The Lion Returns

While he waited for the water to get hot, he went into the hall and listened at the bathroom door. She was gargling; a good sign. He went back to the kitchen. While he was pouring water onto their tea bags, she came in looking weak and abashed.

"I made tea," he told her. "And buttered some toast; something easy to take."

"Thanks," she said huskily, and sank onto a chair. Cautiously she tasted the toast, then sipped some tea and took another bite. Curtis sat down and tasted his own, then examined her somewhat diminished aura. "How do you feel?"

She didn't answer at once, as if examining herself. "Actually not too bad," she said. "Weak. Embarrassed. Wiser. But not nauseous or anything. I'll be all right."

"No need to be embarrassed. It's happened to millions. Billions, probably."

She finished her bread. "I don't think I was cut out to drink liquor."

"Lots of people wish they could say that." He stood, and took the bottle off the counter. "Let me show you my magical trick," he said, and poured the contents into the sink. "There. It's gone."

He went to her, and bending, kissed her. She was about to tell him this was not a good night to get amorous, then changed her mind. It is, she told herself, a very good night to get amorous, and standing, kissed him back passionately. In the way her Aunt Hilmi had suggested for healing misunderstandings. It seemed to her it might work for other traumas. After a moment he began unbuttoning her blouse.

5 Sunday Service

In June 1948, Harvey Chellgren a

The editorial closed with a personality summary. "Harvey," it said, "is bright, outgoing, and friendly. He always tries to handle things with a minimum of bad feelings, but is tough when he has to be… Curtis is mild-ma

In earlier years, Fritzi had attended church irregularly, his attitude reflecting that of his mother. Basically, Klara had been somewhat religious, but as a young woman had become alienated by the state Lutheranism of Prussia. She was acutely skeptical of churches and preachers, and at any rate, in Nehtaka there were no services in German, the only language she knew. So she'd gone twice a year, at Christmas and Easter.

Now however, at Margaret's insistence, Fritzi attended church weekly.

Before the war, nudged by whatever unidentified impulse, Curtis had gone to church three or four times a year, and Mary with him. As a child, her Aunt Ruth had taken her regularly to the local Fi

Curtis, after his return, hadn't gone at all, had felt no need to. And the Lutheran liturgy at Holy Redeemer had always confused him; he'd gone too seldom to get the hang of it. At the only other church he'd attended-under duress as a child-the services had been much simpler. But now, Fritzi suggested, as a candidate for office it was well to be seen in church. "You don't have to go every week," he said. "After you're elected, once a month is plenty."

Curtis decided to take the advice, and the following Sunday, he and Mary were at Holy Redeemer Lutheran. In 1943, Pastor Huseby's wife had run off with an airman, and the pastor had moved elsewhere. Now Pastor Albin Koht presided. Mary did not look forward to it. Koht was arrogant and intolerant, she said, more suitable for a Missouri Synod church.

They walked the half mile through lovely summer weather. The breeze off the Pacific was cool enough that climbing the slope of the final block, they hardly broke a sweat. Axel Severtson and his wife were the greeters. The old logger met them in the vestibule, and wrung Curtis's hand. Gri

Curtis liked the organ prelude. Probably, he thought, it would be the high point of the morning. When Pastor Koht stepped to the altar, the pews were perhaps two-thirds full. Pastor Huseby had done better. Koht welcomed the congregation and made some a

Koht led the congregation in invoking God, then the sign of the cross, and then in confession. "If we say we have no sin," he intoned, "we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. But if we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive us, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." He paused. "We will now bow our heads in silence for reflection and self-examination."

Curtis bowed his head. He did, he thought, know his own sins well enough, had recognized and regretted them. And God, if he knew everything, didn't need Curtis Macurdy to point out either the commission or the remorse. But it was just as well, he supposed, to revisit them again.

"Most merciful God," Koht went on, and the congregation read the response: "Have mercy on us. We confess to you that we have si

Curtis had detected no joy in the pastor. God's mercy and love, he thought, had a poor spokesman at Holy Redeemer. Then told himself wryly, You're not exactly a fountain of joy and love either, this morning.

Next they sang a hymn, the first in a series separated by prayers, pastoral readings, and congregational response. During the hymns, Curtis simply mouthed the words. He had a defeatist attitude toward singing. He couldn't read the music, didn't know the hymns, and couldn't manage the high and low parts.

At length, Koht a

He paused and referred the congregation to Psalm 1 in the program. Accompanied by the organ, Koht read aloud verses 1, 3, and 5, the congregation interspersing 2, 4, and 6. Macurdy did not read. He told himself that this arrogant pastor would condemn Mary and himself just for being able to see auras.

"Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgement," Koht finished, "nor si