“Acceptez-vous le Seigneur comme votre Créateur?” the driver, wide as the front seat and short as it too, croaked out.
“Ah, acceptez-vous, do you accept. Ah, le Seignor, uh the mister. Votre, wait Latin, our, creator” Eddie was translating by the seat of his pants. Do you accept the mister, comme-communist?
“Do you accept the communist as our creator?” Had to be it.
“Nah, I’m apolitical” was the best Eddie could offer.
“I think he means ‘Do you accept Him with a capital H as your Creator?’” Sid finally chipped in, knowing French, but wanting to see what Eddie came up with.
“Well, I’m agnostic, that’s religiously apolitical” Eddie reasoned.
The driver had picked them up in Fraser Canyon, nicknamed ‘God’s Valley’.
“Look, we can’t call our world ugly” Eddie preached to the preacherman and Sid. “We call it all beautiful, astounding, God’s Gift. What kind of creatures would we be if we thought earth was ugly, think how it would put a kibosh on exploration, just getting up in the morning. It would be counter-productive to survival.”
“The poet would recite: I think that I shall never see, a poem so revoltin’ as a tree.”
“So of course we think it beautiful, it had nothing to do with god.”
“Eddie, your reasoning is, is, is . . . “ Sid thought long and hard about what he just heard.