A young woman (b. unknown, d. 1955) from Fogarty, Iowa. A young man she knew "lured her up to his apartment and read to her from the works of Henry Miller." She broke out into a series of fits and was able to tear the books into bits before she died. An electronics addict in a room nearby was recording at the time of death; "one today may buy a record the actual screams of the saint."The Saint Contraceptua Youthful Anti-Smut League is named for the woman. The moderator of the group is Father Clodian Cumpert. Girls in the league never wear patent leather shoes, "since the shiny surfsace reflects what the wearer has on underneath." Men bathe in purple-colored bath water and "carry carved sticks they use to tuck their shirts into their pants." Members also have home tickers that provide up-to-the minute reports on the Legion of Decency [St. Fidgeta and Other Parodies, 98-9].
If you haven't already guessed Contraceptua is not a likely name for any saint, being based on the word contraception, which was the church's favorite term for the forbidden practice of birth control. Bowen notes that it probably did not escape the author or many of his readers that the term 'contraception' could also describe one of the preeminent ambitions of a virginal saint.
We're reminded that an electronics addict in this day and time would have had to use a tape recorder and a microphone to record anything off the radio and ambient noises (including the actual screams of the saint) would not be eliminated. Bowen notes a true electronics addict might have been able to manage the removal of the unwanted noise "but I couldn't, and neither could John, for sure."
All this brings up an interesting point in the Catholic tradition of venerating relics of saints, which Myers will explain for us, reminding us that veneration should not be confused with worshiping. "A first-class relic is an actual body part of a canonized saint. At least up until Vatican II the altar of each Catholic church was supposed to contain such a relic. That's why you might see pictures of, say, the Bishop of Assisi parading with a reliquary containing the actual finger of St. Francis on his feast day. A second class relic is an item closely associated with a saint, for example an item of his clothing, or perhaps a crucifix he or she carried around. There are even third class relics, items which the saint may have briefly touched. It must be emphasized that, except among illiterate peasants (and there are plenty of those) no supernatural or magical powers are associated with any of these. It is simply a matter of affirming our common humanity and the fact that while we are on this earth, we learn and experience life through our senses. Thus we have a direct sensual connection to reinforce our reverence for the holiness of the subject. That is why Catholic priests place such importance on their anointment with consecrated oil and the laying on of hands by their bishop. This laying on of hands supposedly forms an unbroken link back to Jesus's anointing of Peter as the head of His church." In this context, Myers believes a recording of the actual screams of a saint resisting temptation would no doubt qualify as at least a third-class and maybe even a second-class relic.
He also notes some of the more famous relics: fragments of the True Cross, the Holy Grail, the Blood of Hailes, and the famous Shroud of Turin, "which is supposedly the linen in which Jesus was wrapped in His tomb and contains an imprint of His face. This one has been subjected to modern scientific testing and experts are still arguing about it."
We're not sure the colored bath water needs explaining but we relish the idea of elderly gentlemen, such as Bowen and Myers, trying to explain this kind of thing.
Myers notes - now that our wiseass remarks are out of the way - the importance of the color, referring to the color of the vestments that a priest wears while saying mass during the ecclesiastical year: purple vestments are worn during Lent.
"At this point it is necessary to introduce a new character to this narrative, one of Notre Dame's religion professors, Father Neely, O.P. In one of our college bull sessions, his name came up, and one of my friends, no doubt suffering from a temporary surfeit of religiosity, said, 'Oh, Father Neely. He's so pious that he bathes in a cruciform bathtub!' I related this remark to Bellairs, much to his amusement and therefore assume that bathing in purple-colored bathwater was his variation on the theme."
Both Myers and Bowen recall hearing somewhere about a certain French seminary whose members were issued little sticks to tuck in their shirts, lest one accidental touch lead to another and ...ahem...so on.
