Saturday's Storyteller: "It turns out seventh-century saints don't much like being reanimated."
by Belinda Roddie It turns out seventh-century saints don't much like being reanimated. Especially not Ursicinus of Saint-Ursanne. In fact, he was rather bewildered. Even terrified. As if the devil himself had raised him up and then very casually shoved his horns so far down into his head that they were incognito lumps on his scalp. Like cysts instead of marks of unfiltered evil. I hadn't even expected to find his body, much less exhume it. It had started with a lovely trip to Switzerland with my wife, where we discovered there was much more to the country than skiing, chocolates, watches, and politicians' secret bank accounts. We had wound up in Délamont, within the Canton of Jura, where many people spoke French. Which was nice because my wife spoke French, being pure-blooded Texan but still managing to work as a French teacher at a quaint little high school nestled in the strict confines of Danbury. I, on the other hand, was a California nerd with a Bachelor of