Periodicals; Mormons; Religious thought; Philosophy and religion
Independent national quarterly established to express Mormon culture and examine the relevance of religion to secular life. It is edited by Mormons who wish to bring their faith into dialogue with human experience as a whole and to foster artistic and scholarly achievement based on their cultural heritage. The journal encourages a variety of viewpoints; although every effort is made to insure accurate scholarship and responsible judgment, the views expressed are those of the individual authors and are not necessarily those of the Mormon Church or of the editors.
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Rees, Robert A.
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The Clinic / 155 so close that Steve felt the heat from the bulb, Dr. Jensen examined along his hair line, behind his ears, had him stand up and hold out each arm, told him to drop his shorts. "Any chance of venereal disease, Steve?" "No/' "Okay, good. Put your shorts back on and sit on the table." Dr. Jensen examined between his toes, then straightened up. "It looks like some kind of fungus to me. I can tell you right now that your scratching it hasn't helped any. I can send you to the hospital for some tests if you want or to a skin specialist, but I suppose that the army has already done that." "Yes. I just want a salve to stop the burning until the weather cools off. They said it would be better when the weather got cooler." He wanted to tell Dr. Jensen how his body was like soft metal that he couldn't feel. Dr. Jensen sat down at his desk and started to write out the prescription. "It will be better in cooler weather. And it will die down for six months or a year, then flare up again. Summer is the worst because you sweat. I can name you a dozen men here in Provo who still have it from the last war. I have had this prescription made up that helps, but it's one of those things you're going to have to learn to live with. One way or another we all have something." "I know." "I doubt that you do, but you may in ten or fifteen years. You can get dressed." Dr. Jensen didn't raise his head. When Steve came out from behind the screen, Dr. Jensen told him to sit down. Dr. Jensen leaned back in his chair, his head silhouetted against the pale yellow window. "It didn't bother you did it when I asked if there was any chance of a venereal disease?" "No." "It would have before you went to Vietnam." "I guess." "Two years ago you'd have been insulted that I could even think that of you. Now you don't wear your garments and you haven't been to church since you got back." "My mother and father have been talking to you." "No, they haven't, but other people have. You've been home nearly a month now. A lot of people love you, Steve. Everybody's always thought of you as a fine young person." "They shouldn't." "Why not?" "You couldn't understand." Dr. Jensen turned to answer the phone. Steve looked a little to the right of his face. The chrome and glass in the room reflected distorted images. He had needed his own private movie cameraman with him every minute. He could show the movies to all of his neighbors, friends, and relatives. He could sit in his bedroom and watch himself over and over again daily, until perhaps he, too, knew what he had done. But the movies would have to be in black and white, silent, only images. He knew that his father had asked some of his old high-school friends to call him to play tennis, but he always said no. Dr. Jensen had a fine spray of dry blood on the left sleeve of his white jacket. Dr. Jensen put the receiver back in the cradle. "I might understand, Steve. I was in the Pacific for three years in the last war."