Profanity by Liz Ulin (Canada)

Sari
Ya know what? A long, long time ago, before animals and trees were made, when the
world was new, God and the devil had a big showdown. There was shouting and
fighting, sometimes with swords and guns, and maybe lasers, and they kept on till God
finally chased the devil out. And Mama says for a long while after the world was mostly
good.

But the devil wasn’t gone for real, just hiding in a million zillion places, mostly in people
like robbers, or even nursery teachers, or grocery store ladies. Even the sweetest person
could have him hiding in there with no one knowing, till he would slither out and do
some evil, just to be a show off. Like maybe he’d say a very mean thing, or cut a girl’s
face with a knife or drown a little baby in the bathtub. And God would get so so mad
saying why didn’t I just kill that devil a long time ago when I had the chance?

Then one day He got the idea to make Glorious Day and burn the whole world up with
flaming fire so the devil could be killed for real.

Reverend says not to be scared of the flaming fire coming ‘cause Mama and Mila and me
are Rightly Righteous people that’s so filled up with God there’s no room for the devil to
hide inside, and on Glorious Day we’ll all fly up to heaven. Only the ones that stay down
here will get the skin burnt off their bones.

But just to be sure, we’re gonna live in Profanity now, where every kind of devilishness is
turned around to fool him.

​Mila
At first it was funny in a sickening kind of way, Mom telling us we’re packing up and
moving to Bitch Street. “Birch?” I say, like a normal person. “No, Bitch, sweetheart,” she
says, “We’re taking back that word.”

Taking back that word. That’s the brilliant theory of Profanity, Saskatchewan. Everything
named with a cuss word, somehow making it pure again by “stealing” it back from Satan.
You say bitch like it doesn’t mean bitch a thousand times a day and— BAM—the devil’s
lost his bitch. Fucking awesome, right?

Ok, for fifteen minutes it’s hilarious posting my new address on Insta, 16 BITCH! But
really, when your mom has gone totally insane and is dragging you by the hair to the
middle of nowhere, it’s not exactly worth the kickass address.

I probably should have seen it coming: Mom going to church every week, then every day,
then twice a day after baby Seth died—and not even a church church with a tower and a
bell—a shopping center church, beside Pizza Pizza. I mean, come on. But if the Jesus-
crazies helped her, okay. It was better than her living with Uncle Johnny Walker all day.
And Holy-Roly Reverend Jeremiah with the bright blue eyes and wavy black hair. That
killer combination. He’s a man to take your mind off things, I won’t deny it. So who
could blame her? And it was unbelievably horrible, that whole thing with little Seth
drowning in the bathtub. I guess she had to believe she might see him again, somewhere.
Or at least that he was somewhere beautiful. Holy-Roly tells her Seth’s with the Rightly
Righteous in heaven now, and that we’ll all be there with him someday. Lately, if I even
half believed it, I’d say I can’t wait to get there.

Sari
Mama says there’s lots of people and kids and animals, even horses—my very favourite
animal—in Profanity, Saskatchewan, and we’ll all be brothers and sisters, which is funny
talking about the horses. Maybe she didn’t mean the horses, even though we’re all God’s
creatures and she should have.

General Lee, our big old cat, ran off before Mama could get him in the car. He scratched
and bit and clawed Mama’s arm till she threw him down all mad, and I cried ‘cause now
he’ll burn in the fire, but Mama said, no, the ones that belong to Rightly Righteous go up
to Heaven too even if they’re far away, so not to worry. And mostly I don’t.

Mila
So, Profanity, Saskatchewan. Guess what it is? Guess where we’ve made our new home,
sold every worldly possession to live? Given up civilization for?

A hog farm. Two thousand acres, just outside Richfield. More pigs than people, made up
like an old-time country town. There’s streets and houses and stores and a school and,
whaddya know, a church. And a big sign at the entrance: Welcome to Profanity. But can
you snap a pic? Send it back to earth? No. No, Missy, you can’t. Totally off the grid, off-
line. Off-line! No signal. No Google, no Insta, no YouTube. No sign of intelligent life.

