The Sixth Station(69)

“While Paulo and Grethe were silently praying, I knelt on my prayer mat, made the double and inverted sign of the cross.

“Sister Grethe picked up Demiel and held Him before me as I sat up. I cradled him and sang into His ear in Arabic, the Muslim call to prayer. It is the first sound a Muslim infant should hear.

“Next Paulo sprinkled the Baby’s head with water and recited in English the traditional prayer of christening.

“He then dipped his fingers into a bowl of holy water on the altar and crossed the Baby on the forehead, on the lips, and on the heart with his wet fingers and recited the only prayer recognized by the Cathars: ‘Pater noster qui es in celis, sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua sicut in cello et in terra. Panem nostrum supersubstancialem da nobis hodie.…’”

I paused and thought, That name again—Cathars—who the hell were they? Fascinated with the narrative, er, gospel, as the freak priest called it, I put the book down a second and sipped the steaming espresso before continuing.

“Sister Grethe, still holding the Baby, then took over in Hebrew the Jewish prayer for the safety of travelers—to protect us on the coming journey.

“Paulo then rose and took the two chalices from the altar, handed them to me, and then painstakingly reached back for the bottle of exquisite, rare wine, the 1947 La Tâche, which he carried outside as delicately as if he’d been holding the Baby. Although it was the new moon, the sky was as bright as if it were a full moon on the clearest night.

“Then Sister Grethe and I, holding the Baby, followed him outside into the chilly night air. Father Paulo had already opened the bottle, and it was sitting atop the makeshift altar that I had built from rough-hewn planks

“We gazed into the night sky and saw that—yes!—it was there! A new star in the predawn sky that outshone all the others. It beamed down on us and lit up the whole outside of the house!

“And now here it was—undeniable proof. Frightening, glorious, undeniable proof.

“The priest then filled one chalice with water from one of the spigots on the front of the house, which flowed with the holy water of the Blessed Mother, and carried it back to the altar. Then with trembling hands he poured the exquisite wine into the second chalice, making sure not to stir up the sediment. It was exactly eight minutes since he’d opened it, and it had to have been drunk within ten.

“Exuberantly yet carefully I took the little brown nugget of a Baby and held Him up to the sky toward the star, whose light was nearly blinding if one looked at it directly. The Baby let out a cry whose sound was indefinable. It was not quite the cry of an infant—not quite that of a human, actually.”

I could see the old priest nod his head to Cesur from the corner of my eye.

“With a steady grip on the Baby, I dipped my index finger into the holy water that the priest held in front of us.

“I placed a finger into the Baby’s mouth and recited the traditional naming prayer of the Akan people of West Africa.

“Then, directly to the Baby, I cried exuberantly, ‘You are Demiel!’ At that the Baby seemed to look up—even, unimaginably, part His lips in a smile.

“I almost forgot myself, held the Baby higher again and again. ‘Let’s drink to Demiel!’ I shouted. ‘Son of the Son!’

“Then the two chalices were passed among us, and we all swallowed deeply and kissed one another on both cheeks.

“Paulo, that scum, however, scowled. He was pissed that the wine’s peak moment had passed and he’d missed it. A taste he’d waited all his life to experience.”

I heard him sniff beside me.

“Grethe headed back into the house, while I stayed outside with Paulo and uncovered the high-resolution telescope I’d designed. Gazing through the lens, I could see what the blinding star didn’t yield to the naked eye.

“It was perfectly symmetrical. The sides of the star would, if folded in half, match up perfectly, something that could never occur naturally. But then again, was there anything about this night that had occurred naturally? I began taking photos through the lens. I had no idea whether the star was visible all over the world to any naked eye—or just to us, just in this little spot on Bülbül Mountain.

“I turned the telescope over to Paulo and walked back inside, assuming my role as bodyguard. I put on and then adjusted my shotgun and bandolier across my chest. To an outside observer it would have been difficult to tell who was in charge at any one time, as our roles seemed to change constantly. But to those on the deep inside, none of it was random. It was all, in fact, a perfectly coordinated dance, with no missed step, no toe stepped upon, no matter how many appearances to the contrary. Not so far.