Uncross My Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

him “the Word,” the religious certainty he needed for his own sanity. How else could Roger explain the evils of the world, if not caused by the devil, and how else could he hope to escape them if not delivered by God? Without the devil, misfortune was random. Without omniscience, existence was frightening. Without the truth inscribed on vellum and bound in black leather, how would Roger ever know what to do with his narrow life?
    “Roger, do you think God wants you to sell your daughter into slavery or put people to death for working on the Sabbath, as described in Exodus? Or declare them an abomination for eating shellfish, or stone them to death for cursing, as thoroughly outlined in Leviticus?
    If you believe the text literally, in its entirety, then you could never approach the altar of God because of the defect in your eyesight…due to the peanut butter.” I threw the peanut butter in to take the onus off a perceived attack on his vision.
    He spun to leave, and I bolted from my chair and caught him by the shirtsleeve and hauled him back. “Okay, wait, let’s try this again.”
    He glared and I continued. “Please, Roger, have a seat.”
    He sank in a desultory slump in the wooden swivel chair across from my desk.
    “Talk to me,” I pleaded, in what most likely should have been my first approach to the problem rather than my second.
    He was silent, seemingly trying to form his thoughts, then finally spewed out, “My grandfather’s a big shot at this place. He gives a lot of money, and people care if he’s pissed.” Using the word “pissed” wasn’t a good sign from a respect standpoint.
    “I fully understand that ‘piss’ not only rolls downhill in third-world countries but also uphill to administrative offices in seminaries.
    But my job is to teach you something, not worry about which way piss is traveling. What question do you hope to have answered when you leave this school?” My mind suddenly jumped track, and I envisioned Sylvia’s face as we sat at her bar when she asked me about my secrets.
    “What secret do you have to share, Roger?” And I realized that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to ask him, but Sylvia’s image had made me blurt it out.
    His lower jaw moved off center, two inches left of his upper jaw, as if he were casually stretching his facial muscles. “Question I most want answered? How do I get out of your class? Secret I want to share?” he hissed at me. “I will get you fired, trust me.” Roger stood up and walked confidently out of my office.
    * * *

    “How did it go?” Dennis asked, striding along at my side, his black cassock billowing at the edges, making him look distinguished in addition to holy.
    “Not well. Roger’s a fundamentalist at heart and vengeful. He recommends firing for those who take positions that don’t align with his own.”
    “He threatened you?”
    “He’s feeling threatened,” I said.
    “Why are you being so tolerant?”
    “It won’t last long. I’m just trying out the feeling.”
    “A lot of nuts getting their training wheels here.” Dennis huffed.
    “John the Baptist—smelling like an old gym sock, crunching down on a lunch of locusts, trying to lure people into a pond for a little baptizing—was ‘nuts’ to some in his day. For all we know, Roger could be a prophet-in-training.”
    “Don’t twinkle those eyes at me. I think you delight in twisting theology for your own amusement,” he admonished.
    I peeled off at the fountain’s intersection and headed for my meeting.
    “Hey, wait up, will you?” He cut left and followed me.
    “I have an appointment with Vivienne Wilde.”
    “You didn’t tell me that.”
    “I don’t tell you everything.”
    “What did she say when you invited her to come here?”
    “She said, ‘Pear-fct.’”
    “Does she talk funny?”
    “No, she just has an odd way of saying that word. Kind of arty or British or something.” At Roger’s quizzical expression, I added, “She has a great