Book 1 the Romance: The Indivisible Light: a Trilogy

By David Pedri

The Romance is Book I of a trilogy, The Indivisible Light, in which this Christian author explains certain mysteries of Scripture, of life and love, of existence and eternity. David, the heroic patriot who defends America against invasion by one million men in Book II, meets the love of his life in The Romance. He fights wild animals, murderous conspirators, and the strong will of a beautiful woman and her father in order to win Angela’s affections. The treasure he pursues in the rugged, grizzly infested mountains of Wyoming is a king’s ransom that invites the prospector buried in everyone’s heart to adventure. Packed tight with raw action, sizzling romance and profound wisdom, the reader is fully engaged. The author conveys truths which define the  reality we all live in and split the human race into two opposing factions. Readers who follow David and Angela to “the end of this world as you know it” will face demons on a mission to destroy the human race with confidence. Will you accompany them on this hair raising adventure and journey to the outer edge of human experience as a virtual combatant in the final battle? Every reader is presented the Sword of Truth and the Shield of Faith to be converted internally and ready externally for conflict with the enemy of  souls, who is now ready to cast his net over the unwary of this world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Apr 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781462412600

David Pedri

David, a Wyoming resident, has authored five books. Purification is Book III of his trilogy, The Indivisible Light. David has a MA in Literature and Philosophy, with his master’s thesis written on the nature of creative writing. Father of 12, with 36 grandchildren, David was a Navy Medic in Vietnam with 1st Marine Reconnaissance.

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Copyright © 2019 David Pedri.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

All Scripture quotations are taken from the Douay Rheims Version.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1259-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1260-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902097

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 3/18/2019

Contents

Preface

CHAPTER 1     The Encounter

CHAPTER 2     The Party

CHAPTER 3     The Lion

CHAPTER 4     The Conversion Question

CHAPTER 5     Gold Diggers

CHAPTER 6     Fr. Keogh’s Counsel

CHAPTER 7     A Christian Republic

CHAPTER 8     Spies

CHAPTER 9     For Better or for Worse

CHAPTER 10   Disengagement?

Preface

This trilogy is written for the sake of my reader’s understanding, because I believe the average person, without being an expert, a philosopher or theologian is able to conceive practical, political, moral, philosophical and religious truths in his heart and mind, where the Omniscient God communes with each person. However, it is always necessary and prudent that mortal men be guided and formed in conscience by the objective inspirations and foundations of God’s Holy Spirit, a subject of discussion in this trilogy, along with the nature of divine Faith, a gift from the Almighty. My focus is to explain many truths and apparent mysteries, out of respect for the reader’s powers of intelligence, given to all; for Holy Scripture tells us: And God created man to his own image … male and female he created them. (Genesis 1: 27) That ‘image’ is not physical; it consists of our reason and free-will.

David, the protagonist, resembles the author in good measure. He expounds on many things. I do not wish him to be boring, yet I do not expect to fill every page with easy entertainment. Aristotle’s classical definition of poetry or fiction described the author’s purpose to both instruct and delight his audience. I seek to transmit to the reader enlightenment on the freight train of entertainment. To do this, I draw principally on my Faith and God’s Word, but also on my serious thirty-seven year study of life, fatherhood, history, socio-political and ecclesiastical events, philosophy, theology and prophecy.

The content of these lessons I have learned from life and its Creator, however much my education gave me some tools to articulate those lessons. This trilogy was three years in the making. I seem to be wired to write like the sculptor carves, revealing more of what is finally intended, one layer at a time. Therefore, it often took a dozen editions before forming the mature meaning and final form desired. As to the content of these volumes, I do not hesitate to claim that every reader will be enriched, regardless of their religious creed and other persuasions.

