American

Messiah

BY

James A. Hall
 Part I

Chapter One

Queens, New York

May 14, 2012

When Valora stepped from the plane’s tubular loading bridge,

she eyed a unit of commandos up at the far end. Passengers up
ahead were holding their mouths in horror. The soldiers cautioned
her not to look, but it only fueled her curiosity. As she passed, she
saw a sprawled body draped in a white sheet, a circle of blood
widening.
Rapidly she made her way through terminal B, pass the
passenger checkpoint and into the nearly impenetrable crowd.
Her roller bag acted like an anchor dragging across the ocean
floor and slowing her course through the sea of bodies. Bracing
herself, she moved through the human mass like a tiny icebreaker.
At 5’5”, she couldn’t see beyond the manacle of compressed
frames. If she was going to find a way through, she needed to
climb to higher ground.
Valora had flowered from an awkward gangly girl into a
beautiful young woman. Her eyes the color of a lazy autumn
afternoon, her skin caramel brown, and her smile pure sunshine,
her demure facade contrasted sharply with her fiery spirit and
passion for life.
She was nineteen, but appeared even younger. Her petite but
sturdy frame was clad in faded jeans, a white tee shirt, and a sage-
colored Air Force jacket. A white gold necklace adorned her
slender neck.
She tried to screen out the disconcerting chatter and the cries
of unfed babies. The loud voice overhead made no mention of
shuttle buses or transports into the city. Valora slipped her cell
from her pocket, flipped the lid back with a quick motion of her
hand, checked for a dial tone, and then shoved it back into her jean
pocket.
Following the crowd, she made her way to the front entrance.
As she stepped through the glass doors of the central terminal
building, she was greeted by a blast of hot air. “From the frying
pan into the fire,” she thought. Eyeing the chaos out front, her
prospects for getting into the city vanished like the cool air she’d
left behind. Seeing a red cap baggage handler standing with his
back to her, she tapped his shoulder. He didn’t respond, his eyes
were fixed on something far off. She gently clutched his arm. He
spun sharply, his eyes piercing and his eyebrows kneaded in
irritation.
“What is it?” snapped the hulking figure.
“I just flew in from the West Coast and I’m trying to reach
Manhattan.”
“You were lucky to make it this far. These poor souls aren’t
going anywhere. The airport is about to announce a complete
shutdown, then all hell is gonna break loose.” Then he abruptly
turned away. A second tap caused the large man’s face to knot and
his eyes to roll.
“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear,” Valora stated. “I have to
get into Manhattan! Now, the sooner you help me, the sooner I’m
out of your hair.”
“Like everyone else, the best way that you can, young lady.”
The man chuckled, his belly giggling like Jell-O during an
earthquake. Valora’s face remained calm, yet resolute.
“Here’s the picture,” the man said, his tone grim. “The shuttle
bus was suspended days ago, the rental companies have closed
their doors, and the public bus is out of the question. Unless you
got a car, there are only two ways in or out of the city. You can
walk, but I wouldn’t advise that, things being the way they are, or
you can grab a taxi.”
“However, let me warn you. The going rate for a taxi into the
city is anywhere between five hundred and one thousand dollars,
depending on where it is in the city you’re headed. But if you’re
short on cash, some of them will take jewelry or other valuables.
How much money do you have?” Valora left the question
unanswered.
“Thanks for the help,” she said. Then she pivoted and weaved
her way through the swarm of would-be travelers occupying the
drop-off zone. One of the paramedics directed her to the far end of
a long, curled loading strip. After a short walk, knapsack strapped
on and toting her suitcase, Valora arrived at a stream of yellow
cabs. “How much do you charge to the city?” she asked the first
cabbie that she came to.
“Eight-hundred dollar,” he replied in a Middle Eastern accent,
without bothering to look up from his overseas newspaper. Valora
pressed on. The next driver was out of the cab before she could say
a word, snatching her suitcase and flinging it into the trunk.
“How much?” Valora asked.
“Not much, only six-hundred dollars. The others are thieves.
Mohammed’s rate, on the other hand, is most fair.”
“I’ve go about three hundred, which is more than fair,” Valora
stated, standing firm. The cabby grumbled something in his native
perhaps Pakistani or East Indian tongue. His face registered mild
disappointment as he started to turn away. She delayed him by
gently seizing his lower arm.
 “I don’t have that kind of cash on me. But, I have a ring that’s
very valuable.” The driver froze, and then quickly retraced his
steps. He plucked the ring from her outstretched palm. Like a
master jeweler, holding the ring up, he appraised the gold band,
inlaid with tiny rubies and diamonds. After chomping down on the
ring, a gluttonous smile flashed on his sand colored face.
An hour passed before the driver managed to pack his cab
with human cargo. The cab’s back seat held three passengers with
a fourth occupying the seat alongside the driver. Satisfied with his
haul, the driver instructed his passengers to buckle up as he lurched
into traffic, following a stream of vehicles exiting LaGuardia.

