Why learn calculus? Boris asked himself again as he walked to his class at the local university where he was registered as a non-credit student. At forty years of age, he was comfortably married with three nice dogs and a home. His career as a bakery technician was well along, and his leisure was filled with gardening, music and reading. Why can’t I sit back and just enjoy the good life?

He was a tall, thin fellow with a jerky, nervous stride. The sun, filtering through the campus trees, splashed on his bald head while his eyes remained fixed on the path as he reviewed in memory the probability equations he had studied the evening before.

Boris had high ambitions. He wanted to understand the universe and decided that

he needed to understand the invisible forces and energies controlling it. He needed to understand quantum mechanics and quantum theory. Somehow, he was sure, an understanding of the calculus would move him well along the path to understanding the Theory of Everything some physicists talked about.

Earlier, in his school days, Boris skipped over mathematics being occupied, as many young men are, with women, motorcycles and the effects of chemical recreation on the human body. Curiosity, however, is not confined to the young and may rise reborn when the curse of youth is lifted.

As Boris explained to his wife, Mary, the youthful part of the journey was over, and it was time to take on bigger, broader problems. She was happy to see Boris absorbed in his calculus problems in the evenings, and even enrolled in an art class herself. Mary was a shy, lovely woman with red hair who remained single until she and Boris married when they were both in their mid-thirties. They decided against having children, and enjoyed a peaceful, comfortable ten-year marriage.

When Boris grumbled about wanting to understand the universe, Mary always said, “Yes, dear. That’s such a nice goal.”

When Mary showed him a drawing, he always told her, “Yes, dear. That’s a nice piece of work.”

The dogs stayed out of it by practicing unconditional love for their masters and by remaining ever willing to eat more than was good for them.

Half way to his calculus class, Boris had to pass a large fountain surrounded by a pool of greenish water. The bronze statue in the center of the fountain portrayed Union Army soldiers locked in mortal combat with their Confederate enemies, but few students ever took the time to read the green-stained words on the plaque below the soldiers’ feet. Questions about that never appeared on history tests, and twenty percent of the students didn’t even know who fought in the War Between the States. None of the current faculty knew why those particular words had been selected years earlier.

Lost in thought, Boris stepped around a large, shapeless figure standing by the stone wall that held back the slime pool. Suddenly, the figure came to life. A black Bible was shaking in Boris’s face, and a voice boomed, “Are you saved, brother? Jesus loves you. Are you saved?”