Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage

title—“The Battle of the Genesisites and the Sons of Darwin for the Soul of the Flabby Generation.”

    There was a Temple of Learning sat
    Right on Lake Huron shore
    Where many a dull-eyed Dunce did come
    To listen to many a Bore.

    And the King of the Bores was a Right Fine Chap
    Did Grin from Ear to Ear
    A Jerk with One Big Thought in his Head—
    Tell’em All What They’d Like to Hear!

    One winter Margaret had got the idea of organizing a series of evenings at which people would talk—at not too great length—on whatever subject they knew and cared most about. She thought of it being for teachers (“Teachers are always the ones standing up blabbing away at a captive audience,” she said. “They need to sit down and listen to somebody else telling them something, for a change”), but then it was decided that it would be more interesting if nonteachers were invited as well. There would be a potluck dinner and wine, first, at Margaret’s house.
    That was how, on a clear cold night, Nina found herself standing outside Margaret’s kitchen door in the dark entry way packed with the coats and schoolbags and hockey sticks of Margaret’s sons—it was back when they were all still at home. In the living room—from which no sound could reach Nina anymore—Kitty Shore was going on about her chosen subject, which was saints. Kitty and Ed Shore were among the “real people” invited into the group—they were also Margaret’s neighbors. Ed had spoken on another night, about mountain climbing. He had done some himself, in the Rockies, but mostly he talked of the perilous and tragic expeditions he liked to read about. (Margaret had said to Nina, when they were getting the coffee that night, “I was a little worried he might talk about embalming,” and Nina had giggled and said, “But that’s not his favorite thing. It’s not an amateur thing. I don’t suppose you get too many amateur embalmers.”)
    Ed and Kitty were a good-looking couple. Margaret and Nina had agreed, confidentially, that Ed would have been a notable turn-on if it weren’t for his profession. The scrubbed pallor of his long, capable hands was extraordinary and made you think, Where have those hands been? Curvy Kitty was often referred to as a darling—she was a short, busty, warm-eyed brunette with a voice full of breathy enthusiasm. Enthusiasm about her marriage, her children, the seasons, the town, and especially about her religion. In the Anglican church, which she belonged to, enthusiasts like her were uncommon, and there were reports that she was a trial, with her strictness and fanciness and penchant for arcane ceremonies such as the Churching of Women. Nina and Margaret, also, found her hard to take, and Lewis thought she was poison. But most people were smitten.
    This evening she wore a dark-red wool dress and the earrings that one of her children had made for her for Christmas. She sat in a corner of the sofa with her legs tucked under her. As long as she stuck to the historical and geographical incidence of saints it was all right—that is, all right for Nina, who was hoping that Lewis might not find it necessary to go on the attack.
    Kitty said that she was compelled to leave out all the saints of Eastern Europe and concentrate mostly on the saints of the British Isles, particularly those of Cornwall and Wales and Ireland, the Celtic saints with the wonderful names, who were her favorites. When she got into the cures, the miracles, and especially as her voice became more joyous and confiding and her earrings tinkled, Nina grew apprehensive. She knew that people might think her frivolous, Kitty said, to talk to some saint when she had a cooking disaster, but that was what she really believed the saints were there for. They were not too high and mighty to take an interest in all those trials and tribulations, the details of our lives that we would feel shy about bothering the God of the Universe with. With the help of the saints, you could stay partly inside a child’s world, with a child’s hope of help and consolation. Ye must become as little children . And it was the small miracles—surely it was the small miracles that helped prepare us for the great ones?
    Now. Were there any questions?
    Somebody asked about the status of saints in an Anglican church. In a Protestant church.
    “Well, strictly speaking I don’t think the Anglican is a Protestant church,” said Kitty. “But I don’t want to get into that.When