We drive in on this dirt road and it’s like one of those dreams where you’re half awake
the whole time, just about to wake up. But I don’t wake up. We’re driving in and I’m
looking out the window, searching for 16 Bitch, my bitchin’ new address. And we head
up Shit Street to Assfuck Ave, past the Cocksucker Convenience Store(!), and I’m
scheming, on total overdrive. Like, how can I heist these awesome signs? Sell them on
EBay when I escape, stowed away in the trunk of a car?

Sari
Tomorrow could be the flaming fire, or it could be later. It’s better to be a surprise to
catch the devil out. God’s smart about that. If I was him I wouldn’t tell anybody either.
But it’s a tiny bit scary, the surprise part, ‘cause what if I’m in Richfield with Mama at
the big grocery and Mila’s back home and the fire burns up the car and the roads and we
can’t get back, and Mila and the Profanity people all go up to heaven, rescued by God,
and we get rescued to a different part of heaven with the Richfield people?

In Richfield, the ladies sometimes stare at us with mean eyes, and one time at the grocery
there was a boy, like me, and we raced the cart in the aisle and his mom caught us and
said, “Enough of that, kids!” then just to me, “You from around here?” And I said
“Yeah.” And she said, “Where do you go to school, Hun?” And I said where, and she said
“What’s that, Hun?” leaning over to me. And I said where again, and she said “Wha..?”
And I said louder, “Cunt!”

That lady’s eyes opened so wide then, and she pulled up her hand and slapped me hard on
the face. And Mama came around the corner and snatched me up telling the lady to never
do that again and that she’ll burn in the fire, which made me hope for it soon, even
though it is a little bit scary to think of.

Mila
I’ve lost track of time. No calendars. Has it been a week? A month? All I know is we’re
tucked away in a cozy two bedroom and everyday Mom’s sent off to the slaughterhouse,
pig killing. And every day me and Sari are dragged to the school by a ghost-white boy,
Jake, who marches us over to Cunt Educational Center. That first day, I cracked up at the
gold-lettered sign over the door: CUNT EDUCATIONAL, whoo hoo! But pasty-face
Jake just stared back at me like, what’s the big deal. Get in.

And that day, like all the rest since, we learn how god needs our help defeating the devil
by taking his nasty words and perverted deeds and claiming them as our own. Taking
them back for god. “The devil only has the power we give him,” Miss Holy Whore sings
at us. She used to be someone else, with a human name, but you probably knew that.
“Shitface! Asswipe! Bastard! Boner!” we chant, like times tables, every day, sucking the
power out of them. “Cooter! Cumslut! Pussylick! Schlong!” Hey, I’m learning new
vocabulary! When’s the spelling bee? It felt amazing that first day. Not so much the
second, the third, the thirtieth. Not so much at all.

Sari
At church today, Reverend started with the prayer to Father God in Heaven, like every
day but then showed a new thing, how devilish acts can be turned to Godly ones, like in
the beginning of the world when God beat the devil to within an inch of his life. And
Reverend took a fat-legged lady with yellow hair from her seat at the front, and said to
get down on her knees. And she pulled her dress up to her bottom to show her big round
legs. Then Revered took a long stick. And I wanted to shut my eyes and my ears ‘cause I
felt the devil must be slithering in me right then, but how could he be, in church? And
Reverend took the stick and smacked the lady on the legs and hollered “Praise God” and
everybody hollered “Praise God”, except the fat-legged lady who cried out. And he
smacked her again and again and people hollered “Praise God” and the lady had tears of
joy running out her eyes and blood running down her legs. “Blood of the lamb,”
Reverend said and he beat her until she fell down on the ground and said soft, “Praise
God.” And since she said it just then the devil didn’t get in through her cuts so it’s okay,
but I had a very evil thought in church which I hope God didn’t hear with all the
hollering. But I was so so glad that the fat-legged lady wasn’t me or Mila or Mama. Even
though it would have been a blessing to be at the front with Reverend I think. But I was
only having the evil thought, hoping the stick would break to make Reverend stop.


