A few minutes before 6 PM, Steve greeted, one by one, eight of us at the door. Two, with notes from grandchildren, lie on beaches.
Benji substituted, but obviously hadn’t finished the book.
We demolished two delivered pizzas, wrestled with
and lingered over Steve’s ginger snaps.
If you think our older men’s book group is too highfalutin — Benji’s charge — Ozzy Osborne’s Last Rites, is our March book.
Matthiessen’s 1965 story is a morality tale centered on four Protestant missionaries (two couples) and a fictional Indian tribe, the Niaruna, living in the Amazon rainforest. Other characters, especially a Catholic priest and an American Indian mercenary, interrogate the motives of the evangelists.
After 45 minutes of around circle feints, probes, and jabs reconnoitering our literary quarry, David settled us in with. . .
What does it mean to be called?
Six hundred years of living coalesced. Even Benji relaxed.
Until Steve brought out the treats.
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