Every time I think I’m tired of memoirs ?and don’t want to read another, along comes a devastatingly smart, funny one like Veronica Chater’s Waiting for the Apocalypse. Her screwball parents, devout ?Catholics who were horrified by the liberalizations of Vatican II, packed up their six kids and moved to the ? holy city of Fátima, Portugal, in 1972 when ”the smoke of Satan slowly ? began creeping through the windows of St. Mary’s,” their parish church. (Never mind that there were no jobs to be had in Portugal — or that no one in the family spoke Portuguese.) Against all odds, Chater survived her wacky ?upbringing and came to terms with her parents’ stringent faith while ?struggling with her own. A?