Mila
Well, evidently everything can be overcome when we praise god. All evil, all pain. Quite
interesting. Two months ago you might have said: Hey, Mila, you hear about that lady
getting the shit whipped out of her by a preacher in church, and everybody cheering
“praise god”, till she lay half dead on the floor?

And I’d have said, no way! Right? Two months ago.

So after church I grab Krystal, the only girl in my class with a brain cell left. And I say,
what the hell? And all she says is, it’s just Miss Piss getting god again. And she tells me
how fat Miss Piss always sits in front to get chosen. Totally messed up. But then she tells
me Piss’ll be out of slaughterhouse duty now for a week at least while the cuts heal. So I
get it now, kind of. Clever Miss Piss. But still—messed up.

Then I ask Krystal if her or her mom’s ever been chosen, and she says her mom was
twice, but her no. She says under-eighteens are saved for other stuff. When I ask what, all
she says is, “God knows,” and I can’t even tell if she’s being funny.

At home, I ask Mom what she’d do if she was chosen, and she says “Praise god” like a
robot. So I say, what if it was me or Sari? And she says children can’t consent—like we
consented to any of this! Then she tries to close the bathroom door but I push in, yelling,
“What’s the matter with you?!” But she smiles that zombie smile and I can hear the brain
cells sizzling out like bugs in a zapper. Is she still in there somewhere? I get right up in
her face. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” And when she hears the cuss word she
clicks on like a light bulb, throws her arms around me and cries, “Praise god!”

Sari
Sometimes, even though we try our best and pray and spit and swear, it’s a devil’s day.
Mostly at Profanity it’s God’s days but sometimes the devil gets one. Today was one
when Mama came into our room to get us up for church and the bandages were on her
arms. Mama said an accident in the kitchen happened and it’s all right now, but Mila
started to cry. Mama said, “Hush it’s okay now.” But I know it’s not okay, because of the
new cut holes.

Reverend says everybody’s got holes in them and that’s where the Devil slithers in to
hide. Like when you say bad things, he can slither in your mouth, or see a bad thing he
can slither in your eyeball, or hear a bad thing, in your ears. So when you’re cut, he can
get in your skin. And when he’s in it’s so so hard to get him out. There’s only a few ways.

I said this to Mila, “What if Mama’s got the devil in her now and won’t be going up with
us on Glorious Day?” Mila said to shut up and anyway isn’t Mama a Rightly Righteous
person all filled up already?

I said yes to Mila, but maybe that was a lie. Rightly Righteous people aren’t supposed to
read anything except God’s words, and Mama reads the magazines at the grocery. And
only Reverend’s supposed to say God’s real name out loud, but Mama always says it
when she cries in the bathtub for Seth. I don’t tell Mila this because she’s already very
mad all the time, and madness can bring the devil sniffing around.

Mila
People are kidnapped all the time, right? They’re stuffed into cellars or jungle caves and
live to tell about it on TV. But what if your brain’s kidnapped? So you don’t even know
you’re kidnapped? And it tells you to kidnap other people like YOUR OWN
CHILDREN? And you say, cool idea, Brain! Then you’ll never get out, never live to tell
anything to anybody, and neither will YOUR CHILDREN.
But I can’t say any of this to her. She’s already tried to slit her wrists—again. And if it
didn’t sound so cold, I’d say it was the most rational idea she’s had in a long, long time.
Then there’s Sari, all worried about the devil getting in through the damn new holes in
her skin! I’d say, Jesus, fucking, cocksucking Christ if it meant anything anymore.

Sari
At the beginning of the world when just Adam and Eve were there, God gave a test to see
if he’d done a good job, and he put an apple on the tree and told them: “Do not eat it, or
else!” But the snake said to Eve, “Why not eat it?” So she did. And then she said to
Adam, “Why not eat it?” So he did too, and now we’re in deep trouble. But Miss Whore
says that Eve couldn’t help herself ‘cause the devil slipped inside through one of her
holes and made her misbehave. And she says ladies have to be especially careful ‘cause
of the extra hole where babies come from, and that’s the one the devil likes best.

Mila
So I finally get up the guts to go bang on Holy-Roly Jeremiah’s door. When he swings it
open, he’s smiling that blinding white smile, the blue eyes sparkling and I scream,
“Fucking asshole freak!”