I was born in Columbus, Ohio, where my dad, the son of first-generation Austrian immigrants, earned a degree at Ohio State in petroleum geology, using the GI bill after serving in WWII. My mom’s paternal ancestors immigrated from County Donegal, Ireland in 1850, and her maternal ancestors came from Germany during the Civil War. We rode the Pullman passenger train from Ohio to Wyoming when I was four, so Dad could start work for Stanolind Oil. Every two or three years we visited my mom’s folks in Greenwood, Florida, where in 1945 she met Dad, a B-26 bombardier (decorated with the silver star), who was training airmen at a nearby base.

My work experience is varied: heavy equipment and uranium mill operator, carpenter, geologist and school teacher. In 1968 I joined the U.S. Navy as a Hospital Corpsman, with duty stations at Bethsaida Naval Hospital, Camp Pendleton and finally with the 1st Marine Division’s reconnaissance battalion out of Da Nang, Vietnam, as a medic, 1970-71.

My wife and I earned degrees in English at the University of Wyoming, after which we continued to raise our twelve children in Wyoming, homeschooling all of them through high school. Danna, my wife of 47 years, is my secretary and my ‘life support’. Without her help, my writing would never see the light of day.

David Pedri

March 2019

Chapter 1

THE ENCOUNTER

O n the first of August David walked across campus to his last summer school class, a study in the works of Milton, the reputed poet-champion of English Protestantism. The 3 PM course was a three-credit requirement for his English literature curriculum at the sprawling, well-funded community college campus that served a Wyoming town of 35,000 and surrounding communities.

Professor Chipens was, of course, a Milton fan. David, by way of his traditional Catholic Faith, was not so well disposed. The sparks started to fly when Milton’s reasons against censorship were read. David raised his hand. Given the nod, he stood up and began his ‘discourse’. "We censor porn to children because we believe it will harm them. From that one fact, it follows that we believe, even as a matter of law, that harm to the reader and to society are good enough reasons for censorship. Even today, those reasons out-weigh the careless call of liberals for an unprincipled liberty which permits us to say and do whatever we please. Milton’s defense of no censorship amounted to a defense of unbridled opinion, heresy in religious matters that the Catholic Church in the 1600s would understandably consider ruinous to the Faith of the simple, uneducated souls under its care, souls who would be relatively defenseless against what appeared to them as learned truth, but perhaps was little more than political arguments for the freedom to rebel, in this case to be a Protestant. So, there may have been a good reason for the Catholic Church to censor those books containing what it considered to be ideas so harmful they threatened the eternal salvation of uneducated Catholic believers, childlike souls, the same kind we protect from pornography." David sat down.

Professor Chipens spoke with the calm, confident insight of a scholar. I think Mr. Peterson has emphasized a valuable point for us: we should always be ready to consider the perspective and self-interest of all conflicting parties at the time a work of literature is authored. History confirms that Milton’s dispute on this point of censorship was with the Roman Catholic Church. So, we must consider relevant society’s point of view in those times, their knowledge and their prejudices. In other words, we should not make judgements or take sides based on our opinion or current popular notions alone David welcomed the Professor’s generous summary but also the intermission his comments afforded his own monologue.

