The God of Six Points, to be brief, is the story of God

1. The God of Six Points, to be brief, is the story of God. One particular god. Perhaps this is sacrilege to some. But I have met him. He still hangs around the Six Points area. I first met him when my son was 6 years old. He looked to be about 80. My son is now thirty. I saw the god last week. He still looks to be about 80. In the novel the god is concerned/upset because he has killed one of his subject. In a fit of rage. The story is also about a man who has dementia. Who thinks he is a god. It is not clear which story is reality.

   WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS HANGING AROUND HERE?

Joan Green, the vice-principal of Our Lady of Peace School looked over her glasses, two television sets poised like a teeter-totter on her nose, at me.

“Oh, Joan!” I smiled with my patented reassuring charm.

Joan, self-assured and confident in both voice and posture with strength of purpose only a teacher of many years could possess, was not impressed.

“Parents are complaining,” she said.

I turned my eyes from Joan to the school. Our Lady of Peace was a two-floor yellow brick building, designed by a tired and frugal imagination. The Separate School System had been designed to reassure a Catholic minority in the province of Ontario that the faith of their children would not be undermined by the Protestant establishment. It made no such promises about the imagination. O.L.P. was one of the first separate schools built in the western suburbs of Toronto after World War Two.

“What an ugly building,” I said.

“What?” Joan asked.

I pointed at the school.

“Looks like a damn warehouse. And the color of the brick! Cat piss when the females are in heat.”

I could hear Joan sigh behind me. I turned around

Joan looked at me with that school marm charm and spoke.

“They get nervous when they see an old man in baggy pants hanging around the schoolyard.”

“Ah!” I chuckled. “They’re upset with my wardrobe. Clowns have baggy pants.”

Joan was not smiling. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her upper lip. Several long hairs were curling up towards her nostrils. God, they’re going to invade, I thought to myself. I wondered if she were aware of the growth. Terrible thing when the sexes start imitating each other. Women start growing moustaches; men start growing breasts.