He backs up a step and I keep at him, screaming that his Rightly Righteous, Glorious Day
crap is nothing but bullshit. Worse than bullshit. It’s fucking vomit. And he’s vomit. I tell
him I’d kill him if I could. Stab him a hundred thousand times, watch him lie in a pool of
his own blood, and laugh and PRAISE GOD! He tilts his head like: what a silly girl you
are. And I slap him. Pound him. Harder, harder harder! And then tears are running down
my face—damn it! And snot bubbles out my nose, and I pound him and slap at him, try to
slap the smile off his shiny face. But he grabs my wrists and pulls me into the house.

He sits me on the couch, hard, and I wait for him to slug me, take off his belt and beat me
like pathetic Miss Piss. But he just says, “Go on, get it out.” I say, “Fuck you!” then see
his stupid smile again and shut up. He hands me a Kleenex, asks if I want a Coke—a
designated satanic beverage until this second. I glare at him, no! But he goes to the
kitchen and brings one anyway, then asks what else I hate, besides him. I scream,
“Everything and everybody here.” But not Sari.

“Really? You hate your mother?” My mother? Zombie mom? The one that brought us to
this shithole? Yes, I do hate her. Yes! Then my eyes are watery again, and I think, what
the hell am I even doing here? And I get off the couch, and head for the door. “You hate
her for trying to leave you,” he says. “The attempt on her life?” I swing around, tell him
to shut up. That he doesn’t know the first thing about me or my mom. And he smiles,
fucking SMILES! Says he loves us both. Wants the best for us. I say, “You want slaves
for your slaughterhouse.” And he gets all offended, says it’s an honour to work in the
slaughterhouse. Only the most Rightly Righteous can work there—Zom-Mom evidently
among them. Imagine, he says, how it is for those poor animals, giving their lives for us.
“Their final moments are sacred, preparing their bodies is sacred. “ He looks at me all
doe-eyed, sentimental for the pre-pork pigs, “We decide how it’s going to be for them,
Mila.” He holds out my Coke. “We can’t abuse that.” I snatch the can and take a gulp.
Feel the sweet, sharp bubbles burn the back of my throat.

Sari
On the days when Mama has her naps with the washcloth on her eyes and no one’s
allowed to come in or say a word, I stay out with the horses: Beelzebub and Demon and
Lucifer and Prince of Darkness. And one day I got an idea from Adam and Eve on how to
get Beelzebub to come: I showed my lunch apple and said, “Hey, Eve (even though he’s a
boy) would you like this yummy apple?” And he did—just like the real Eve. But it’s
nothing bad since he’s not a real person, and I’m not a real devil snake.

But sometimes I think what if the devil has got in me? In through my eyeball at the praise
beatings or in my ear when Mila screams loud at Mama? And if he’s hiding in here, I
won’t know till, one day, I chop somebody into a million pieces by accident.

Mila
So those damn little piggies are in my dreams now, chasing their little piggie tails,
squealing all happy, then not so happy, then screeching when someone (Mom?!) sharpens
up a knife behind them. And when I wake up I’ve got this weird feeling, like I’ve got to
see them, make sure they’re all still living their piggie lives. So I wander over to the barn,
stand at the pens, watch the ginormous mama pigs lying in the dirt fattening up their little
piglets. “Thanks in advance for your kiddies,” I say. They don’t get it. But there’s a
chuckle behind me and I know it’s god damn Holy-Roly. I’m trapped.

