The Sixth Station(72)

The car came to a stop, and he motioned for me to put the book down. When I didn’t respond, he shut it for me and rested his bony hand on mine in some sort of fake beatific pose.

Cesur got out, punched in a code, and a locked gate swung open. The sign on the opposite side read MERYEMANA. This is the child Theo’s middle name and the name of the supposed mother of ben Yusef!

I looked at the priest quizzically, and he said, “It means, ‘Mother Mary’s House,’ the last known dwelling place of the Virgin Mother.”

“Oh, I see.”

“It’s the place where nineteen hundred and eighty-two years later Life Eternal was reborn.”

“Oh. But I don’t see.…”

As the big black car slowly made its way up the hill, I stretched my neck to see out the windows. What I saw, as we passed, though, was a little souvenir shop, locked up, but with the front still displaying wooden “icons,” tchotchkes, rosary beads, snacks, and even cheap “religious” jewelry items.

Hail Mary full of bracelets.

We drove a bit farther and unexpectedly, a shiver ran up and down my spine and tears sprang to my eyes when the Meryemana came into view.

Here it was, the tiny abode made entirely of stone, looking just as it must have looked two thousand years earlier: solid, serene, and solitary. Not a soul was anywhere to be seen.

As we opened the car doors to get out, a white peacock scooted past the car, and for a second I honestly thought it was an apparition. The priest patted my hand. “Just our resident peacock, not the Ghost of Christmas Past,” he joked.

A laugh a minute this guy.

We stepped out of the car, and fighting the crazy feelings that were beginning to overwhelm me, the reporter in me still managed to ask, “So how do you know this was really the place the Virgin Mary lived out her last days? I mean, no disrespect, but isn’t this sort of like the Holy Grail of houses? And in Turkey of all places.”

“O! Ye of little faith!”

“You’ve already tried that one on me.…”

Paulo looked at me, shook his head, and began walking toward the house.

“It must be very difficult to live without faith, to not believe in God.”

“You are wrong, Father. I do believe in the concept of God—just not the execution.”

Damn. Had I just said “execution” to a man who had a cross around his neck?

I sped ahead. “I mean, what I think is that there have been many great evolved beings—Moses, Jesus, the Prophet Mohammed, for example. They wanted everyone to know the truth, that one doesn’t need riches or golden cathedrals or any cathedral in which to worship. They wanted us to know that life is what we ourselves create. I believe that we get not just what we want but also what we fear. We draw to us that which is most on our minds. You don’t get what you deserve in life, you get what you think you deserve,” I said, surprising myself that I’d unload my inner beliefs to this creepy stranger.

“But—”

I cut him off. “No, wait, did you ever have a friend who was a hypochondriac and feared getting cancer and then lo and behold, he got cancer? Or on the good side, there were always girls in high school who weren’t the prettiest, the funniest, the whateverist, but they always had all the boys chasing them because they just believed they deserved it. Again, you call it upon yourself.”

He looked at me. No doubt about it, you could only call his look “bemused.”

“Your life plays out the way you expect it to, on some unconscious level.”

“You think, then, that I always wanted to be the man who helped facilitate a world-changing event?”

I stopped, looked at him, and spread my hands out with a big smile on my face. “You’re kidding, right? You aren’t exactly a, er—how do I say this?—a modest guy?

“I think your subconscious put you exactly where you thought you deserved to be when you were there doing what you claim you did.”

“Not claim, Ms. Russo—did.”

I went on. “Anyway, I’ve thought this whole God thing out over my whole life. I’m not as ignorant as you think. It’s just stuff I always knew, even as a kid. Anyway, I figure that when the evolved beings slash prophets died—”

He cut me off. “One was resurrected … twice.”

I let that pass and continued, “Okay, but anyway, after the prophet was no longer among the living humans, the followers always ended up fighting among themselves to keep the truth that the prophet had taught them from the people. And as far as I know, the followers and/or the followers’ followers, who then took over, generally always went on to build giant golden cathedrals in their honor. The exact opposite of what the prophets preached. No?”