Free Ceremony of Flies by Kate Jonez

disgusting.
    “Ouch!” Rex grabs his neck. “Damned biting flies.” His face turns bright red. “Sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean to cuss.” He smacks his arm, his thigh, his shoulder.
    The flies aren’t biting me.
    I look down at Harvey.
    The nun laughs all delicate like. “Are you hungry?”
    “I am hungry,” Rex says and grins extra wide. He scratches the welt on his neck as he waits for me, Harvey and Baldy to pass through the door. I try to catch Rex’s eye because what the fuck is wrong with this picture, but he’s too busy making googly eyes at the little Lolita nun.
    The room, just like the rest of the place, looks like it belongs in a museum. In the corner, a big cast-iron pot blips and glubs on a wood-burning stove. A long, rough-looking picnic table is set with five settings just like they knew we were coming.
    They couldn’t know we were coming.
    “Is that a newspaper?” I ask.
    Obviously.
    “May I see it?”
    The nun gives it to me still rolled up.
    It’s got a squashed fly stuck to it. I scrape it off and unroll the paper. The headlines are in some weird language I don’t recognize, Cyrillic or Arabic or something. The numbers are the same though.
    It’s the 584 th of Tzolkin. Or it would be that if that’s how you pronounce a Z facing the wrong way. They must be using the Chinese calendar. I should have learned how that thing works. Is it the year of the Tzolkin? The name sounds like one of those animals they only have in Australia.
    The pictures in the paper are blurry and grainy to the point of being incomprehensible. At least they are to me.
    “Thanks.” I give the paper back to her. The good news is neither my name nor picture made the headlines.
    There’s always tomorrow.
    “Please have a seat,” the nun says. She’s smiling like one of those pictures of saints on the candles at the grocery store. Her happiness is way out of proportion to reality.
    I mean, I’m happy too, but damn. Okay, I’m relatively happy… All right, I could eat something.
    Rex grabs Harvey and swings him up in the air before plopping him down on the bench.
    The kid doesn’t squeal or squirm or react at all. Is something wrong with him? Is he sick?
    Rex sits down next to him, unfolds a napkin and puts it in Harvey’s lap. The kid looks like he’s scanning the place for an escape route.
    Sister of the Blessed Good Cheer motions me to come over by her.
    I go over by the stove and she puts a knife in my hand.
    It does not look that sharp.
    “Will you slice the bread?” she asks.
    Why me? Is there something about having a uterus that predestines me for kitchen duty? I hate that sexist shit. I hate it most when it comes from women. But what the fuck, it’s just a little bread.
    “Sure,” I say. “What’s your name? Or…what should we call you?” I ask her mainly because I’m running out of nicknames to amuse myself with.
    A round loaf with an X on the top sits on a stone plate. It looks more artisan than artisan. It looks authentic. With the knife, I saw on it. The blade could be sharper.
    “I’m Sister Azrael.”
    Azrael, why does that name sound familiar? Isn’t that the angel of something? Weird name for a nun.
    “You hungry, kid?” Rex asks Harvey.
    “I don’t eat the food for the dead.” He shoves the tin plate away.
    The nun’s mouth falls open and she stares at Harvey like he took a shit on the baby Jesus.
    “Ha, ha.” I make myself laugh. I don’t think I’m fooling anyone. “Kids say the weirdest things.”
    I’m kind of wishing I was sitting next to Harvey instead of across from him because it’d be easier to ignore the defiant look on his face. Is he about to have a temper tantrum? I’m not sure what to do if that happens. At least he’d finally be doing a kid thing. I suppose I should smack him. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.
    Harvey, true to his word, doesn’t touch the food on his plate.
    Baldy doesn’t have similar qualms. He slurps and gulps from the