He leans up against the fence beside me, says, “Hey, Mila.” I say, “Reverend Jeremiah,”
to the pigs. He tells me to call him Jerry and I hold the puke back and start sliding away.
Then he reaches out and touches my arm, says he “gets it” about my mom. Says, “My
old man put a gun in his mouth when I was twelve.” And I think, Jesus, not now. Do not
be telling me this here by the pigs. And I blurt out how my mom’s nothing like his sorry
stupid dad. But then his head drops into his hands and I feel kinda bad. So I hang there a
sec to make up for it, watching the pigs, listening to the grunts, and he leans in closer,
brushing his arm against mine. He lifts his head, asks don’t I feel better now after giving
him shit the other day? And I say maybe a tiny bit, but still…. And he says, “All that rage
and hate is the devil crashing around inside. You’re just pushing him out to make room
for God.” And, damn it, I know I should just go, get the hell away, but he’s so fucking
arrogant! (And okay I’m so fucking stubborn.) “So that’s what you were doing to Miss
Piss in church, huh? Beating the devil out of her?” He turns to face me, lifts my chin.
And for a sickening second I think he might kiss me, but before I can move he looks back
to the pigs. “It’s taking control, Mila. Turning pain into praise. That’s what it’s about.
Conquer pain in his name and nothing, nobody can hurt you ever again.” He lets go my
chin and tugs up his sleeve showing the jagged little lines and scabs all up his arm; Jesus
Christ. I look away. He’s a cutter.

Sari
If I roll up in a very small ball under the covers and squish shut my eyes and block up my
ears the devilish noises can’t get in. And not the devilishness outside when Mila screams
and screams at Mama and somebody throws a glass and kicks a door, and somebody cries
like a dog howling Ooooooooowwww, and somebody says to shut up and die already, and
then more glass and then more howling, and then nothing.

Mila
I take the blade, so smooth and shiny and perfect; fold down my sock. And there they are:
my war wounds, my beauty marks, each one a sweet straight line. Not jagged and scabby
like Holy Roly’s. It’s been a year now that I’ve left them alone, abandoned them. Sorry,
sweet things. But now I’m back.

And was that a nauseating display or what? A genuine Roly bonding moment, flashing
me his disgusting slashes! Totally scripted. So maybe when he pins me to his couch and
fucks me, like he probably wants to, I won’t mind as much? Like maybe I’ll say, “Oh,
Jerry you totally get me, and you’re so stupid cool I just want to blow your big righteous
dick all day long!” Feeble piece of shit.

I used to think he was after Mom. You know, picking on someone his own age? But
child-neglecting, pig-slaughtering zombies aren’t his thing I guess. No, not at the
moment. And maybe she’s jealous? Could that possibly and pathetically explain it? The
mumbling jumbling curses she hurls at me, the staring-into-space silent treatments. Could
that be it? I wish.

I know what she’s really thinking behind those crazed zombie eyes. All day, every day.
Not exactly a secret, is it? “Why was it baby Seth I had to bury? Why not Mila?”

Another sweet straight line. And my blood is still red. So, sorry world, I’m alive.

Sari
At church Mama’s hand is cold and I hold it tight to get it warmer and I hold Mila’s too
on the other side, so I have no hands to itch my nose if I need to but I don’t care. And
Reverend tells a story about people who didn’t listen and so they’ll burn in the fire. And
Mama stares at the lady’s head in front of us like maybe the lady’s hair’s got a bug in it,
but I can’t see one. Then Reverend calls for a chosen one to go up with him, and I close
my eyes ‘cause it’s the praise beating and Miss Piss or someone might get their legs
beaten. Then Mila lets go my hand.

She gets up and walks to the front and Reverend says, “You’re not the age of consent,
Sister,” which means she can’t be a chosen, but Mila stays there and people start talking
all around, and Mama squishes my fingers too hard. Then Mila gets on her knees and
Reverend asks does she have permission, and Mila looks at him angry and pulls up her
dress to show her legs, skinny ones, not like Miss Piss. But Reverend won’t take the
stick. He says to Mama, “Sister?” And Mama looks around at the people, all waiting.
“Praise God,” one lady says, then another lady, “Praise God.” Then everybody, “Praise
God!” And Mama says praise God too, so Reverend takes his stick off the table. And I
tell Mama, “Don’t,” but it’s too late and Reverend whips Mila’s legs and hollers “Praise
God!” And all the people holler too. So I pull my hand away from Mama and cover my
ears and close my eyes, but I can’t shut it out. The stick comes down and down and
down. “Praise God. Praise God! Praise God!!” It goes over and over, a long long long
long time, longer than for Miss Piss or for anybody, longer than a whole prayer song.
And people scream. “PRAISE GOD” like thunder, and it’s too loud then so I open my
eyes ‘cause I know the devil’s got in my holes now for sure. And all the people are
standing except me and Mama, so I get out of the row to see Mila at the front. And the
stick comes down on her wet, red legs. “PRAISE GOD!” But she won’t fall down like
Miss Piss and the other chosens do, and the stick comes down again, and I yell,
“MAMA!” so she’ll come and see, but she doesn’t know it’s me, Sari. So I run to the
front and push Mila over on the ground and holler, “Praise God,” at Reverend and he
drops the stick. Then he looks at me kind of glad but kind of not, ‘cause now he sees I’m
the devil.