Which he continued by standing up, in order to arrest attention and to announce that he was taking over the podium, again. But my ideas go several steps further, David said politely. The Catholic argument for censorship was based upon certain facts and principles of religious truth, derived by reason and good authority, the Bible in this case, while Milton’s protest of censorship, as I read it … David stopped, surveying the amazingly rapid signs of intellectual slumber visible among his fellow classmates, but he continued anyway! "Milton defended an unlimited liberty, at least in the context of his times, one that demanded freedom from being expected to justify one’s opinions by valid rational arguments or by an appeal to a recognized authority. This was the heart of the Revolution, because in the past, causes, arguments and conclusions were expected to be based on what had been established as proven truth or could be presently demonstrated as such. David decided on a diversion that he realized might risk losing those still following his argument. A modern person may want to ask me Pontius Pilot’s question: ‘what is truth’. My answer: ‘ 2+2=4’, which is self-evident, and that is often a hallmark of truth. He turned to face the instructor, perhaps the only one who was still listening, Milton wrote in behalf of Protestant revolutionaries, from a protester’s point of view, Sir. I believe his revolting opinion is relevant for us because it also underwrites our modern conception of free speech and liberty in general, which is not a freedom from unjust interference in the right to do what is good and to speak what is true, but a rebel’s liberty to speak for his cause, his opinion, right or wrong, good or bad, that is, to speak as one pleases or thinks best. And many would say, ‘what’s wrong with that?’ But at the same time, they would be asking the God of Genesis, ‘why did you tell Adam and Eve not to eat of ‘the tree of good and evil.’ What I am saying sir, is that this false liberty, by design, opens the door to evil, not just to good only, as would a bounded and principled liberty, seen in times past, a liberty which guards us from lies and evil deeds. False liberty, on the other hand, opens the door to license by merely proclaiming, usually with great fanfare, the presumption that one has the ‘right’ to do what they think is right, even if it is wrong. The implication of this notion become policy is that doing what is right is no longer important, next to doing what one feels is right or thinks is right. This idea, the progeny of Protestantism, is the basis for Satan’s Brave New World, which we now live in.

"So, you are saying is, one, that personally thinking one is right confers no actual right because you have to be right, and two, that loudly proclaiming one is right is just a means of pushing one’s agenda, and ‘they’ boldly do this as a tactic of revolution. ‘Keep shouting it, and eventually these Traditionalists will stop pushing back’ might be their motto," said Professor Chipens.

Yes, sir, said David, with genuine gratitude. That is a perfect summary of what I said, in a nutshell. He imagined that the Professor had, at least for a time, lost his concern with time, entering into the timeless world of truth seeking.

It’s a habit I have formed, David, a classic communication technique called ‘active listening’, said Chipens.

"I think the excuse for this false liberty, sir, is slyly based on another pretended assumption, that truth or falsity cannot be determined, supposedly because there is no human authority capable of rendering such a universal judgment binding upon all. In this they overlook self-evident things; they demean man’s rational powers, and they ignore God and what He has Revealed to us as an abundant source of truth from which man can draw foundational principles for sound reasoning. Their explanation of this excuse for licentious liberty is that the human power of reason is incapable of knowing anything. By this mere assertion, once again based on pure assumption, man is reduced to a ‘higher’ animal in their scheme, and as such, he is guided by little more than instinct and cannot be held morally responsible. Therefore, man must be led and driven, like cattle are, presumably by the accusing Party, those of a pure race? ‘ascended masters’ perhaps, those with secret esoteric knowledge. But we know this higher secret knowledge is a seductive, diabolical temptation. Science and common experience attest to much that our power of reason can know. And, regarding higher things, who said that these truths are either validated by human wisdom or not at all. On the contrary, ‘how can moral or religious truths be determined without appealing to the authority of God, the only basis for true moral judgements binding upon all men. Human wisdom comes down to obeying God’s Law, something truly revolting to the evil Party we are dealing with. When this Party silently neglects to affirm the broad human tradition acknowledging God to be the Author of truth, insufficient human judgement is made to seem all that’s left." David noticed class members fidgeting like uncomfortable crickets over his too serious, too politically incorrect, too looong soliloquy. Poor creatures, he thought with pity, any form of shock would be better for them than none. He so wanted to shatter the plastic image of propriety that served to pickle their ignorance.

Professor Chipens noticed David’s dismay, feeling some empathy as a teacher of sleepyheads. There may be some evidence for what you say, he said, with reserved consolation. The frequency that U.S. case law quotes the Bible to authorize its conclusions offers some support,.

With that sop of sympathy excusing a call for ‘times up’, David saw Chipens reaching for his ‘stop sign’. One last point, sir, please, begged David without the humility of a pause, "Eliminating censorship implies that false opinions are of equal status with truth. The Devil could hardly conceive a craftier deceit. It is relevant for us, I believe, because it is also a modern error that pretends opinion is sacrosanct, the favored child of the lovely, alluring Lady, Liberty, while truth is but a beggar in rags, an outcast with no rights. In fact, the fossil, ‘truth’ is not even considered defensible today as a valid concept. But I conclude that liberty without censorship is not man’s right. It could actually be the sure means of his downfall."

