Read Seraphim for Free Online Page B

then said, “Hey, isn’t Amy getting her school picture taken today?”
    “Fifth grade,” Rachel said, her voice awed by the swift passage of time.
    “Yeah,” he fondly agreed. “Seems like it was just yesterday she was making presents in her diapers for Daddy.”
    “Oh? If they were your presents, then why did I always have the pleasure of opening them?”
    “Woman’s work,” he said, waving it off, then quickly changed the subject. “Hey, your TV commercial reminds me of a joke.”
    “Oh, no,” she moaned.
    “There’s these three missionaries in the jungle, see, and they get captured by this Amazon tribe of men. After taking them to their camp, the chief of the tribe says to the first missionary, ‘The penalty for trespassing is either death or Bongo. Which do you chose?’ ‘Well,’ the missionary says, ‘I’ll take Bongo. It can’t possibly be as bad as death.’ ‘Bongo!’ the chief shouts. The tribe cheers, and ten of these scary-looking natives line up behind the first missionary and start taking turns throwing him the ol’ bologna pony.” Duncan illustratively grabbed the air and pumped his hips. “After they’ve all finished, the first missionary says, ‘Wow! That was pretty bad! But I guess it wasn’t as bad as death.’ Then it was the second missionary’s turn. ‘Death? Or Bongo?’ the chief says to him. The second missionary says, ‘Well, Bongo’s pretty bad—but not as bad as death. I’ll take Bongo.’ The chief shouts, ‘Bongo!’ and the tribe cheers, but this time twenty natives take turns corn-holing him,” he said, again pantomiming for her.
    “Oh, please.”
    He continued. “When they were through, the second missionary goes, ‘Oh, man! That was horrible! I should have chose death!’ Then the chief looks at the third missionary, and says, ‘Death? Or Bongo?’ The third missionary says, ‘No way am I taking Bongo. Give me death!’ ‘Death!’ the chief shouts, ‘— by Bongo !’”
    She just shook her head. “I saw that one coming a mile back.”
    “Oh, well,” Duncan said, shrugging his shoulders. “They can’t all be riots. Besides, it’s in the lesson plan. See, I tell my students that joke on the very first day of every new semester, then explain to them that it’s a paragon of futility. In other words, just when we think we’ve outwitted those who would screw us—whammo! We discover that we were screwed all along.”
    “Ya know what, Dunc?” Rachel calmly observed. “I used to think you were just cynical, pessimistic. But I’m beginning to see that you’re far beyond that now. You’ve become totally misanthropic.”
    “Miss-and-what?”
    “When did you become so, so…paranoid?”
    Duncan shrugged. “When everyone started plotting against me. Anyway, I’m not letting any student of mine, badge-wearing or otherwise, loose on the streets still thinking he or she can make a difference.”
    Smiling, Rachel rose from her chair, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “You’re a desolate man, Duncan McNeil. But I love you anyway.”
    Duncan hugged her, softly kissed her ear, and whispered, “I love me, too.”
    She pushed away from him, and goosed his ribs. “I take it back. I don’t even like you.”
    He laughed. “So, what’ll it be for dinner? Korean? Mexican? LA-ian?”
    “Curry,” she said definitively.
    “You’re on the rag again, aren’t you?” he said. “Seems lately that every time Aunt Flow comes to visit, your taste buds jet off to Calcutta.” He shrugged then.
    She shook her head. “Always the clown.”
     
    *****
     
    But he was right, she had to admit. She’d not even realized it herself until just now—but yeah, those cravings had been nagging her for the last couple of months, yet had somehow managed to remain inconspicuous enough that she’d not connected them to her menstrual cycles. Of course, there were always those heightened desires for chocolates and their ilk, victuals that were strictly