“Why does everything you know, and everything you’ve learned, confirm you in what you believed before? Whereas in my case, what I grew up with, and what I thought I believed, is chipped away a little and a little, a fragment then a piece and then a piece more. With every month that passes, the corners are knocked off the certainties of this world: and the next world too. Show me where it says, in the Bible, ‘Purgatory.’ Show me where it says ‘relics, monks, nuns.’ Show me where it says ‘Pope.’” –Thomas Cromwell imagines asking Thomas More—Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Lac, affecting savoir faire, walks up to the group gathered around the injured man. Already, he’s wondering what he could possibly do for a skull fracture, assuming that’s what he’ll be dealing with. The men passively watch as he approaches, squeezing in among them, taking advantage of the nonexistence of rules governing personal space. They let him get close, not exactly encouraging him, but not stopping him. Maybe they don’t expect anything from me after all, he thinks. Everyone seems to be taking turns looking closely and fondling the wound. Lac watches their faces intently, trying to piece together the story. One man looks concerned. One looks shocked and incredulous. One appears as though he’s concealing a grin. They all look excited, winding down after the recent frenzy, amid the aftermath of an event both worrying and—what? Fun?