Maybe so … started Professor Chipens.

"Therefore! said David, stiffly muscling past the professor’s legitimate call for restraint to make the point after his promised ‘last’ point: No-censorship regarding religious doctrine favored the Protestant Revolution, which was driven by the notion of everyman’s liberty/right to personal interpretation of the Bible and everything else, while censorship wanted aby the Church was intended to guard the time-tested truths based on the judgment of the Church Fathers, which truths in turn were based on God’s Word in Sacred Scripture and ‘interpreted’ by the Holy Spirit, which Jesus promised to send to His one and only Church. God does not speak with a forked tongue; the Devil does. God’s Church and His Word are singular, so God cannot be the author of the multiplicity of creeds that arose from the Protestant Revolution."

Alright now… began Professor Chipens.

But it was ‘pedal to the metal’ for David the steam roller, who nevertheless worried, a little, whether his methods were solely motivated by a desire to give thirsting souls a drink. Knowing his intentions, at least, were legitimate, he began, abruptly, "Is not a protestor’s personal interpretation of Scripture really an attempt to change Holy Scripture to suit himself, that is, to arrogantly speak for God, its Author. When will we see that the enemy, led by Satan, has long been within our gates, leading us into Hell?" asked David urgently, raising his voice to awaken the dead. Chipens began pacing, his fingers to his lips, intensely meditating upon his options in shutting the ‘mouth’ that was stealing his last blast of the trumpet for his beloved champion, Milton. He didn’t care about the silly truth arguments. He had attempted to speak but without sufficient resolve, uttering a few syllables, then stuttering before an embarrassing finale of silence. From David’s perspective, Professor Chipens had a whole semester to applaud Milton, so the last blast could rightly be claimed by a spokesman for the other side of the story.

One day not too long after the Protestant Revolt in England, David said, with a singe of irony, personal opinion, tyrannically wielded by Oliver Cromwell, exacted a censorship that cut down with the sword both Catholics and Protestants or anyone who dissented from his wacky ideas. David paused, "Professor Chipens, I submit that the common people were relatively defenseless against Milton’s literary powers, just as the children in my analogy are defenseless against pornography and the English people were defenseless against Cromwell’s cruelty. Fueling tyranny is the presumed right to force one’s opinion on others, while preventing reasoned objections attempting to discover the truth of the matter. Surely the ‘tyranny’ of God’s truth is a kinder rule than diabolical despotism. Since truth is defined by Aquinas as ‘that which is in the understanding’, who but the Creator of reality or ‘that which is’ can better be the Author of all truth."

And how again were these Catholics defenseless, Mr. Peterson? blurted Professor Chipens, feeling like a hostage who had shamefully surrendered the fort, now forced to participate in enemy exercises. How had he allowed himself to be manipulated by a cheap appeal to ‘the truth’ to violate the unspoken but strict rule censoring religious opinions and discussions of truth and morality in the classroom, as if condemning discussion seeking the truth could lead to less ‘division’.

They were probably unsophisticated, trusting sheep, said David, repeating his earlier supposition, liable to automatically believe what was read or said to them as coming from the authority of the learned. Former times bred trust, peace and order, not the cynicism and skepticism of modern times. After all, they thought that anyone allowed to teach them had passed the inspection of the Church’s censor, who would screen out and forbid error, guaranteeing all society that God’s Truth was preserved without taint. They trusted that a wisdom greater than theirs guarded them, like sheep are guarded by their Shepard. David’s heart was beating hard and fast. So, they were vulnerable when wolves (heretics), not subject to the Shepard, broke into the sheep pen.

"Okay, you have made many points, Mr. Peterson, although your assertions leave open the question of what is true. But, however interesting your concerns, yours is not a critique of literary form, which we must limit ourselves to here, but of content, over which our many views are hopelessly divided."