Chapter Two

The eastbound lane of the Grand Central Parkway wasn’t half

as bad as the traffic headed in the opposite direction. The exodus
brought to mind rats deserting a sinking ship. “Everyone’s fleeing
the Big Apple,” the driver said letting loose a high pitched and
nasal snicker that was beginning to grate on her nerves, like
fingernails sliding down a blackboard. Valora’s only consolation
was the thought that he’d get his in the end. Greasy, foul mouthed,
avaricious cads like him always do, she thought.
Valora tried to ignore the cabby’s smugness by gazing out the
window at the traffic on the Long Island Expressway, which was
thick as flies on a discarded candy apple in summer. They dredged
along bumper to bumper for the better part of two hours. No one
spoke until Mohammed broke the silence.
“You see, this is why Mohammed charges his rates. First, I
must sit in this blasted traffic for hours, and then I must scrounge
up petrol before fighting my way back to the airport.”
Valora couldn’t let it go. “Gee Mohammed, I wonder if the
Taxi and Limousine Commission would be interested in learning
of your troubles. Maybe I’ll give them a call.”
“Be my guest. Oh, I forgot. You haven’t heard—the city is
shut down, owner gone mad.” The annoying snicker returned with
all the appeal of a root canal. “But, thanks for the offer,” he
replied. Up ahead was the mouth of the Midtown Tunnel. It was
crawling with security. The National Guard and the NYPD were
out in full force. A cold chill swept over Valora.
 Points of entry into the city were being closely screened since
the first truck bombs demolished parts of lower Wall Street, just
shy of the Stock Exchange, and another exploded in front of the
Empire State Building during morning rush hour.
A soldier, protected by a bulky black suit of body armor,
usually reserved for the bomb squad, cautiously approached the
cab. Valora smiled as the soldier reminded her of Timothy, the
turtle, a gift from her father when she was five. The pimples on the
soldier’s face and the peach fuzz carpeting his broad chin, avowed
his tender age.
“What’s your business in the city?” the soldier asked coldly.
Valora noticed for the first time a second soldier approaching from
the passenger side, his lethal Heckler and Koch HK MP-5
submachine gun slung around his neck. The cabby stated his
business coolly, thumbing back to his well-dressed fares.
“Let me see you driver’s license,” demanded the soldier.
Mohammed had anticipated the soldier’s request, and quickly
retrieved the document from the cab’s visor. After scanning the
passengers, the soldier tossed the cabby his license, and waved
them through.
The tunnel was their longest stretch of uninterrupted driving
since leaving the airport. The exhaust fumes forced Valora to
shorten her breaths. The dimness momentarily blinded her as the
blaring car engines battered her eardrums. As they sped along, the
speckle of light ahead gradually broadened into the greatest city in
the world. At the sight of the city, she felt a surge of emotion. It
was just as she remembered it except it seemed less hectic.
With rush hour approaching, 34th Street should have been
bustling. The thinned herds of tight-faced New Yorkers continued
to display the total indifference for which they were famous.
However, there was a hint of despair in their eyes that wasn’t there
before she left for Berkley College.
The cabby announced their arrival. “Alright, we’re here,
everybody out.” Before Valora could shake the stiffness from her
legs, the driver had unloaded the luggage from the trunk and
dumped it onto the sidewalk. Without giving his fares a second
look, the little man jumped back behind the wheel and threw the
cab in gear.
“Wait a minute,” Valora cried out, appearing beside him. “I
need to get uptown.”
 Not bothering to roll down the window, the cabby barked out,
“No way!”, wagging his finger in the air like it was a wiper blade,
“that was not part of the bargain. I distinctly said midtown
Manhattan. You agreed. A deal is a deal. Besides, I don’t go
anywhere near those people. They are…” he stopped ranting,
appearing to have remembered to whom he was speaking.
“Hold on, I think I know your price.” Valora slid an antique
Egyptian cartouche from around her neck and dangled it in front of
the greedy little man.
The cabby lowered the window, snatched the necklace, and
looked it over. “Okay, but I’m only going as far as 110th Street and
Fifth. I won’t venture into that place no matter the price. I have
heard the stories.” As Central Park was also closed to traffic, the
cabby took Park Avenue. In less than a half hour, he pulled the cab
over to the curb and came to a screeching halt.
This time he didn’t bother to leave the cab as Valora had
thrown her bags beside her in the back. Valora watched as the
driver hung a sharp U-turn, leaving a black arc in the center of the
street and a trail of white smoke as he raced off.
Out on the street, there wasn’t a cab or bus in sight so she
started east, on foot, to Seventh Avenue. From there, it was about
twenty blocks to the Strivers Row section of Harlem. Harlem, too,
was deserted, but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
The closer she got to home, the more she reflected on the last
conversation she’d had with her mother. Her mother’s voice had
sounded hurried and strained. The closer she got to home, the more
she sensed that something was dreadfully wrong.
Rushing up the steps and into the lavish brownstone, Valora
found her mother bent over the sink. Running water threatened to
spill over on to the floor, as Olivia stood listless, staring into space.
Not even her daughter’s sudden appearance could arouse her from
her dazed state.
Valora, taken aback by her mother’s condition, let her pack
drop and raced to her mother’s side. Finding her alone and under
such circumstances could only mean one thing, Valora thought.
Something had happened to her father. Throwing her arms around
her mother, she whispered into her ear.
”Mother, what’s wrong? Where’s daddy?”
Olivia wailed mournfully and slumped toward the floor,
appearing to give way to the heavy torment of her worst fears.
Valora strained to get her to the kitchen table. With no better
solution, Valora searched the cupboard for some of her mother’s
special sassafras blend. After serving her mother a cup of herbal
tea, Valora tried to draw from her mother the circumstance
surrounding her father’s disappearance.
“If there was nothing wrong, he would have called. Well,
wouldn’t he?” Olivia asked, cup trembling in her hands. “I’ve
talked to everyone that we know, but no one has seen or heard
from him. His office has been calling. They haven’t seen him in
days.”
“He had been spending a lot of time at the Schomburg library,
even more than usual. But, when I finally got through to the main
desk, they said their doors have been closed for weeks. He has
never lied to me, not ever,” she proclaimed proudly, yet with a
sound of finality. “Something awful must have happened.” She
continued to voice her fears as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
Valora, tissue in hand, slid close enough to wipe away her mother’s
tears.
Valora could not help but notice that her mother looked older
than she remembered. The dark circles around her eyes were
telltale signs that she had not slept in days.
“Daddy will be coming through the door any minute now,
you’ll see,” Valora said, flashing a cardboard smile. Olivia
continued to stare at her own fidgeting hands, muttering to herself.
Later that night, after getting her mother to close her eyes,
Valora finally flopped down on the oversized sofa in the living
room and sifted through the specifics of her father’s vanishing. She
tossed and tumbled the loose details of her father’s sudden
departure around in her head for hours. Still, nothing.
Valora craved a tall Chardonnay, but decided on a cup of tea
instead. After a visit to the kitchen, Valora set off for the den in
search of a trail that might lead her out of the thick, tangled jungle
of dead ends. Then, suddenly, it came to her. If he’d left a clue in
the house, it would be on his PC.
As she skimmed his document folders, one file entitled,
“Letter to Valora” stood out from the others. That had to be it.
Opening the file, her father’s heartfelt words spilled out across the
electronic pages.

