Sabine knew the gods had taken her money as punishment for not performing her ritual. She’d been saving a dollar a week so she could pay the doctor to fix her leg—she could barely walk, it hurt her so bad. She had hidden the money under a loose floorboard by her bed where her sister, Marie, would not find it. She was supposed to put her earnings in the jar in the kitchen, which Marie used to buy food or other items for the house, but she could no longer ignore her leg, and she knew Marie would think a doctor’s visit was a waste of money. On the day Sabine was set to go to the doctor, she lifted the floorboard to find nothing but sandy earth below.
Sabine made money by spinning yarn. All day, she sat in her room, spinning her wheel, which sat close to the loose floorboard. Nobody, except the gods, would have had a chance to take her money.
Bad leg or no, Sabine swore she would start again with her ritual. That night, Sabine got up and limped into the backyard. She combed the grass until she found ten sticks each about three feet long. In the middle of the yard was a large banana tree that caught the moonlight in its stalks. She approached the tree and bowed, clutching the sticks to her heart. Then she placed the sticks six inches apart counter clockwise around the tree. When she was finished, her sculpture resembled a wheel, each spoke representing a different god. The banana tree represented the things she did not understand.
Every week she placed a new dollar under the floor board, and every night she went out to place her sticks around the banana tree. With the gods appeased, nothing stood in the way of her doctor’s visit.
The night before she planned to see the doctor, Sabine shuffled out of her room to perform her ritual. When she reached the backdoor, she realized it was raining. She decided to return to her room and wait for the rain to stop before going outside. When she was a few feet from her room, she saw Marie standing by her bed, a candle in her right hand. Marie bent down and pulled out the loose floorboard with her free hand. She scooped up the money, put it in her pocket and replaced the floorboard.
Marie’s stealthy exit was interrupted by Sabine’s crumpled form on the floor. The betrayal had knocked the wind out of Sabine, and she lay, curled on the floor, trying to catch her breath.
“I suppose you want your money back,” said Marie. Sabine looked up and took a big breath.
“My sister? Stealing from me?”
“Or was you stealing from me? We’re family. We’re supposed to share everything.”
“I know, but my leg. I got to pay the doctor to look at it.”
“Your leg? What’s wrong with it?”
“It hurts awful. I can barely walk.”
“Sabine, I see you in the yard every night, running around picking up sticks. Don’t nothing look wrong with your leg to me. What are you doing with those sticks anyway?”
“Praying, so the gods wouldn’t take my money.”
“You need your head examined, not your leg.”
“The gods didn’t take it, my sister did.”
Marie sighed and dropped the money on the floor by Sabine. “Next time you see the gods, say a prayer for me,” she said and walked down the hall into her bedroom.
Sabine picked up her money and walked into the backyard. It had stopped raining. The banana tree was dark; a cloud hugged the moon and blocked its light. She had gotten her money back by not performing her ritual. If she had prayed in the rain, her money would be gone. She let her laughter roll out over the yard until it tickled the leaves of the tree she no longer revered. Her leg was feeling better, but she’d go see the doctor anyway, just in case.
