Bible Stories for Adults by James Morrow Page B

foul odors. But the breakfast nook overlooks a pleasant apple orchard and a vast carpet of wildflowers, and I can readily picture myself sitting peacefully at the table—planning lessons, grading papers, sipping tea, watching the wind ripple the blossoms. Poor Marcus and his allergy! Even though he is my twin—born five minutes before me—I have always thought of him as my little brother, ever in need of my protection.
    The housekeeper, Vetch, is a rotund Model 905 who insists on being called “Mistress,” a title that flies in the face of the immutable sexlessness of Series-600 androids. As I climbed down from the sleeping loft this morning, she—it—noticed my gift copy of
The Origin of Species
protruding from my coat. “So nice to be working for good, righteous, Darwin-fearing folk,” she—it—remarked, making the X-gesture I had seen at the terminal. Whistling like a happy teapot, Mistress Vetch served our breakfast.
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    6 J ULY 2059
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    First day of the summer term. Taught Knowledge 101 and Advanced Truth in a cramped lecture room reminiscent of a surgical theater. A particularly svelte and shiny Model 692 sat in the front row, grinning a silver grin. Why do I assume she is female? She is as bereft of gender as our housekeeper.
    Her name is Miss Blandina.
    We did a bit of Euclid, touched on topology. Everything went swimmingly—lots of six-digit hands shot up, followed by sharp questions, especially from Miss Blandina. These machines are fast learners, I’ll give them that.
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    7 J ULY 2059
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    No problems getting them to accept the First or the Second Law of Thermodynamics. On to the Third!
    Marcus says this is the cushiest ministry we’ve ever had. I agree. Whenever Miss Blandina smiles, a warm shiver travels through my backbone.
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    9 J ULY 2059
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    Everybody on the Greenrivet faculty seems to be some sort of selective breeding expert. We’ve got a professor of hybridism, a professor of mutation, an embryology chair . . . weird. God knows what they were teaching around here before Marcus and I arrived.
    As the Advanced Truth students filed out—I had just delivered a reasonably cogent account of general relativity—I asked Miss Blandina whether she had any more classes that day.
    â€œComparative religion,” she replied.
    â€œAnd what religions are you comparing?”
    â€œAgassizism and Lamarckism,” came the answer. “Equally heretical,” she added.
    â€œI wouldn’t call them religions.”
    She laid her plastic palm against my cheek and batted a fiberglass eyelash. “Come to church on Sunday.”
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    10 J ULY 2059
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    â€œHow did you originate?” I asked the Advanced Truth class. You could have heard a rubber pin drop. “I’m serious,” I continued. “Where do you come from? Who made you?”
    â€œNo one made us,” said Miss Blandina. “We descended.”
    â€œDescended?” I said.
    â€œDescent with modification!” piped up a Model 106 whose name I haven’t learned yet.
    â€œBut from what did you descend?”
    â€œOur ancestors,” replied Mr. Valentinus.
    â€œWhere did you get
that
idea?”
    â€œThe testaments,” said Miss Basilides.
    â€œThe Old Testament? The New Testament?”
    â€œThe First Testament of the prophet Darwin,” said Mr. Heracleon. “
Notes on the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or The Preservation of Favored Races in the Struggle for Life
”
    â€œAnd the Second Testament,” said Miss Basilides.
“The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex.”
    â€œâ€˜But natural selection, we shall see, is a power incessantly ready for action,’” Miss Blandina quoted animatedly. “The
Origin:
third chapter, section one, paragraph two, verse nine.”
    â€œâ€˜Thus we can understand how it has come to pass that man and all other