Virgin (33 page)

Not that it
mattered now. The Mother was gone from the Resting Place. 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 1970s 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 cures were linked
to no miracle drug or quack therapy. They were spontaneous and random, just
like 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 find her. 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

7deg N, 155deg 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 is raised to a
gentle chop as the

wind begins to blow.

18

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, over and
over again."

"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?"

Dan sighed.
"Okay. You've got a point. But still . . ."

She reached
across the counter and grasped his hand.

"Have
faith, Dan. We're not alone in this. Everything's going to work out. Just
believe."

Dan looked into
her eyes and squeezed her hand in return.

"I used to
believe in us, and look what happened to that."

Carrie's heart
sank. Not this again.

"Dan . . .
we've been through this already. Something bigger than you and I has come into
our lives and we have to put our wants and desires aside. You said you
understood."

"I do. At
least partially. But even if I understood fully, I'd still be hurting. I
haven't been able to put out the fire so easily."

But you must,
she thought, hurting for him. You
must.

"Don't the
miracles make it easier?" she said, hoping to see the pain fade in his
eyes. "Don't they make you feel a part of something glorious?"

"The cures
are wonderful," he said.

"And they
happened because of us! The blind see, the terminally ill are cured, the
deranged become lucid. Because we brought her here."

"I just
hope those same miracles aren't our downfall. Look what's happening around us.
People are seeing the Virgin Mary everywhere, the streets are acrawl with
epidemiologists by day and Mary-hunters by night, there's a candlelight vigil
on every other corner, and every AIDS patient in the city seems to be trying to
move to the Lower East Side. It's getting crazier by the minute out there. It
all seems to be building toward something. But what? And if someone puts all
the pieces together, we may find ourselves in big trouble, a lot more trouble
than we can handle."

Carrie just
shook her head. Didn't Dan know? Couldn't he feel it? Everything was going to
be fine.

She is here.

Kesev had
sensed that the instant his flight had touched down at JFK. Now he sat on a
filthy bench in a litter-strewn park named after Sara D. Roosevelt, whoever she
was. On the far side of the chain-link fence, across Forsythe Street, stretched
a row of dilapidated houses, worse than in the poorest sections of the Arab
Quarter in Jerusalem, except for the brightly colored and well kept building on
the corner,
the only clean structure on the
block. Kesev had found it especially interesting because of the six-pointed
star of David in the circular window near the top of its front gable. He'd
thought it a temple at first, but had been confused by the inscription over the
entrance: Templo Adventista del Septimo.

But much closer
at hand--directly in front of him--was a hoarse-voiced street preacher.
Lacking
anything better to do, Kesev listened to his rant.

"Forget
not what St. Paul said to the Thessalonians: 'The Day of the Lord so comes as a
thief in the night.' The End Times are soon upon us. First there will come the
Rapture, then the Tribulation, and then the Son of God will come again. But
only those who believe, only those who are saved will be caught up in the
Rapture and spared the Tribulation. As Paul said to his church: 'But you,
brothers, are not in darkness that that day will overcome you like a thief . .
. For God has not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain deliverance by our Lord
Jesus Christ!' Heed those words. Repent, believe, be not caught
unprepared!"

"Amen,
brothers!" cried his helper or disciple or whatever one might call the
little man who followed him around like a puppy. "Amen! Preacher should
know! Preacher was blind and now he can see! He sees
everything*"

"First
will come war--beware the false peace that surrounds us, for it exists but to
lull us into laxity. Then will come plague and famine, followed by worldwide
starvation. There will be a great shaking of the earth, the skies will darken,
the seas will die, the River Jordan shall run red."

What nonsense
is this? Kesev thought irritably. While I suffer the frustration of my
fruitless search for the Mother, must I also suffer the words of fools and
madmen? If he doesn't shut up I will wring his neck. And that of his prancing
disciple as well.

Weeks here and
no luck. Roaming these mean, sinister streets at night, hearing of the
apparition, rushing to its reported location, always too late to see it. The
frustration
was making him ill tempered,
building to a murderous rage. If something didn't break soon . . .

She must be
aware that I am here. Why is she toying with me?

"You have
four years, brothers and sisters," Preacher said. "Four years to
repent and take Jesus as your Lord. For the year 2000 is soon upon us. And what
more appropriate time than the end of the second millennium for the End Times?
The setting of the second millennium will be followed by the dawn of the Second
Coming of the Lord!"