Читать книгу Twisted Shapes of Light - William Jolliff - Страница 18

And such a joy they are to see. Their shirts

alone are worth my time, such blinding white

against their creased black slacks, sensible shoes,

and shining paperbacks: keys for my salvation.

Come in, fellows! I ask about their mission,

their months away from family and home,

and how the Lord is blessing them in Oregon.

And I ask them to tell me about God. They do.

But sir, have you read the Book of Mormon?. . .

Hmm. So this Smith, was he quite the scholar

of old Semitic languages? No, not at all!

Here their smiles bloom, their eyes turn to pearl:

No, they say, just a third grade education. . . .

The elders are sure I’ll share their wonder.

And so I do, recalling deadly afternoons

in Dr. Reader’s dungeon, each minute an hour,

each semester at least a millennium,

offering up my tortured mistranslations

of Plato, Sophocles, worn pieces of Xenophon,

sweating each particle and grave accent,