The voice was like a foghorn heard coming in the mist warning of an impending collision.

Startled, Boris mumbled, “What the hell?” and hurried away.

“Find Jesus and you will know love and peace,” Foghorn echoed behind him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Boris called back.

The preacher’s image lingered in Boris’s mind, the image of a tall, rather fat young man dressed in a black suit, a man with intense blue eyes.

There was no avoiding the fountain on the way to class except by taking a very long walk around the rear of the classroom building from the parking lot. Other students confirmed his worst suspicions. The fountain was a favorite hangout for religious zealots who felt called upon to save the souls of the materialistic, beer-swilling students. It was an easy way to reach passersby because so many students had to pass there going to classes. The gentle campus security police, unlike their city colleagues, were used to raucous champions of extreme causes and simply ignored them.

Three times each week Boris had to pass the fountain preacher. He learned that during the regular school year fanatics from the local Bible College took turns; but this was summer, and Foghorn seemed to be the only prophet available.

Boris was filled with rage every time he heard, “Repent, sinner, and Jesus will bring you to the Lord,” and “Forgive them for they know not what they do.” Boris was sure he knew what he was doing, and he certainly didn’t need a bright-faced young Bible-thumper telling him what to think.

“Shut the fuck up!” had no effect. Boris found himself distracted during his calculus class as he considered alternative ways of dealing with the problem. Clearly, hand grenades and shotguns would only lead to unacceptable complications in his life

For several days Boris arrived on campus early and stood there by the fountain trying to shout a little logic into Foghorn’s head. He cited evidence for the evolution of species, pointed out that certain books of the Bible had been tossed out because of inconsistencies, and reviewed psychiatric opinions that excess religiosity was a symptom of severe neurosis.

His arguments were met with universal solutions such as, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Boris had been hoping for universal solutions couched in pure mathematics, not in biblical clichés.

“You’re not acting like a little child,” he yelled. “You’re acting like a grown-up damn fool trying to impose your ideas on others.”

Distracted from the lectures he was trying to follow in calculus class, Boris decided that he was taking the preacher entirely too seriously. He would stop trying to be serious and to take him literally to see if that might work.

“Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Give what you have to the poor that ye may live in the house of the Lord forever,” Foghorn shouted one day.