“And yes, we’ve attempted to reach out to them. At Columbia University we picketed a month ago outside the so-called evolutionary biology building and were manhandled, yes, we were attacked, by the security guards. But the theme of this summer is rising a new threat. Apparently there is a program at NYU, this Francis Crick Scholarship, a program that is devoted to the supposed biology of consciousness. The biology of consciousness! They want to explain the human soul in terms of nerve cells! They want to convince the public that science can explain not just the origin of creation, and not just life itself, but also your very soul!”

Carmen and Kierk share a glance with wide eyes, each marking how far it is to the exit. Kierk cannot but feel that some trap has been laid, but the preacher continues as if they weren’t present.

“. . . these scientists are the next threat to our faith. Just as evolutionary biology sought to destroy the notion of God’s design, so does this supposed science of consciousness seek to destroy the notion of the soul. It effaces the human. It disposes of our divinity. It is our duty to stop them, under the guidance of Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” the men all echo back at him.

There is a smattering of applause, which Kierk and Carmen hesitantly clap along to. Carmen tries to stop Kierk from raising his hand but it’s too late.

“Hi! Everybody. I actually got interested in this by the person who sometimes hands out pamphlets at the Bleecker Street Station. I forget his name. Does anyone here know who I’m talking about?”

There’s a long pause. Finally the preacher says, “Now why would you want to know that?”

“I . . . just wanted to thank him. We had a good discussion. Really helped me out.”

“We hand out pamphlets all over.”

“But specifically I’m looking for the guy who does so at Bleecker Street Station. Red baseball cap?”

“If you come next week, maybe he’ll be here.”

“Oh, okay great, I’ll, ah, look for him again then.” And then Kierk sits back in his seat, rubbing at his hands. He sees in the front row the street preacher, now dressed in normal clothing, who had told him about the meeting yesterday. The young man turns toward him, looking him directly in the eye, to which Kierk’s knee nervously bobs up and down.

Carmen puts a hand on his knee, looks at him quizzically, mouths—What?

“Well if that’s it for everybody let’s break officially and then we’ll start to meet and greet our new members. But first, a prayer.”

Everyone puts their heads down to pray and closes their eyes. When they open them the rain-soaked young couple has vanished.