Free The Flex of the Thumb by James Bennett Page B

long time before Vano’s answer came. “Maybe spiritual connection is a good way of putting it. As good as any.”
    â€œI don’t mean to pry,” Chaplain Johansen said, “But I would very much enjoy hearing about a thing like that.”
    â€œOf course,” said Vano. Speaking very slowly, from deep in, Vano proceeded with a summary. He explained to the chaplain about the phenomenon of hooommm . He summarized his visit with the particle people. He reviewed the basic tension between the particle mode and the ego mode. It did not occur to him to say anything about baseball or the blow to the head he suffered from Jose Canseco’s bat. It seemed odd to share it all for the first time, but not uncomfortable. The chaplain was a good listener.
    â€œMy, but this is fascinating,” said Chaplain Johansen, upon the completion of the summary. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m taking notes.”
    â€œTaking notes is very nice.”
    â€œIs there more to tell?”
    After some moments Vano replied, “There’s no more to tell. There is more to learn, but I haven’t learned it yet. The particle people said they hoped that some day my understanding might be complete.”
    The chaplain skimmed the notes he had taken. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so,” he said, “but this is almost like a sort of celestial pantheism.”
    Vano Lucas had read some material about pantheism, but didn’t understand it. He told Johansen, “I don’t mind your saying so.”
    Another lengthy silence ensued until finally, Vano excused himself and left.
    After Vano’s departure, Johansen reread his notes before he was able to extrapolate what he perceived to be the essence. He typed a stencil and fitted it to the drum of his mimeograph machine. As soon as he cranked out the first copy, he examined it closely:
    The Lord God is alive and well
    And floating through particle dust .
    The chaplain smiled. There were no typographical errors, and the entire message was well centered on the page. He signed his name in mimeo ink, then ran off two thousand copies.
    Since he had nothing else to do, he hand-delivered large stacks of the memo to the student union, the athletic complex, Coleman Hall, the library, the administration building, and three other academic buildings. Then Chaplain Johansen went home with a strong sense of accomplishment.
    The next morning, President Reggie Rose saw the memo for the first time. He asked Mrs. Askew, “What does this mean?”
    â€œI have no idea. Who is Chaplain Johansen?”
    â€œDon’t ask me,” snapped Reggie Rose. “He must be listed in the staff directory. Look him up and get him over here.”
    Reggie went into his office, closed the door, sank into his comfortable chair, belched twice, and experienced a keen wave of heartburn. For breakfast, Bertie Kerfoot had fixed him some stale pizza and room temperature Dr. Pepper.
    In ten minutes, Chaplain Johansen arrived. “I remember you,” Reggie informed him gruffly.
    â€œI keep a low profile,” admitted the chaplain. His skin was very white and his demeanor timid. He wore a clerical collar. He had thin white hands which he kept clasped over his stomach.
    â€œDon’t stand there, Man, sit down.” Reggie instructed him.
    Chaplain Johansen sat down. He wore a charcoal gray crewneck sweater and shiny pleated pants. Around his neck hung a string of rosary beads and a Celtic cross. He fiddled nervously with the beads.
    Taking note of this, Reggie asked, “Are you Catholic?”
    â€œYou know, that’s the funny thing,” replied the chaplain. “I’ve been involved in this ecumenical milieu for so long, I just can’t remember. I can’t remember which denomination I’m associated with.” Saying this, Johansen laughed a long and nervous laugh.
    Reggie Rose couldn’t imagine what was funny. What kind of