faster than he, racing down after him in a tunnel of white light.
It was Jeza. Jeza unlike he'd ever seen Her. Even more godly, if possible, than before. Transformed. Transfigured. Her skin shining like burnished gold. Her robes flowing outward in tongues of flame. Her hair as black as pitch smoke, sweeping freely, gracefully away in endless plumes.
She swooped down and soared above him, gliding in, hovering, maneuvering close. She was scant inches away now, staring far into his soul once again.
Ever so slowly, a smile began to form on her exquisite face. Softly, sweetly. It was satiating. Divine. Gazing up at her in enraptured fascination, Feldman was drawn once more into that demanding, honest, sapphirine clarity.
To a place where the origin of all mysteries resided. To a place where his amorphous conflicts and confusions could no longer elude him. He comprehended now the intense, disruptive, deeply moving emotions he'd been feeling toward this incredible being. Those unfamiliar, unexplored stirrings She had awakened within him.
They came from the
And clearly now, he also understood that the great affection he held for Anke sprang from the
The balanced equation.
No longer were his passions interknotted and chaotic. At long last, he was at peace with himself.
Softly, the Messiah whispered,
His as well.
He wasn't fearful. He had grasped the fuller meaning of her words: to unleash the greatest potential of life, you must first overcome the constraining fear of death. An awareness that set a brilliant wave of energy coursing through his mind. A New Light that illuminated his way.
Although he could accept his fate, there was still one truly large regret he would carry with him. If only he could have seen Anke once more. To tell her what he knew now. To hold her in his arms one last time before letting her go forever.
Feldman could sense the ground hurtling imminently toward him. He shut his eyes, waiting, but there was no impact. Just the continuing, rhythmic whoosh of rushing air. Cautiously, he hazarded a squint.
He found himself lying in a hospital bed. In a quiet, private room, filled to capacity with floral baskets and bouquets and well-wishes. At the foot of his bed, asleep in a chair, slouched a snoring Hunter, the source of the whooshing.
Outside, the sun was either just rising or setting, Feldman couldn't be sure. In a corner of the ceiling across his room, a WNN newscast was in progress on a suspended TV, its volume muted.
Feldman felt disoriented and, at the same time, amazingly lucid. Attempting to sit up, he was surprised to find an arm in a cast and his chest and ankle heavily wrapped. However, surprisingly, he wasn't in much pain.
He fumbled for the bed control, pushing a button to elevate his head and shoulders to a more upright position. Blinking his eyes, Feldman wondered what he was doing here. Or, more specifically, why he was still alive.
Thirsty, he whispered in a weak, cracking voice, a little hesitant to awaken his sleeping friend, “Hey, Breck? Could I have some water, please?”
Hunter snorted and looked up with a bleary, muddled expression. “Huh? Yeah, sure, man, hold on.” His eyes suddenly snapped wide, his jaw dropped and his face lit up. “Jon, my God, you're back!”
Feldman smiled and the cameraman wrapped him up in his big, lanky arms. It hurt.
Seeming to recognize this, Hunter controlled himself better. “Thank God!” he cried. “We didn't know if you were ever gonna wake up! This is incredible! Just incredible! I gotta call the others!”
“Breck, wait,” Feldman stopped him. “First, you've got to tell me what happened!”
Hunter pulled back, his face flushed with emotion, his eyes watery, and he poured Feldman a shaky glass of water. “Yeah, right. Sure, sure. Well, uh, do you remember anything?”
“The last thing I remember was Goene smashing me in the face and kicking me out the helicopter. And then I sort of had this vision of Jeza coming to say good-bye to me.”
“A little prematurely.” Hunter grinned.
“So how come I'm not dead?”
Hunter shook his head. “Jon, you fell square onto one of those Bedouin tents. It cushioned you like a giant airbag. Broke your fall and saved your life. You busted some bones and got a concussion-from Goene's sucker punch or from the fall, or both. Either way, you've been unconscious. No one could say if you'd ever come out of it. I mean, the entire world is outside your window, prayin’ for you!”
Hunter walked over to the drapes and pulled them aside briefly. The sun was a trifle higher on the horizon now, so it was dawn. Despite the hour, the entire landscape beyond was filled with people. Many were slumbering on blankets and in sleeping bags in the open air, or in tents. But many were awake and holding quiet vigil with lighted candles in the diminishing shadows. They reacted with excitement to Hunter's fleeting presence at the window.
Across the room, the silent TV displayed a video of thousands of millenarians packing up and heading out of Jerusalem. A wider shot showed steady streams of them merging into vast caravans snaking their way along the roads out of the Holy City. Israeli soldiers were smiling to the cameras as they directed traffic. Nearby, groups of celebrating Arab women were shown laughing, waving their veils above their heads in liberation. A headline font on the screen read, “Holy Land Returning to Normal.”
“How long have I been out?” Feldman asked.
“Five days,” Hunter informed him.
On the TV, a scene of celebration at Times Square looked as if the Yankees had just won the World Series. A huge bonfire roared in the middle of an enormous crowd. Under a sign bearing the initials “NRA,” bucket brigades of cheering people fed an unending supply of empty rifles and pistols, knives and assorted weaponry into the blaze. A headline banner on the screen read: “National Rifle Association Changes Name to National Resistance to Arms.”
“Five days?” Feldman was amazed.
“Yeah, we've been taking turns watching over you.”
“We?”
“Me, Cissy, Alphonse and Anke. I had the morning shift today.”
“Anke? Anke was here!” Any pain Feldman had been experiencing was gone.
“She's still here,” Hunter explained. “She's been here since about three o'clock Monday morning. Came as soon as she heard the news. She and Cissy are in a room down the hall now gettin’ some sleep. They're wasted.”
“I’ve got to see her!” Feldman insisted. “Just as soon as she wakes, okay? It's very important!”
“No problem, man, she's certainly gonna want to see you. But how about I get the doctor now?”
“Wait a minute!” Feldman stopped him. “First tell me what happened with Goene and Tamin.”
Hunter sighed and sat back in his chair, shaking his head soberly, looking off into space. “Tamin is in an Israeli prison awaiting trial. Goene is dead.”
Noticing Hunter's unusually somber expression, Feldman nodded slowly, a tightening in his throat. Tentatively, he asked, “And how did he die?”
The pilot shot him. Saved my life…”
Relieved, Feldman started to pursue the issue further but noticed Hunter's strange, disturbed expression, and thought better of it.
There was a report on the TV of a priest being interviewed by a news correspondent in front of a moving van. Across the screen a headline read: “More Church Closings.” The video cut away to show people packing boxes in the sacristy and moving out furniture. The segment ended with the pastor locking the front door of the church.
At that moment, Alphonse Litti, breezing into the room to relieve Hunter, drew up short in joyous surprise. He was beside himself, grabbing Feldman and hugging him repeatedly and excitedly.