"Hopelessly, sir? I find that a too pessimistic assumption when we all have the mediator of Reason, a faculty given to all of us at birth, capable of discovering the essence of reality. Since we can reason to one truth, if we do so, there is no reasonable cause for division."

We will avoid getting into it further, Mr. Peterson, barked Chipens. "Because this is not Religion 101. Giggly female agreement and boisterous male chucking scored two points in the popularity category for Chipens, who concluded, with emphasis, So, let’s move on!"

David saw this failure of responding to his arguments or allowing others a chance to respond as a back-handed attempt to nullify them by declaration of irrelevance. He suspected that no rational response to his points was readily available to Professor Chipens. Since no one was willing to risk doing battle at this point, except himself, David quietly chalked up two points by forfeit for Peterson.

But he was bugged by the overall message left on the table, namely, that ‘Truth didn’t matter, and, if you think it does, do not waste our precious time bringing it up for discussion, because we moderns are in a hurry to ignore whatever has not been scripted for us; we always have more urgent things to consider than what is true and good, stodgy, meaningless terms at best. To that BS, David felt like saying, ‘and what do you think your time and the time of this modern age is worth, if it objects to all of history’s concern with what is true and false, the objective of all science. When David considered the stone wall of avoidance that represented this class, its instructor and their age, an unintended insult was implied to his Commander-in-Chief. He barely avoided sounding the battle horn again, delivering an even more heated ‘student lecture’. But, seeing that such impulsiveness would have given the instructor even more reason to squelch him, ruining any hope of his future credibility, which meant the loss of the entire war, he decided to remain silent and fight another day. But, maybe, he could throw just one last little dart?

"I take your point about form and content, Professor Chipens, but can the content of what one says really be separated from its form, whose only purpose for existence is to deliver that content? The professor was taken off guard, failing to respond in double-time. Our skin is the form of its content, the flesh, which it expresses, covers and protects but also reveals." Professor Chipens was smart enough not to take the bait, a mere hunk of argumentative cheese.

Later in the class, David steered something Milton said into an argument about the nature of ‘beauty’. He remained seated this time, pretending to be humbled and sufficiently brow-beaten. "My view, sir, is that Beauty is not just of a superficial and material nature, but it also has a moral character. For example, the attractive prostitute is not truly beautiful, because the moral evil of fornication, which is an essential element of her trade, her character and her title is ugly. Her material form is bound up, intertwined and subject to the content of her immoral business." Some brief giggles followed.

Confident that she shared the ‘politically correct’ opinion of her classmates, a pencil thin, remarkably flat female student, with ruler straight, dyed black hair and abundant facial acne, chirped, So how many people today use the word ‘fornication’ or even think of it is as evil? Her words sneered so openly that David almost winced, though his glance back revealed the expected: a face maintaining an unbiased demeanor, which pretended hard to flee all trace of judgmentalism. ‘Surely this was an example of an aspiring, left wing martyr’, thought David, acidly.

His rapid reply to the feminine pencil was designed to beat the coming growl of agreement from the class. But when does the repetition of popular opinion make something true or false, good or bad? asked David with the slightest accent of mockery. Even unanimous agreement does not make something right or wrong, true or false. "Doesn’t your statement represent the viewpoint of the worldly-wise, those who do not care about perennial truth but just what their peers will presently approve? He quickly followed this blunt force, rhetorical question with a reference to the literary problem under discussion. And, if we consider the historical context of this literature, everyone in Milton’s day would have considered the word ‘fornication’ as the proper one to use in the case of a prostitute, and they would have willingly recognized her cheap, so called ‘beauty’. But my question is this: If we sing the praises of liberty and profess a desire for ‘freedom’, David cast a quick glance around the room to gather his audience, why did you all agree, at least by your silence, to be slaves to the dictates of a cheap, transparent ploy for politically correct immoral conformity, namely, that fornication is okay, when we all know that is a lie and, perhaps, the ‘bait’ of cultural change agents, banking their claim for change on the nearly universal immorality of our present times. But we all know intuitively, as human beings, that our immoral acts do not change, much less establish, human nature’s moral principles, which dictate moral law binding all." David estimated a surprising forty percent response of moderate but serious approval. How much cowardice freezes good and frees evil, he thought.

