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Israel
Kesev could feel the sweat trickle from his armpits as he clutched the ends of his arm rests and stared out the window of El Al flight 001. He saw Tel Aviv and the coast of Israel fall away beneath him. Anyone watching him would think he was afraid of flying. He did not like it, true, but that was not what filled him with such anxiety.
Never before in his long life had he left his homeland. The very idea had been unthinkable until now. And even under these extraordinary circumstances, he was uneasy. He had never wanted to be more than a few hours away from the Resting Place. Now there would be a continent and an ocean between him and the site in the Wilderness where he had vowed to spend the rest of his days.
Not that it mattered now. The Mother was gone. His duty was to follow her to wherever she now lay.
And Kesev had a pretty good idea now where that might be.
New York.
He couldn’t be sure, of course. The visions of the Virgin Mary in Manhattan meant nothing by themselves. On any given day, someone somewhere thought he or she had been gifted with a vision of the Mother of God, and this was nothing new for New York. Since the 1970’s a woman named Veronica in a place called Bayside had claimed to see and speak to the Virgin on a regular basis. And more recently in Queens had been the painting of the Mother that had seeped oil.
Since the Mother’s theft Kesev had accumulated a huge collection of reports on these visions. Lately the vast majority seemed to occur in America. Some were utterly absurd—the image of the Blessed Virgin in the browned areas on a flour tortilla, in a patch of mold on the side of a refrigerator, in a forkful of spaghetti, on the side of a leaking fuel tank—and could be discarded without a second thought.
Others were more traditional apparitions, often repeated on a scheduled basis, such as the first Sunday or first Friday of the month, but although thousands would be in attendance for the occasion, the actual vision was restricted to a single individual. Kesev marked these as possible but most likely the product of one unbalanced mind and fed by the public’s yearning for something, anything that might indicate a Divine Presence. Visions had been occurring long before the theft of the Mother and would certainly continue after she was returned to where she belonged.
But these Manhattan visions...something about them had sparked a flicker of hope in Kesev. They didn’t follow the pattern of the other sightings. They appeared to be random, had been reported by a wide variety of people belonging to a polyglot of races and religions. When Muslims and Buddhists began reporting visions of a softly glowing woman in an ankle-length cowled robe, identical to the image Kesev had seen countless times atop the tav rock, he had to give them credence.
And then there was the matter of the cures.
The tabloid press was always touting cures for the incurable, but these were linked to no miracle drug or quack therapy. These were as spontaneous and random as the sightings of the Virgin Mary.
And just like the sightings they all seemed to be clustered in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
He glanced at his watch. The flight was due to arrive in Kennedy at 5:20 a.m. local time. Shortly after that, Kesev, too, would be in Lower Manhattan. Searching.
If the Mother was there, Kesev would find her. He had to. And when he did he would silence the thieves so they could not reveal what they knew. Then he would return the Mother to the Resting Place where she belonged, where she would remain until the Final Days.
Only two questions bothered Kesev. Who were these people who had stolen the Mother away from him? The job was so smoothly and skillfully done, leaving not a trace of a trail, they had to be professionals. If that were so, why was no one trumpeting her discovery? He was overjoyed that there had been no such announcement, for that meant he could still set matters right before irreparable damage was done. But why the silence? Could it be they didn’t know what they had? Or were they, perhaps, trying to verify what they had? Whatever the reason, he could not let this opportunity pass.
The second question was more unsettling. Why had the Lord allowed this to happen? Did it mean that the Final Days were imminent? That the End of All Things was at hand?
Part of Kesev hoped so, for he was desperately tired of living. Yet another part of him dreaded facing the Second Coming with this new disgrace to account for.
IN THE PACIFIC
7o N, 155o W
North of the Line Islands, between the trackless rolling swells and the flawless azure sky, a haze forms, quickly thickening into a mist, then a fog, then a raft of clouds, immaculate white at first, but darkening along the underbelly as it fattens outward and reaches upward, casting cooling shadow on the warm water below, which rises to a gentle chop as the wind begins to blow.
SEVENTEEN
Manhattan
“Damn that Pilgrim!” Dan said softly as the door shut behind the two CDC investigators. “Why can’t he keep his big mouth shut?”
Poor Dan, Carrie thought as they stood together by the serving counter. She repressed a smile and laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“He doesn’t know the trouble he’s causing. Preacher’s his friend. He was blind and now he can see. He witnessed a miracle and he wants to tell the world about it.”
“And he seems to be doing just that—literally.”
“Let him.”
“Let him? I have no choice. And I wouldn’t care, but now he’s telling anybody who’ll listen that if they’re looking for a miracle cure, go to Loaves and Fishes!”
“And what if he does?”
“We just saw the result! Two guys from the CDC asking us about what we’re serving the guests! Wanting to know if we’re using any ‘unusual’ recipes! Good God, I thought I was going to have a heart attack!”
Carrie had to laugh now.
“What’s so funny?” Dan said.
“You should have seen your face! You started choking while you were reading off the ingredients in my seven-grain bread!”
Dan’s reluctant smile broke through. “I did fine until he asked me about any ‘special additives!’ That was when I almost lost it.”
“You were very good. Very calm. The picture of innocence.”
“I hope so. We don’t need a bunch of epidemiologists sniffing around. I have visions of them doing these in-depth interviews with anyone around here who’s been cured of anything in the past few months and entering it all into a computer, then asking the computer to find the common denominator and having it spit out, Loaves and Fishes...Loaves and Fishes...Loaves and Fishes.”
“Oh, Dan. Don’t worry so much.”
“I can’t help it, Carrie. At the very least we have a smuggled artifact in the basement. At the very most, if what you believe is true—”
“What I know is true. And you know it’s true as well.”
Dan blinked, tightened his lips, and gave his head a quick shake. Why wouldn’t he let his lips speak what he knew in his heart?
“At the very most,” he continued, “we’re sitting on something that could shake up all of Christianity and Judaism, and possibly all of Islam as well.”
“But no one but you and I will know,” Carrie said patiently. How many times did she have to explain this to him? “The Virgin’s existence was meant to be kept secret, and we are honoring that secret.”
“But just moments ago we had two government investigators here!”
“So? Let’s just suppose that when they’d asked you about any ‘special additives,’ you’d told them, ‘Oh, yes. I almost forgot. We’ve got the Virgin Mary stashed away in the subcellar and we’re adding smidges of her finely-ground hair and fingernails to the soup.’ What do you think they’d put in their report?”