Hour of the Witch

by Chris Bohjalian

“No,” Mary continued. “There was no room for Christ when He first came into our world and there was no room for Him when He died. He was scorned by authority and He was crucified because He demanded that the poor and the sinful and the children and the women be”—and she took a breath as she sought and found the correct word—“respected. Respected. The lowly for whom, just like Him, there was neither esteem nor hope. We separated and came here to this wilderness, and so far we have shown only that we are as flawed and mortal here as we were across the ocean. There is no act of horror or violence of which man is not capable. My husband stuck a fork in me and thou demandeth I live with him still. Hast thou seen the idea of charity we bestow upon the heathen? Hast thou examined the accounting ledgers of how and what we trade with them? We are scoundrels. We—”