened, Pontoon I mean, we know
Christ was crucified during Passover "
"Yeah, but we use a heathen name! That shows that we're not really celebrating Jesus, we're celebrating
the heathen holiday! Anything that's been used by the heathens is contaminated! Heathen idols, heathen
holy places, heathen names, we got to get rid of 'em all, or else we come under their power!"
"Wait a minute, Pontoon. What do you call the days of the week?"
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Well I read that Sunday and Monday were named after the Sun and Moon back when people
worshiped them. Tuesday was named after some German god, and Wednesday after another one, and
the same for Thursday and Friday. Saturday was named after Saturn, a Roman god. Then there are the
months I can't remember all of them, but I know March is named after a god, and June is named after
a goddess. Are you gonna change all the names of the days and the months?"
"By golly you're right, Rory! We've gotta change 'em all!"
"That's not what I meant "
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"And then there's all the products out there with heathen names Mercury cars and Peter Pan peanut
butter, and Red Devil paint! Thanks for reminding me, Rory! I gotta call some people. Talk to you later
" And he hung up.
Another red light was on, and he hit its button.
"Hello, Rory Buchan on the radio?" It was a woman's voice. "I gotta talk to somebody I've got the
Virgin Mary sitting in a maple tree in my back yard, and what I can't figure out does that make me a
Catholic?"
The next caller said he'd seen a hunting party of red Indians running down Third Street. It was one of
those nights. Rory made reassuring noises to him and hung the phone up, adjusted his earphones and
outcued the music. "That was Becky O'Morgan with, 'It Ain't Cheatin' If It Ain't No Fun.' This next
number's a request going out to my good friend Godfrey Hanson, and his lovely wife Christine, married
ten years ago Sunday at Nidaros Church in Epsom. We sure hope they'll have many more years just as
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