Okay, Mr. Peterson, Professor Chipens said, "your opinions are acknowledged, again, but, please, let’s stay focused and relevant. This is not your personal forum for revolution. Do you want to start one?"

Yes, sir. How am I doing? A brief burst of raucous laughter bounced off the four walls, David could not help smiling. He knew that laughter would relax and empower any secret admirers. But he also realized he might have stepped over the line of respect owed to their instructor; he was not really an ‘opponent’, just another victim. Grandstanding and opportunistic grasping for a moment of humor was foreign to David’s concern for the triumph of truth.

Miss Angela Mello, well known to Professor Chipens, interjected, "If we might return to the definition of beauty, is it not true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as well as in the morality of the object?"

What would you say to that, Mr. Peterson? asked Professor Chipens with a grin and a few gleefully executed tiptoe pushups, a sign of gratitude for a little action from the cavalry against this pesky ‘Indian’s’ argumentative arrows.

There is certainly an aspect of truth in that, said David, "but actually it is the beholder’s perception of beauty that is actually in his eye, not beauty itself. Lacking this distinction, it could be said that beauty, and why not morality, is purely subjective, purely relative to the individual’s perception or opinion, however skewed their judgement. And that subjectivism is everything to which I object. If Joe-Know-Nothing thinks the work of Picasso is beautiful, when in fact it is ugly, everyone else is expected to say Picasso’s work is beautiful, just because Joe subjectively perceived it as beautiful. But the fact is, truth, beauty, goodness, justice, etc., are not just relative opinions of beholders, they are actual realities which have some absolute, universal, value."

Okay, just thought I’d ask, said Angela. Peels of laughter followed. Outwitted, she had taken revenge in making light of him, as deftly as a cat plays with a mouse. David figured she had known the appreciation of the audience for her entertaining cleverness in saucily slapping him could be counted on. And she was duly rewarded; light, appreciative applause, mixed with laughter filled the room. David turned a quick smile of acknowledgement her way, then jerked his head around to get a better look at his antagonist, whom he did not remember ever speaking before in class. Talk about a beauty! he muttered under his breath, glancing back again for a double dip of what he had missed all summer. It’s not my imagination, he thought; she is a classic beauty.

As students walked off campus in every direction, David went out of his way to catch up to Angela. While he had identified her as a beauty, he thought his own looks must match his less than miserable track record with girls. Personal vanity was not in his makeup; nevertheless, at a toned and tanned one hundred eighty pounds of lean muscle, David cut a ruggedly handsome figure. A keen observer could easily believe he had been the state’s high school wrestling champion at 180 pounds four years running. He played defensive linebacker in football; he consistently won the blue ribbon in 100-yard dash and placed first in the shot put, discus and javelin. But David was the first to admit he always placed last with girls, failing to make a tackle or even throw an acceptable pass. But this track record and a non-slick style did not stop him from trying. Hello, he called out, still fast-walking to catch up. When he finally did, he found himself helplessly admiring her figure, her walk, her flashing, dark brown eyes, momentarily cast back at him with a lazy, ‘turned-off’ look. She glanced back at him a second time with a sassy, not-a-chance smile, which he historically mistranslated as invitational. But seeing no friendly response to his greeting forthcoming, it began to dawn on him that the over eagerness of this beholder might have flushed him with premature enthusiasm. Recalculating, he imagined that she had smiled more like the rich man did throwing a scrap under the table for his dog. Presumably, he was expected to eagerly scramble for it, having no more than a mongrel nuisance rating. Anyway, he decided, she was definitely not flirting. The ‘welcome mat’ his naivete imagined had rolled up like a spring-loaded window shade. Could he have mistaken vanity for beauty? After a [poor me fit, followed by a twinge of loneliness, he rallied, deciding to cast aside some inhibitions and launch another, probably futile, attack. What could he say? He practiced: ‘Behold, cometh here the beggar beholding beauty’. Too corny, he thought with discouragement. Too proud to play the beggar, he stopped, watching from an increasing distance as beauty faded, walking away.

