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Any day now you'll be letting that one-legged preacher dunk you in a swimming pool."
"He's a Lutheran, Roy. They don't do rebaptisms. You teach at a Lutheran school, you ought to know
that."
"Not my department. And don't change the subject. You know what your problem is, and you know Dr.
Corson's prescription."
"Yes...."
"You need to get laid. Soon and often. Wanton and superficial women, and never the same one twice.
Just remember to use protection."
"Crazy sex isn't what I'm looking for, Roy."
"That's because you've crammed your head full of ideals. Believe me  between the sheets love and
crazy sex are all the same thing. Especially if you're plastered, which I also recommend highly."
Martell's usual response was, "I have neither the courage nor the stamina." Today he found himself
saying, "I don't think I could treat a woman that way."
Roy looked as if he'd been slapped. Harrassment suits and political incorrectness accusations in the
departments had made all educators a little paranoid. Trust was carefully given and quick to evaporate.
"I'm sorry," Martell rushed to say. "I didn't mean to preach. It's this George Washington thing  it plays
hell with my sense of humor. I'm afraid I won't be invited to many parties."
"I guess not." Martell thought he glimpsed something behind Roy's eyes, some native of a place deeper
than a misunderstanding between friends, but he couldn't be sure.
They shared a few moments of silence, listening to the ever-present rats at play.
"You're coming to the Oski shindig tonight, I suppose," Roy said at last.
"Oh sure." Martell was happy to change the subject. "I'm a fan. I wouldn't miss it."
"I wouldn't call myself a fan," said Roy. "All this Volsungs and Valkyries business leaves me pretty cold.
But Oski's hot stuff, especially in a small pond like this. I know I'm mixing my metaphors, you stick to
history. Anyway, I'd be a fool to miss the chance to kiss all those important backsides."
"I'll see you there then." Martell looked at his watch. "Almost showtime."
Going out Roy turned back at the door.
"Are you really falling for this Jesus business?" he asked. "I mean, everybody's got a right to be an idiot
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in their own way, but some ways are more pleasant than others for your peer group."
"I don't know Roy. That's the truth. Let's say I'm sure I believe in something. I believe life is good. For
all the garbage in the world, I'd say the flowers are worth at least as much as the garbage. And I think the
people who look at the flowers are better equipped to survive than the ones who only look at the
garbage."
"I could argue that point."
"It seems as if every time I read a book that speaks to me, that's really satisfying and nourishing, it turns
out the author has some kind of religious bent. I guess I believe in whatever it is that makes people hope.
What do I lose if I'm wrong?"
"My son, you'll find that nine times out of ten the truth will turn out to be whatever turns your stomach
worst in this toilet world," said Roy. "And even if you're right, I can't see what it has to do with a Jew on
a gallows."
"It gets our attention."
"Flowers and garbage, my friend. In the end they're all the same organic material. All the same." Roy
closed the door behind him. Martell wondered what he wasn't saying.
Walking to class he saw Julie Anderson sitting by herself on a bench in front of one of the dorms,
wrapped in a long coat. She was wearing stereo headphones and her eyes were closed.
Martell stood and looked at her. I was important that he go over and speak to her. His class could wait
a few minutes.
He went to it anyway.
CHAPTER VI
When Martell got back to his apartment that afternoon he found his door unlocked. A woman's voice
said, "Wipe your feet," as he entered.
He'd forgotten that this was Minna Gunderson's day to clean. He always forgot, though it happened
every Thursday.
Minna, the pastor's sister, a large-boned, graying woman, took care of the big house she shared with
Harry, and cleaned for others as well. "Just to keep busy," she said. Martell knew they needed the
money.
He found her drying a frying pan in the kitchenette. "Dishwashing isn't in your job description," he told
her.
"Yes, well it seems like I get started and I don't know where to stop."
Martell wandered into the living room. "I'll never figure out how you manage to get everything clean
without moving all these books. You must number them and reassemble them in order, like an
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archaeologist."
Minna said, "This place is a hogpen," hanging the dishtowel up neatly. "You ought to put those books on
shelves."
"I don't have shelves enough. I don't havewalls enough." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]