The Temporary Wife

Even from the back of the chapel, where I was sitting, you could tell that the two altar frescoes have been restored, as their colors are sharper than I recall as a boy. There, to the left of the altar, is St. George, not in armor but in his absurd pre-World War I running clothes, only whiter now, as though they had been laundered, wrestling with a dragon breathing brighter fire, but still looking tired and defeated. But what caught my eye in particular was the figure in the background: further left and above the fighting, between three trees, was a naked or a palely clad woman kneeling at prayer. Had I not noticed her before the restoration or simply forgotten about her? After the service, I went up to the fresco to get a closer look and still couldn’t tell whether she was naked or clothed. I then viewed the fresco to the right of St. Andrew hauling rigging from a fishing vessel, with his far-off look that reflected indifference to the task at hand. Fishermen of that sort, clearly, had a loftier calling than merely catching fish and one which was in keeping with our school’s motto, “Aim Higher.” Yet in viewing that painting, I also recalled my response to it as a boy: that the catch had to do rather with something lower, settled at the bottom of a body of water, out of which would emerge not fishers of men by a djinn. Even back then, I preferred the spelling with the initial d and without the vowel ending, as opposed to the more familiar and singsong jinnee, because of its authenticity and evocative mystery. Is there another word in English that begins with a dj? I’ll have to consult a good dictionary when I return to London.