With a little more reflection, he realized the looks she had cast back at him were a little longer than the purely frivolous or uninterested one’s that feminine vanity would fling at an unwanted pursuer. This could be grounds for hope, David thought, trying to be stalwart but knowing his case was desperate.

At the same time, Angela was thinking: but he was solidly built, with short, well groomed, sandy hair, blue eyes and strong bronzed features, a more attractive guy than she had noticed in class, where he always sat four rows in front of her.

A determined David caught up to Angela. But, like a skittish filly fearing capture, she decided to mock what she saw as his holier-than-thou persona, rolling her hips just a bit and flaunting her curly locks by flinging them to one side in a saucy manner. But Angela immediately reconsidered this slightly seductive behavior in her conscience: wasn’t she playing sassy-cat with a sincere little mouse, leading on? And why? Was her provocative teasing not performed with the motive of vengeance? And for what but her vanity.

David gushed, May I say, with all due respect, that the eye of this beholder sees a beautiful girl. He said this as hopelessly happy as daffy duck, almost immediately admitting that he had exposed himself as a candidate for dumber than dumb in allowing his infatuation to strip him, on stage, of any nobility, of reserve or self-control. Reconsidering his limp line as a failed attempt, impotently dribbled from his lips, he realized that he was almost forcing her to ridicule him by playing the perfect part of a blushing sucker. Maybe he really was too simple and naive to do much better, David thought, especially when he was emotionally drawn out of himself by a lovely object to behold.

Beautiful girl? Angela cruelly taunted. "Is that a ‘defined and immutable’ opinion?" Evidently, David thought, she is trying to make me pay by way of her scorn for my former over-confidence as a self-appointed student lecturer.

Absolutely! David replied, hoping to overwhelm pitiless irony with stylized, ‘gee whiz’ enthusiasm, on the hope her vanity might be coyly fishing for more flattery. He cautiously said, Actually, opinions are, by definition, mutable. To be honest, then, I’m looking for the matching content that goes with the outward form I so admire. If my reckless admiration offends you, I am truly sorry. Consider me a hapless little lamb that fears being censored.

Angela, now reduced from campus beauty to personal beholden, his subjective possession purchased by some cheap lines, shot back why it was that she could never be his: But I am a Protestant, and for all you know a ‘fornicator’ as well, so that shoots down your private theory of beauty in my case. Look elsewhere, Mr. Impress-Me-Not. She said this with a stamp of her foot, immediately increasing her pace, as she called back, "I know flattery when I see it …, and I know what it is usually after." She said this like a slap in the face, soon leaving him in the dust, literally and figuratively.

Granted, I’m kind of after you! he called after her diminishing form. I do hope I don’t get any more than my hand bitten off, though. As to your beauty, he said, catching up again, it’s real and it’s true, because the eyes of this beholder can know that, and he can also know you are a good woman. As for the Protestant problem, I will grant you a state of amnesty and temporary immunity from prosecution. It’s just simple ignorance, confusion and lack of good education, but I can fix all that, and you can be as good as me, he offered a cheesy grin when she looked back, hoping to keep her minimally engaged by a little slap stick humor. But her silence seemed fearfully grim; it told him he had launched another dud. DOA, he muttered to himself, slowing pace.

Angela, knowing her whipping boy had been wounded could afford to look back at him. Admitting to herself that his flattery had earned him that much at least, she found herself again admiring the blue eyes that, admittedly, had a sparkle, were set firmly in rugged, charming features. And most importantly for Angela, had a certain