I walked past the house at the corner just at the edge of dark. The man who lives there is a maths teacher and he tutors a steady stream of students in the late afternoon and evening.

Their parents wait for them, parked on the side of the street.

Tonight a gleaming white 4X4 waited right at the corner pulled half off the street. A mother and a younger sister sat in the front seat waiting for the lesson to be over.

Both were bent over, heads down, hands in their laps. Mouthing words, intent, fingers moving restlessly.

In another age they might have been saying a rosary there along the roadway in the fading light.

I knew from the small glow cupped in their hands that they were communing, but not with God, gods, or goddess.