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.
Dialogue Foundation, 900 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, California 90024
Backstage Library Works - 1180 S. 800 E. Orem, UT 84097
Rees, Robert A.
Pages scanned at 400ppi on Fujitsu fi-5650C sheetfed scanner as 8-bit grayscale or 24-bit RGB uncompressed TIFF images. Images resized to 950 pixels wide, 150 dpi, and saved as JPEG (level 8) in PhotoShop CS with Unsharp Mask of 100/.3.
Digital image, copyright 2004, Dialogue Foundation. All rights reserved.
158 I Dialogue "No, I wasn't wounded." "I prayed night and morning on my knees that Richard wouldn't be drafted and have to go to Vietnam. I know that was selfish of me, but I couldn't help it, Steve. I cried everytime I saw a picture in the Herald of one of the boys who had been killed. I guess we can't even guess how terrible it was for you boys. If my Richard didn't go, somebody else's boy had to. I suppose that I was very selfish. I hope the Lord will forgive me for that." He turned. Silhouetted by the light from the window, the goldfish flashed against the side of the aquarium, the water yellow with sunlight. The oxygenator made a noise. "Mothers should say that kind of prayer, I guess." Mrs. Bryce came down the hall. "Well, Steve, I suppose that the next time we see you it will be for a blood test to getting married." He folded the prescription Dr. Jensen had given him and put it in his shirt pocket. "Perhaps." "Of course it will be. You boys don't stay single long, and you'll make some girl a fine husband. Don't waste any of those wonderful years. It's good to see you back, Steve." Mrs. Bryce turned and walked back down the hall without closing the door. There were no more patients waiting. "Steve," Mrs. Anderson said, "If I hear of any part-time jobs for school, I'll let you know." "Thank you." He walked across the waiting room but stopped by the picture of Custer's last stand. Custer shot at the two mounted charging war chiefs with his large silver pearl-handled pistols. He had a bloodstained bandage tied around his forehead and an arrow sticking in his right leg. Many Indians lay dead in front of Custer. Steve turned away from the picture. Mrs. Anderson sat looking across her desk at the aquarium. "Tell Richard hello for me when you write him next time, Mrs. Anderson," he said. "Oh, thank you, Steve, I will." She reached to pick up the ringing telephone. Steve walked down the steps and pushed open the door. Outside, he put on his sunglasses and checked to see that he had the prescription in his shirt pocket. He walked along Second South and turned up University Avenue toward the City Drug. By the time he got to the City and County Building, he felt the burning, as if someone were touching him with a sponge dipped in a weak acid solution. He slowly curled his fingers. Swinging her shoulder purse by the strap, a girl wearing sandals walked just ahead of him. Her long dark hair fell to her waist. Steve crossed Center Street and stood by the door of the City Drug. He took off his sunglasses. She stopped to look in Allen's window. She swung her purse gently across her legs, and her shining dark hair fell down over her bare arm. Steve stood there for a moment after she walked into Allen's, and then he turned and pushed open the heavy glass door.