Many who entered the Baltimore bakery
thought the wall ornament an amusing little metal sun, perhaps
fashioned after some celestial diety of a long gone Central American
civilization. None suspected the strange truth. The wall mount was
actually a shrine to Cloban, the god of crab pies. And why would they
suspect it? Most would react with bemused surprise if you were to
tell them straight faced that there even was such a thing as a god of
crab pies, and virtually no one would believe the Haverchuk family
worshiped him.
Still, a crab pie god he was. Where
many saw the sun's corona, the Haverchucks saw the edge of a flaky
crust, and what patrons of the bakery took for the sun's warm rays
were actually Cloban's many red, steamy claws. He was a good of
tenderness and flavor and subtlty. His heart was soft as butter, but
his wrath as fiery as an oven. His wisdom was as deep as the oceans
from whence his meaty filling came.
Long ago, people asked how they made
such wonderful crab pies, the bakers used to tell them about their
god Cloban, and the people would laugh at them for believing in such
a silly god. The Haverchucks tried explaining that their family had
worshiped Cloban for generations upon generations, but nothing
stopped the accusations that their ancestors just made up a god one
day. The Haverchucks tried asking the people how they knew their
ancestors didn't just make up their gods centuries ago, but in the
end, they decided to just keep silent.
- Originally mailed to S. Troub of Long Beach, Mississippi
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