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The Sixth Station(130)

By:Linda Stasi


“You are simpleminded, poor thing, simpleminded. Don’t you understand?”

No, not really. And you, lady, are a big nut job!

“We had to have everything exactly as it was the first time. To see if it was all destined to be the same again. Don’t you see? The Virgin Mother was most probably only thirteen when she delivered the Infant Jesus—and so was Theotokos. It was good, don’t you see?”

“Oh, of course,” I lied. “Please continue. I have one question, though. Why Yusef Pantera? He seems an unlikely Joseph in this scenario.”

“Oh, oh, oh. It had to be Pantera. Had to. Had to. You see, Pantera is from the line of Tiberius Iulius Abdes Pantera. But not like his ancestor at all. No, no, no.”

“Who?”

“Tiberius Iulius Abdes Pantera, a mercenary soldier that many of his kind still believe had been the one who impregnated the Virgin. But noooo, no, no, no, no, no, no. That’s wrong. He was her protector, not an impregnator, not a fornicator!”

She’s so insane, I can’t believe it.

Grethe then shoved me aside hard and punched in a code on her computer. Photos from a locked archive popped up. First up was a JPEG of a little girl, nearly dead, nursing a sweet little brown baby.

Demiel?

Then came a photo of a young Paulo and Grethe looking rapturous as they leaned down and gazed upon the Baby. Other JPEGs showed Pantera, with flak jacket and guns, standing next to the Girl and the Baby, looking angry. Or at least distracted.

Much to my amazement, the next set of photos showed the three young astronomers who had made their way to the house: Gaspar, Mikaeel, and Balaaditya. I recognized them from those old photos in that faxed article Dona had sent.

They stood there stiffly in their religious garments inside the little house holding their boxes. There was a final photo: Theotokos, Yusef, and Demiel, twelve years later. The caption read: “Jerusalem, 1994.” Somehow they almost looked like a real family. Pantera looked almost the same, and the child had grown into a twenty-four-year-old woman—or so it seemed: She was in a burqa with everything but her bright blue eyes covered.

What is this? The second-greatest story ever told? For sure, it’s definitely the weirdest.

“The Veil,” I said. “Does it still exist?”

She looked at me as though I were the one who was crazy as a loon. “Of course it does. You must think me a fool!”

“Well, no, of course not. It’s just—”

“Tomorrow. I will take you tomorrow.” She looked at her watch and giggled in that crazy way again. “It already is tomorrow. But I will take you after seven o’clock mass.”

“I will see you at the church, then.”

She turned on me like I’d just cursed her and her entire family.

“It’s not just a church!” she seethed.

“I ah, I—”

“No, no, no, no. It is Basilica del Volto Santo. Pope Benedict XVI came and prayed before the Holy Face of our Lord Jesus and then two weeks later he elevated the little santuario to a papal basilica.”

“When was that?” I asked, surprised. I knew he’d visited, but to elevate this obscure church to a basilica? I mean, Saint Peter’s is a basilica.

“In 2006. Only the pope has the right to do that, you know. You know that—yah?”

When I looked perplexed, she narrowed her eyes at me and said, “How could you come here and know nothing?”

When she turned away, anger boiling over, I discreetly placed the cursor on the “send” tab of her computer, and sent the document to my Hotmail account.

I tried to change the subject. “The hotel is closed. Do you know where I can sleep?”

“Our Lord likes to sleep in his car.”

“Right.”

I heard another explosion in the distance. The world is coming undone, and my last night is going to be spent with an ex-spy sleeping in a car in front of a crazy nun’s house in the mountains next to a monastery holding the greatest relic in all of Christendom.

OK. I can live with that. A reporter’s dream, really.





40





I made my way back down the dirt path to the car. Maureen, I wasn’t surprised to see, was sitting upright in the car, not even close to being asleep at the wheel. She had taken out her mobile device and was reading something or other.

I saw the light of the device go out as I approached the car. She unlocked the door and I got back in.

“Looks like we’ll be spending the night in the car,” I said.

She patted my hand. “No—I’ve managed to get them to open up a room at the hotel.”

“How…?”

“Not to worry. It’s only one room but it’s better than sleeping in the car.”