THE THREE LIVES OF CHRISTINA THE ASTONISHING (#21)

As Told by the Holy Woman in Her Own Words
A Hundred or So Years after the End of the World

The baker opened an ancient white icebox in the corner and took out a dish of butter and a wheel of cheese. Then he drew two flagons of dark ale from the spigot of a wooden barrel in the corner and set them on the table. “My own brew,” he smiled. He took a hefty swig.
I sipped my ale cautiously. I wasn’t sure how these spirits would collide with the big spirit that is Giver now inhabiting my indestructible mortal body. The baker cut off a big chunk of yellow cheese, slapped it between two thick slabs of bread, and took an enormous bite. He looked over at me. Food muffled his voice. “Go ahead and eat.”
I tried to slice off a tiny sliver of cheese, but the knife slipped out of my scorched fingers. That was when the baker noticed my hands.
“Great Holy Giver!” He jumped up, chipped pieces off the big square of ice in the bottom of the icebox, and brought them over. “Hold these,” he ordered.
I did as he said and the hurting eased a little. He gave me a searching look.  “How on earth did that happen?”
“The potholders got in the way.” Then I tried to explain about my indestructible immortal body. He listened, frowning. After I was done he said, “Where did you say you were from?”  When I told him, he said thoughtfully, “One of the first counties to secede after the Great Miasma.  Mendocino, they used to call it. Full of strange people, I hear. You included.” A pause. “What did you say your name was?”
I said proudly, “Christina the Astonishing.”

(to be continued tomorrow)