"A question from the audience," said Miss Roc expectantly. She rushed up the aisle. "Yes, what is your name?"
"I'm Anna Snella from Clarinda, Iowa."
"Welcome to the big city, Anna. What's your question?"
"I got this terrible wart between my knuckles right here. I can't even make a fist. Could you fix it for me?"
"Come right this way," said Miss Roc, pulling her from the bleachers and onto the stage. Anna was stretching out her hand and Donald took hold of it as soon as it was in reach.
"Thank you so much," she said as she pulled her hand away. Miss Roc grabbed her wrist.
"Oh my God," she said. Anna's hand was fine. The big hideous growth that she had seen with her own eyes had instantly disappeared. Could this be another trick? Regardless, she was not going to be thrown off her game.
She raised the hand over both their heads. "Reverend Tidings, how do you explain this?"
"It could just be a magician's trick, but even if it's not, remember that Satan brings sickness to the body, and Satan can cast it out." The Reverend was ready for anything. Divine light could burst through the ceiling and he would still have an explanation ready. His programming had completely adapted to this new factor.
A light bulb appeared over Mis Roc's head. "So this could be the Antichrist?"
"I suppose," said the Reverend, pleased by the question, "but I don't think he's important enough."
The Bishop was sitting back in his chair, hoping that his previous response had been sufficiently boring to excuse him from answering any more questions. All he could see in that chair was Christ, the Christ he had been gazing at all his life, Christ made flesh. It was all he could do to hide the joy and sorrow that simultaneously flooded his body. He now had the outward manifestation of this flood reduced to a single string of tears on his left cheek. Only a close-up shot would pick that up, and it could be attributed to anything, something in his eye.
"Could this be the Antichrist, Bishop Salacci?"
Damn. "Clearly His intentions are good. Must we demonize someone just because He doesn't fit into our world view?" His voice was shaking. They would use a close-up shot, he just knew it. The shaky voice, the tear on his cheek, would be projected to the whole nation.
Miss Roc smelled something and advanced on the bishop, "So maybe this is Jesus Christ?"
Silence.
"Bishop," continued Mis Roc, "Is this Jesus Christ?"
Three times she had asked him. Peter had denied Jesus three times. Saint Peter, the rock of his Church, the first Pope. The first Vatican was a man, an individual man who made mistakes and learned from them. Bishop Salacci would learn, too.
"I'd like to speak to Him in private," he said. "I'd like to listen."
"So he could be Jesus?"
"Yes," he said. One simple, glorious word, appearing like a stamp on his soul, clearing his debts and balancing his accounts.
"Well, I'll see what I can arrange, Bishop. Let's get some more questions from the audience." Miss Roc directed Anna to her seat and faced the audience like it was a beacon of hope. A little more name recognition and she could get a movie deal. This show could be the final push.
Object: sister