The Fifth Gospel(196)
“Fortunately, Doctor Nogara made a final discovery even more important than anything you have seen so far.”
My search for Michael stops. I’m taken by surprise. Archbishop Nowak is about to describe what Ugo found.
“As you will now see,” Nowak says, “the Holy Shroud solved our greatest theological crisis in one of the most difficult periods of our shared history. Without it, we could not be standing here tonight, for the Vatican Museums could not exist.”
This sounds nothing like what Ugo described in his letter.
“This is the final gallery of the exhibit,” Nowak says. “So before we reach the Sistine Chapel, I would like to introduce Doctor Nogara’s assistant, Andreas Bachmeier, who will explain Nogara’s discovery.”
Everyone’s attention shifts. As Bachmeier steps up on the dais, I start making my way through the crowd again. Then, just for an instant, I catch sight of something in the crowd. A cassock with a long rip in the back of the collar.
The cassock I cut open at the Casa.
I turn back, but it’s gone.
Pushing deeper into the crowd, I try to focus on the faces around me, try not to be distracted by the thought that calls louder and louder for my attention. Bachmeier makes a bow to Archbishop Nowak, then says, “For decades, the world has asked only one question about the Shroud: is it authentic? But Doctor Nogara asked a better question: why did Christ leave it to us? His answer is in this gallery.”
All around me, a weird energy is building. Even the Orthodox are looking around, trying to decipher what Bachmeier means. I slip past a herd of them, apologizing in Greek. Then I see it again: the sliver of white in a torn Roman cassock. I move toward it, trying to catch a glimpse of the priest’s face.
But he’s moving, too. Edging through the crowd. I wait to see where he’s going.
“You may wonder,” Bachmeier says, “why no art is hung on the walls at the entrance to this gallery. Why there are only words. It’s because this is the world into which the Shroud was born.” He steps off the dais, pointing to the stenciled quotations. A microphone on his lapel fills the hall with his voice. “The First Commandment of the Mosaic Law says, I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. The ancient Jewish people observed this prohibition very seriously. Consider what we’re told by their historian Josephus.”
Nowak never leaves the platform, but in his deep, rolling voice he intones, “The Assembly of Jerusalem sent me to destroy the palace of King Herod, because it was decorated with images of animals. But another man arrived there first, and set the palace on fire.”
As necks crane to see the letters on the wall, the priest in the torn cassock stops. He turns to look at Nowak. From that angle, I can see his face. My whole body stiffens. Michael.
I push forward and reach for his arm, but he’s moving away from me. Angling himself toward Archbishop Nowak.
“People ask why the gospels never mention an image on the Shroud,” continues Bachmeier. “But imagine how the Jewish community would have responded to the image of a naked, crucified man.”
Suddenly Michael steps forward. He makes a move to confront Nowak on the dais, but sheerly by accident another priest walks into his path. Michael sidesteps, and I lunge forward. My fingers reach his sleeve. I grab him.
“This,” Bachmeier is saying, “is why the disciples brought the Shroud to Edessa. A pagan city with no prohibition against images. Led by a king who admired Jesus.”
Michael spins around. He looks at me, but there’s no recognition in his eyes. His pupils are small and tense. His brow is wet with sweat.