The Ceremony

The man woke at dawn. Then he woke up his wife and his boy. Then he went outside, staggering in the semi-darkness to the stable to feed the horse and gather the rope.
The wife prepared a meagre breakfast while her husband prayed.
He sat beneath a desolate tree under a lilac sky.
The stars were muted. Then the stars were gone.
The arid brush-land stretched for miles in all directions. They’d settled many years ago, most foolishly. But the Native Americans left them alone and outlaws, too. Nobody came to this land by chance.
The same cannot be said for the rattlesnakes.
The man had killed hundreds of them.
Yet still they came.
After some years he’d built and erected a large wooden cross in attempt to ward them off.
Still they came.
The man packed up camping equipment, blankets, some bread, beans and coffee. He then harnessed the horse with the materials and tied a rope to the harness.
The wife was tied up around the waist with a section of rope and some metres apart, the boy, too.
The man pulled the horse, the wife and the boy out of the farm by the road and along the trail. Every once in a while they would stop for breath, food and water.
The sky sweltered and their clothes drenched with sweat. But they came across no snakes.
At various intervals they would say their prayers in silence and hoped they would be answered. The man looked at his wife and his boy with great love and admiration.
They continued on their way.
The party travelled over a ridge that gave views of the majestic Columbia River and the surrounding landscape. The man thought of the lush green pastures of his homeland and prayed he would see it again one day.
In the farthest distance there was a snow-peaked mountain.
They saw nobody since they’d left the farm. No person, wildlife, nothing.
On they travelled…
… And finally, they ran out of water.
The horse grew weaker, so too, the wife and boy. The man understood their plight well enough. The food was down to the barest of rations and none of them would last more than three days in this state, in this environment.
They travelled on, but at a much slower pace.
The man ordered them to stop while he grabbed his rifle and went off to search for food. He’d intended on setting a trap, but lacked the skills to do so. Only brute force, luck and prayers would provide them with nourishment.
The boy complained of hunger and was slapped by his mother then reproached for his whining. If they were good Christians, she said, the Lord would provide them all with an abundance of food. But they were not good Christians, she continued.
The boy listened to his mother’s words and prayed.
… The man returned empty handed.
For a while, he considered shooting the horse and taking the animal’s place in the procession.
But he did not do this.
So onwards they went.
Night fell.
The man did not sleep and watched the flickering shadows of fire dance across his wife’s golden face. Her body was cast in sin and birthed in dirt. She knew this and agreed.
The man loved her dearly and their love was stronger than oak despite the corruption of their mortal souls.
The night became day, and the party continued.
The man led them along a hill spotted with narrow, brittle trees, but mostly sage-brush. Rattlers always hid in there… but there were none.
The hill, at its very summit, cut away to a cliff and dropped down into the Columbia River.
The man led the horse to the very edge.
He kissed his wife and his boy then looked down into the swirling currents below. He praised Jesus aloud and shot the horse twice in the head.
It stumbled forward but only slightly, instead, rocked to its side.
The wife and boy remained silent, each reciting prayers under quiet breath. The man shoved the horse and finally it fell, but not enough. It was caught on several roots and entangled. The wife and boy cried audibly now, but the man ran away. He decided to leave the job to God.
… Some time later, he returned.
He looked down to the river and saw nothing.
The lord had spirited them away.
He turned around and saw a rattlesnake slither from a clump of sage-brush. It coiled and hissed. Then another appeared, and another, and another.
The man smiled at the gathering serpents. Then he prayed.
He sat underneath a nearby tree and waited for something to happen: for the snakes to strike him down and let their poison course through his corrupt body. But the snakes did nothing, and the man did nothing, then the man died.