Beauty and the Brain by Alice Duncan Page B

from a
mouth—I’ve found that people who live in atmospheres polluted by
smoke and chemical waste often have husky voices.”
    “Ah,” Brenda said. “Like people who smoke
tobacco a lot. Their voices are often deep and raspy.”
    “Exactly. I don’t know enough about it to
explain the phenomenon, but I suspect smoke and other pollutants
aren’t healthy and most likely affect one’s lungs adversely.”
    “I’m sure they are and do.”
    “Jerry, on the other hand, lives in an
atmosphere almost one hundred percent pure.” He nodded to Jerry,
who nodded back. “And, while Navajos smoke pipes during certain of
their rituals, they aren’t as apt to be heavy smokers as city white
people.”
    Jerry nodded again and made a gesture with
his right hand, which Brenda, who had studied gestures as part of
her job, had never seen before. It was a kind of chopping
movement.
    “The air in Arizona Territory is dry and hot
and so clean it can make one’s lungs hurt for the first few days
one is breathing it,” Colin continued. The gestures used by these
two men in communication intrigued Brenda. Now if it had been
Martin making the movement, he’d probably have clapped Jerry on the
back.
    But Martin was a whole, integrated human
being, complete with heart, soul, and mind. His emotions were open,
his gestures generous and spontaneous. He wasn’t merely an
ambulatory brain, like some people. She sniffed.
    Then she took herself to task for being a
snob. Colin, although he’d had to be dragged reluctantly into it,
had actually played a game today. What’s more, he’d comported
himself pretty well. She had no idea if he’d enjoyed himself,
although she allowed that, while he hadn’t complained, he hadn’t
jumped up and down or laughed a lot, either. Or at all,
actually.
    The old poop.
    By this time they’d entered the lodge, and
the small party broke up. Brenda skipped up the stairs, trying for
all she was worth to maintain her perkiness in spite of her
bedraggled condition. She had an image to uphold. Halfway up, she
turned and waved to the gentlemen. “See you guys at lunch.”
    “See you then,” Martin said, smiling at her
with what she knew was genuine friendship. She really liked
Martin.
    Jerry said, “Good afternoon, Miss
Fitzpatrick,” and sounded like a royal duke bidding a peasant good
day. His formality tickled her.
    She looked at Colin. He looked back and made
a sound she couldn’t identify She shook her head, turned, and
headed to her room. There she bathed and changed her clothes and
headed to the dining room, ravenous.
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    Brenda had mixed feelings about religion. On
the one hand, she believed in God. On the other hand, she’d grown
up in New York City and had seen what she considered terrible
injustices being perpetrated under the very noses of the high
clergy of several different denominations, and none of them seemed
to give a rap. She believed that if a guy overtly proclaimed his
Christianity, he darned well ought to live as if he meant it.
    She’d seen with her own eyes the
magnificence of many of the churches in her native city,
magnificence that must have cost millions of dollars. And, in the
same church family, hundreds of parishioners starved to death or
died of diseases fostered by poverty and filth. One of the richest
churches in New York City owned the vilest slum properties she’d
ever seen and could scarcely make herself think about.
    She did think about it, though, and she
gave. Although she’d never considered herself as belonging to one
particular church or denomination, she gave as much money as she
could to charities supporting the needy If it weren’t for
astounding good luck, she might have been needy herself, and she
knew it.
    Therefore, when she got dressed to attend
evening services at the small chapel about two hundred yards down
the road from the Cedar Crest Lodge, she did so for the sake of her
image and not because she felt any particular desire