The Sparrow

evanescent, that God alone endures. And yet he knew that Anne would find such an answer to her unanswerable question inadequate and unsatisfying. Why? she would ask. Why does it have to be that way?

In the brief hours before the first of the Rakhati dawns, as Marc kept vigil with Alan's body, he watched Jimmy Quinn moving quietly from tent to tent, listening, agreeing, finding common ground and relaying messages. There had been times, Marc knew, when each of the mission members had thought privately that Alan Pace might cause trouble, but none of them had anticipated that it would come about like this or that Anne of all people would drive a wedge into the group.

Finally, with the night noises quieting and the orange sun's chorus tuning up, Jimmy came across the clearing toward Marc. 'Blessed are the peacemakers,' Marc said quietly. 'Has the diplomacy gone well?'

Jimmy stared toward what they called east because that's where daybreak began, and ticked off the summaries with his fingers. 'George thinks it's D.W.'s fault for pushing Anne past her limits. Anne is ashamed of herself for blowing up and says it was twenty years of frustration coming to a head. D.W. understands that and wishes he'd waited until Anne was rested up. Emilio also understands about Anne but he's afraid your feelings were hurt. Sofia says not even Job got an answer to Anne's question and Job got to ask God to His face.'

Unexpectedly, Marc smiled. The orange sunlight filtered through the eastern edge of the forest and reached his silvering hair, restoring to it the golden tint of his youth. He had been a spectacularly beautiful child and even in middle age, the lovely lines of his face softening, he could be a treasure to look at. 'Tell Father Yarbrough I should like to be the celebrant, please. And be sure that Dr. Edwards comes to Mass, oui?'

Jimmy waited to see if Marc had anything more to say but Robichaux turned away. The beads of an antique rosary began again to slip through his fingers in the gentle rhythm only Marc, and perhaps God, could hear.

There was a brief, tight discussion before the Requiem about whether they should bury Alan, cremate the corpse or take it back to the Stella Maris. The issue was whether or not the bacteria in his body would contaminate the local ecosystem. To Anne's considerable relief, she and Marc found themselves on the same side of the argument.

'The moment we stepped out of the lander, we affected this ecosystem,' Anne said, voice husky from crying. 'We have breathed and vomited and excreted and shed hair and skin cells. This planet has already been inoculated with whatever bacteria we're carrying.'

'Have no illusions,' Marc Robichaux added. 'Our presence is now a part of this planet's history.'

So a grave was dug and the yellow tarp's shrouded contents were carried to its edge. The Liturgy of Resurrection was begun, and when the time came, Marc spoke of Alan Pace and of the beauty of his music and the delight he had taken in hearing whole songs only a few weeks earlier.

'The voyage was not without reward for Alan,' Marc said. 'But we are left with Anne's question. Why would God bring him all this way, only to die now?' He paused and looked at Sofia before continuing. 'The Jewish sages tell us that the whole of the Torah, the entirety of the first five books of the Bible, is the name of God. With such a name, they ask, how much more is God? The Fathers of the Church tell us that God is Mystery and unknowable. God Himself, in Scripture, tells us, 'My ways are not your ways and My thoughts are not your thoughts. '

The noise of the forest was quieting now. Siesta was the rule in the heat of midday, when three suns' aggregate light drove many animals to shelter. They were all, priests and lay, tired and hot, and wanted Marc to finish. But Marc waited until Anne lifted her eyes to his. 'It is the human condition to ask questions like Anne's last night and to receive no plain answers,' he said. 'Perhaps this is because we can't understand the answers, because we are incapable of knowing God's ways and God's thoughts. We are, after all, only very clever tailless primates, doing the best we can, but limited. Perhaps we must all own up to being agnostic, unable to know the unknowable.'

Emilio's head came up and he looked at Marc, his face very still. Marc noted this and smiled, but continued. 'The Jewish sages also tell us that God dances when His children defeat Him in argument, when they stand on their feet and use their minds. So questions like Anne's are worth asking. To ask them is a very fine kind of human behavior. If we keep demanding that God yield up His answers, perhaps some day we will understand them. And then we will be something more than clever apes, and we shall dance with God.'

20 NAPLES: JUNE 2060

'Reyes, relax! We're in far less danger out here.'

'Far less is not the same as none,' Felipe Reyes told the Father General sourly. They were out of sight of land now and unlikely to run onto rocks, which Giuliani knew to be the real hazard while sailing in the bay, but Reyes was unconvinced. 'I was a lot happier when we could see the shoreline.'

Giuliani grinned into the sun, as they sailed close-hauled on a starboard tack. He'd put Reyes on the tiller, figuring that the man could control it using his upper arm and elbow. Usually he gave virgins the jib sheet and taught them how to keep the sail from luffing so he could take the tiller himself, but Reyes didn't have a secure enough grip to handle rope.

'This is the first day, including Sundays, in almost ten years that I haven't been in at least four meetings,' the Father General said. He was stripped to the waist, tanned and big-shouldered, in remarkable condition for a man of his age. Felipe Reyes, stocky and unathletic, kept his shirt on. 'It's getting so I always make a sincere Act of Contrition before I go into a meeting. Statistically, it's a good bet I'm going die during one. Prepare to come about.'

Reyes ducked far lower than necessary as the boom passed over his back. He had a vision, as vivid as anything Santa Teresa de Avila ever experienced, of being swept overboard and sinking like a stone.

'I'm sorry it has to come at Emilio's expense,' Giuliani continued, 'but I'm delighted by the chance to get out on the water.'

'You love this, don't you,' Reyes said, watching him.

'Oh, yes. Yes, I do. And I am, by God, going to take a year off when I'm eighty and sail around the world!' he declared. The wind was coming up and there was weather to port. 'Sailing is the perfect antidote for age, Reyes. Everything you do on a sailboat is done slowly and thoughtfully. Most of the time, an old body is entirely capable of doing whatever needs to be done while you're cruising. And if the sea is determined to teach you a lesson, well, a young back is no more capable than an old one of resisting an ocean, so experience counts more than ever. Coming about.'

They sailed on in silence for a while, passing and saluting a couple of men on a fishing boat. Reyes had lost track in all the jibes and tacks of which way they were going, but he had the impression that they might be circling the bay. There were a lot of fishermen out. Funny, for so late in the afternoon.

'I tried to get Sandoz to come out here with me yesterday. Thought he'd enjoy it. He looked at me like I was suggesting a suicide pact.'

'Probably scared to be out in a boat,' Felipe said, hoping it wasn't obvious that he was actually pretty frightened himself.

'But you guys are from an island! How can you be scared of the sea?'

You guys, Felipe noted. Plural. So much for not being obvious. 'Easy. Hurricanes and pollution. Toxic tides and sharks. Nothing like living on an island to convince you that land is the correct place to be.' Felipe looked out at the horizon and tried not to notice the storm clouds. 'I never learned to swim, myself. I doubt that Emilio ever did either. Too late now, in any case,' he said, holding up his prostheses.

'You won't need to swim, Reyes,' the Father General assured him. He was quiet for a while and then said casually, 'Tell me about Emilio. I knew him as a kid—he was one of my secundi during formation, you know. God's best beloved, we primi used to call him. Only a matter of time until he leads a revolt of angels…Had to be the best at everything, from Latin to baseball.' Sandoz had turned the joke around and grown a beard that made him look like Satan in a bad religious painting; it was a neat and soundless answer to the ribbing, now that Giuliani thought of it. 'And later, I knew him by reputation, as an academic. Brilliant in his field, I understand. What was he like, as a parish priest?'