“Uncovered meat,” quoted Enon, as we were discussing the Australian Muslim cleric who apparently thinks it’s okay to rape women who are not covered in the traditional Moslem attire.

“I guess this isn’t traditional attire,” Kite said, pulling her shirt up and exposing her slender torso. Skute sat up and started to comment but I slapped him across the back of his head and scolded him with my eyes. He scowled at me, shrugged, then laid back down again.

“Oo, lookie this,” said Enon, after another article in the paper caught his attention.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Seems VeePee Cheney let the cat out of the bag about water-boarding as a means of extracting information from terrorists. Seems he thinks it’s okay. Bush had to do quick damage control.”

“You mean we’re still talking about the ducking stool?” asked Kite.

“It would appear that way,” Enon told her. This got Skute’s attention, and while I wanted to hit him again, I opted to let him speak.

“What’s a ducking stool?” he asked. Enon and I rolled our eyes at one another. We are both old enough to remember studying the Puritans back during our early years. I even made a working model of a ducking stool for a class project one time. Enon probably did too. I think all of us did back in those days. It's probably politically incorrect to do those kinds of things in grade-school any more.

“They used to tie a chair onto the end of a long pole,” Kite recited, remembering our discussion about it previously. “They would strap people in the chair and duck them in a lake until they confessed. If they didn’t confess, they got tired of holding their breath and ended up drowning.”

“Confess to what?” asked Skute.

“Being a witch,..” Enon started to tell him, but Kite cut him off.

“Being an idiot,” Kite answered frankly, her arms crossed, looking at Skute smugly.

“You mean they made people confess to being an idiot, and if they didn’t admit it, then they drowned?”

“Yup,” Kite told him, still looking smug, as if she expected him to admit being an idiot without the persuasion of such an elaborate contraption as a ducking stool.

“So they let you go if you say you’re an idiot? That’s easy enough. They wouldn’t even have to put me in the chair for that.”

“No, not exactly,” Kite said, giggling. “They didn’t just let you go, you know, cuz you’re an idiot, and they didn’t like idiots very much. They tied you to a wooden pole and made a bon fire out of you.”

“So if I was an idiot, they’d burn me, and if I wasn’t, they’d drown me? That doesn’t really seem fair.”

“I think they were pretty certain about you being an idiot before they even started,” Enon reasoned.

“Oh,” said Skute. He looked worried. “So when did they do this? Is this like when you guys were kids or something?” He was looking at Enon and myself, since Kite was actually younger than him.

“They still do it,” Kite said, teasing him. “That’s what the article in the paper’s about. In fact, we were thinking of making a ducking stool for you.”

“Can’t,” he said confidently. “We don’t have any lakes here in the desert.”

“We don’t have any decent chairs here either,” Kite pointed out. “So maybe we’ll just tie a rope around your ankles and throw you in the wash the next time it rains.”

“There, see?” Enon said. “For every problem there is a solution.”