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Show with their kids who were getting baptized that night sitting in other rows. As he was lowered into the water the voices suddenly shut off and he was alone with blue tile and the burn of something chemical in his sinuses, and a distant memory of once wandering out of a door into someone's back yard, down a brick pathway that led past a garage wall with a white trellis, rounding a corner into a garden dense with boysenberries and green vines climbing over wires, and startling something that was standing by a hollyhock. It was gone the next instant as he stood there, his feet burning from the bees in the clover, shrieking until people burst into the garden and scooped him off the grass. Someone rocked him back and forth and sang "Pony Boy" into his ear. Two women stood by the trellis laughing. It had been taller than himself, and had had eyes like spoons. The wet pajamas clung to his body when he came up, and water ran from his nose. His father helped him climb out of the font and patted him on the bottom. He decided he would not mention this memory. * * * The bishop of his ward died over winter and spring, and entered the celestial kingdom. Lorin was excused from school and went to the viewing with his parents and brother, where he studied the corpse carefully. The clasped hands with their blue-tinged nails looked smaller than he remembered, and so did the pinched waxy face. During the funeral Lorin punched his brother to make him stop fidgeting and felt his throat burn as somebody read a poem about birth being a sleep and a forgetting and somebody else told stories about the bishop as a kid growing up in South Salt Lake and being a holy terror in his deacons' quorum. The speaker called the bishop Vern. Once, it seemed, Vern had hidden in the basement of the |