Mila
They’re all buzzing around me like bees now. All the sisters. “Praise god!” Spooning
soup in my mouth, and pancakes and pie and some nasty slippery stuff as I lie here doped
up on some shit that’s really kind of AWESOME in a spinny, let’s-go-down-the-slide-
again kind of way. And I gotta say, Miss Piss, you had it right. Five minutes of a blood-
soaked beating gets you five whole days in a comfy bed. With bandages and breakfast!
Fucking good deal. And there aren’t that many fucking good deals around here, so…
ya… and after ten or twenty licks of that cane it all blurs together so... Ten? Twenty? Two
hundred? PRAISE GOD. Damn if I was gonna go down for that scabby Roly Bastard,
right? But, fuck, I didn’t count on Sari…. Sorry, Sari. I should have thought of you,
sweetheart. I’m a horrible, horrible sister. And a horrible person generally. And I should
have got us out of here a long time ago and now I don’t know what to do. But I’ll get my
head on straight soon. I will. And we’ll dig a tunnel under the ground. To China or at
least Richfield, or we’ll just run off somewhere normal. Real soon. I promise.

Sari
In the living room Reverend tells Mama something about Mila, that Mila doesn’t have to
go to school now, that she can work with the pigs like a grown up, and when her legs get
healed she’ll go to his house to live. And Mama can’t stand up right and gets sick on the
rug so Reverend holds her up and says, “Praise God”. And when he leaves Mama goes
and cries in the bathtub.

So I knock on the door, even though I’m not supposed to when she’s in there crying, and
I say some things that are maybe evil, but I can’t help that the devil’s inside me, like Eve.
I tell her how the devil can hide anywhere. In a million zillion places at the same time. In
robbers, or even nursery teachers, or grocery store ladies, or in girls that are almost five.
Then I say that maybe Reverend is one of those with the devil inside. With him beating
Mila and wanting to take her away. But Mama says nothing. So I wait and wait and then
bang on the door and shout, “Mama? Please don’t drown in the bathtub! And I kick and
kick at the door. “Please, please, Mama! You still got Mila and me!” But there’s no sound
or crying. Mama’s gone like baby Seth.

Then the lock opens and I push inside and Mama’s standing all naked and wet! And she
squishes my head into her belly and her arm bone pokes in my face but I don’t even care.
And my nightie gets wet and cold, then she lets me go saying, “Go get my robe, Sari,
quick.”

Mila
I roll over in bed, half asleep. It’s like midnight. Mom’s pulling stuff from my drawers,
emptying my closet, tossing everything into garbage bags. “What the hell?!” I say. But
she doesn’t listen. Keeps on like the house is burning. Then she’s gone, the bags with her.
I stumble into the hallway. And see it’s finally happened. She’s throwing me out. Of
course, like the trash! Then I see Sari in her nightgown with a coat over, hauling garbage
bags too, with big wide eyes. “Come on!” she says, and runs outside into the dark. So I
follow, and see the car, trunk open, stuffed with bags. “What the hell?” I say again. But
then I see what the hell. I see.

Fucking praise god.





Liz Ulin has had several short stories adapted and produced for theater, in addition to publication. Most recently, she was a winner of the Fresh Voices Screenplay Competition, and been published in Flash Fiction Magazine, Short Circuit, Ninth Letter, Sans Press, The Great Ape, Book XI Philosophy Journal, and the feminist anthology Broad Knowledge. She lives and works in Montreal West, Quebec.