"I'm not superstitious."
And then he changes the subject. He says that this knocks them back on their heels because it is an effective shorthand not only for a general notion of his dismissal of the grounds on which religion presents itself but also the offhand contempt with which he regards those grounds. It suggests not only that he thinks religion is wrong but that it is trivial, at its foundations if not in its effects.
Now just speaking from the heart here, I must say that I am not religious but in some rather odd ways I am superstitious. Thus, I have not written of Little Oliver in a while because Little Oliver -- he who seemed doomed so short a time ago -- my friends, he *endures*.
And I don't want to jinx him, to upset the equilibrium by praising his health on Tuesday and then announcing on Saturday that he has finally lost control of his body's caboose and that we have murdered him as a result.
One does not murder animals, of course, or so our vocabulary tells us.
Anyway, his back legs do not work at all well, and sometimes it seems they are about to stop working at all, but a couple minutes ago he staggered over to the sofa on which he loves to curl himself and with a great and brave and desperate kind of bunny hop.... I will say no more.
Who knows what malign omniscience is listening?
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2 comments:
Does he flatter himself that his remark about superstition is in any way original? Stale is more like it. Don't people read anymore?
It's *classic.*
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