“Wait a minute! You’re serious?”

“No, I’m Mother Dispirited.”

My knees shook, my head swirled, and giant hands were ringing my stomach like a dishrag, and all because I knew now, without a doubt, that she was indeed as serious as a preacher on Judgment Day. This was exactly the kind of thing my baby sister would do if she ever found herself desperate and disconsolate.

I lowered my body to the floor. “Let me guess, dear. Is there a Sister Disconsolate?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“A Sister Desperate?”

“Mags, how did you know?”

“Just a guess. Where did you find these women-if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They’re former Melvinites who have seen the light-more accurately, that there isn’t any. Just shades of gray. Gray and beige.”

Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that? The Melvinites were members of a wacky cult who literally worshipped Melvin Stoltzfus, the convicted murderer, who also happened to be Susannah’s ex-husband. The proof of their religion lay in their so-called holy book, the Book of Melvin, which declared itself to be true. Come on, give me a break.

“Look, Susannah, we all feel discouraged from time to time.”

My sister held her long slender hands in the air, palms outward. “Not me! Sister Discouraged might be the prettiest one of us all, but this isn’t that kind of a group-not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

“But that’s not what I meant!”

Of course she wasn’t listening at that point. “There’s too much pain in this world, Mags. War without end; that’s what Bush gave us. And when we pass that on to Little Jacob’s generation, it will be along with a national debt so high that-never mind, there’s no point in even getting upset about it. Or global warming. Or hunger, poverty, injustice-or anything. You know why? Because we can’t do anything to fix any of those problems. It’s all too late.”

“What’s your solution, then? Should we all just lie down and die?”

No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to sigh like my little sister. “Honestly, Mags, don’t you listen to a word I say? We’re going to travel around the country-maybe even the world-and preach the Gospel of Despair.”

“The what?”

“Instead of giving the people false hope, like the establishment has been doing for thousands of years, we’re going to tell it like it is. Like it really is. You see, when people have hope, they also hope that someone else will do the work for them. But when they believe that their backs are truly against the wall, that’s when they come out fighting.”

“Yes, but we finally have a large segment of the population excited about a presidential election, one of historic significance. That qualifies as real hope to me.”

“It won’t last more than two years, just like Sister Discontent predicts.”

I nodded just to keep the peace. “Well, sis, I’ve got to be running. I just stopped on my way home from the school. But I’m sure glad I caught you. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“As soon as the bus arrives. We have an apathy rally scheduled in Cleveland at six p.m.”

“But who’s to care if you’re a no-show, right?”

“Very funny, Mags. Sister Distemper handles our bookings, and she’s the least mellow of all of us. But hey, don’t worry, we’ll make it a point to stop by the PennDutch first and say good-bye. I have to see my nephew before I go.”

I struggled to my feet. “Right. And would you have stopped by if I hadn’t come here today?”

“Of course, silly. Now you’re being paranoid.”

“Reasonable people have always been called that. Tell me, doesn’t Sister Distemper’s name sort of depart from the rule?”

“Yeah, kind of. But she was bitten by a mean dog once, and she gets crabby if you don’t call her that.”

“Speaking of the little beast, are you taking him with?”

“Of course! Sister Disengage-she’s the one who made all our habits-is sewing him a tiny robe, because I’m giving him the title-”

“Rabbi Rabies? No, wait, that would be the wrong religion. Okay, I got it now; Friar Yuck. No? Then how about Brother Bottom-Sniffer?”

“Out, Mags, out!”

“Okay. There’s no need to be snippy, Sister Mother. I’ll still be seeing you tomorrow, right?”

“Out,” she shrilled, but the push she gave me was surprisingly gentle.

Although it’s nobody’s business but my own, I could tell by the pressure in my twin feeders that it was time to hustle my bustle back to the fruit of my bloomers. But since I was already “oot and aboot,” as our Canadian friends are wont to say-and the Zug twins originally hail from Manitoba-what harm could I possibly do anyone by a spontaneous ten-minute drop-in?

19

Not even the twins’ mother can tell them apart. If the rumors are true, their wives can’t either, but I don’t want to go there. Dr. Nolan, himself a twin, and a twenty-nine-year veteran of the Ohio Twins Days Festival, once said that the Zug brothers are the most identical twins he’s ever seen. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d seen them both at the same time, he would have sworn they were the same person. Dr. Nolan is free to swear because, like Susannah, he is a lapsed Presbyterian.

“Hmm,” I wondered aloud, “are the Sisters of Perpetual Apathy permitted to swear?”

“I’ll let you know,” a voice from on high said.

At the moment I was engaged in this heavenly conversation, I was standing on the Zugs’ front porch, my finger poised to ring the doorbell. As I’ve been fooled by what I’ve thought was the Good Lord’s voice before, I looked carefully around me. Except for three Adirondack rocking chairs, a rickety wicker table sporting a pot of fake, and faded, violets, the covered porch was empty. It was quite possible, then, that, finally, after all these years of faithfulness, I really was hearing the dulcet tones of my deity. After all, if Balaam’s ass could speak, why couldn’t Magdalena Portulaca Yoder Rosen hear God’s voice?

“Hallelujah,” I cried joyously. “At last my prayers have been answered!”

“This obviously pleases you, Magdalena.”

“You betcha-only I don’t bet, so I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what came over me-uh, yes, I do: it was the Devil. It had to be; that’s the only explanation, because I’ve never said that word before. I swear I haven’t!” I couldn’t believe what I’d just said. To demonstrate my horror, I slapped myself so hard that, had my head not been connected by some pretty stubborn tissues, it might well have ended up in the Zug brothers’ yard.

“ Magdalena,” the Good Lord said softly, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine and dandy. Actually, I’m finer than that: I’m as fine as frogs’ hair. That’s a joke, You know, because frogs don’t really have hair. Of course You know all that, on account of You know everything, and that’s why I’m all in a dither, because now that I’ve finally, and I do mean finally-not that I’m kvetching, mind You-have a chance to ask You questions, I’m more nervous than a long-tailed cat on a porch full of rocking chairs. Come to think of it, kind of like this porch.”

“Questions? What sort?”

Despite the fact that my feeders were full, and I really needed to be hoofing it home, I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to pump the Good Lord for the answers to some of the questions I’d been saving up in my mind ever since I was six years old.

“Well, I’ll start with Adam and Eve’s firstborn: Cain. The Bible says that after he slew his brother, Abel, he went to land of Nod, where he married and built a city. Whom did he marry? And where did all the people come from who populated his city?”

“That’s a fairly easy question. Cain married-”

“Ah, but see here, if You’re going to say his sister, which, by the way, isn’t mentioned in Genesis, then what about all the laws against incest that come slightly later in Leviticus? Take chapter 20, verse 17, for example.”