Red Clay Weather

The New Gods

—54 The New Gods closely resemble the old gods, except for the tailored wool suits and backless black silk gowns. There is no question of copyright violation or even of self-plagiarism (self-parody either), gods will be gods, have been so long they forget each new habit as soon as it’s formed. The same languid gestures to dismiss or bestow or destroy, the same inability to distinguish among those, or perhaps it’s sheer indifference, what difference does it make to a god? The train derails at the crossing or pulls into the suburban station two minutes ahead of schedule, the cheaply built overpass collapses during rush hour or holds up through the mild tremor. Sundown, moonrise, it’s all the same to a god, time is circular, after all, and rather repetitious, this circular features so many special offers who could choose? Not I, says the god on a barstool enjoying an afternoon Campari and soda, Not we, say the gods sunning themselves on the upper deck with half-closed eyes and lots of sunscreen, and everything starts happening at once, again as if for the first time, the last time, last time this happened it was like this, or was it like that, look, the casino has just opened, do you feel lucky today? Lord knows I do. God, it’s hot today, or too damned cold, but just you wait and the weather will change, whether you want it to or not. shepherd text-2.indd 54 11/22/10 2:07 PM ...