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Show in my father's house 252 "That's research, mainly - on dead people." I grimaced and so did he. He said that the way to "get comfortable" was to go into business. "But I don't think I'd like that. I've been thinking of studying art." "Art? You mean, like a painter?" I remembered Saul's deft hands tying flies, whittling green-willow whistles, fashioning rubber guns from wood scraps in the old barn. He always insisted on doing what he wanted, the way he wanted. Like when he was ten and my mother tried to force him to learn piano, he threatened to cut his hands off with the butcher knife. He nodded. "Or sculpture. If I can ever get through school. Daddy hasn't been any help. He wants me to pay utilities and groceries for Mama and I'm supposed to get my education on a song." I liked the way Saul talked to me, confiding in me as though I was grown up. "It doesn't seem fair," I said. He shrugged. Daddy doesn't want me to go to college, anyway. He says they teach evil concepts - like evolution." He explained about Darwin and carbon tests, all very logical to me. I couldn't understand why my father thought it evil. "Because it questions Genesis and the Garden of Eden story, ^nd the whole Bible rests on that." I thought about that, and felt funny in my stomach, as though >aul had grabbed me by the ankle and tipped me upside down like he lid when I was little. "What do you think?" He sat on my bed and stared at the floor. "I don't know," e said at last. "Daddy takes the Bible literally, and I don't, ut there are some people, called atheists, who don't believe in |