My Dearest Valora:
 If you are reading this letter, it means that my worst
suspicions and fears have been realized. From this
day forth, you must face the fact that the nation, as it
once was, has vanished like a mirage. Keep in mind
in the coming months that everything that I did, I did
for the two of you.
I tried to raise you to be a realist, but you were
always a dreamer. Good thing too. The world will
need dreamers and idealists more than ever. The
world that you envisioned is now within your grasp.
You must take the remnants of the old world and help
to construct a better world on top of the ruins of the
old.

From this moment on you must learn to trust your

instincts. When the rioting starts, that will be the
sign. Go into my closet and remove the back
floorboards beneath the carpet. There you will find a
safe. The combination is the same as your locker
combination when you were a senior at Thurgood
Marshall High. Inside you will find two keys. One
will open the front door of the Schomburg. Once
inside, head downstairs to the basement storage area.
The second key will unlock your new home.

I want to believe that I have thought of everything.

But I know that I haven’t. I wanted so much to be
with the both of you, but I am called to another fate.
If we are to survive what I think is coming, we are
going to have to organize and start preparing for the
aftermath. Take care of your mother for me. She is
not as strong as you may think and she is going to
need you now more than ever. Tell her nothing of this
letter because it would only cause her more worry. It
is better for her to think me dead.

You will always and forever live in my heart. Not a

day will go by when I won’t curse providence for
blessing me with the both of you and then taking you
 away. It seems the cruelest of all hoaxes. Yet, all my
hopes and dreams will spring forth from the winter of
my discontent and find rebirth in the warmth of the
June sun. Fear not, my daughter, God is with you
always, and He will be all the strength that you will
ever need.

Until we are together again,

Daddy

It seemed that her father had seen the dark, storm clouds
gathering far off on the future horizon long before most. He’d been
downloading articles from the electronic newspapers, as well as,
military and survivalist data from a large cross section of sites.
But, that wasn’t anything new. He researched countless topics. He
had a passion for knowledge.
In addition, he was an avid chess player, honing his skill in
the city’s parks. Through the game of chess, he taught Valora the
fundamentals of military science and the art of war. He taught her
to plan her moves far in advance and to use each piece in
combination with the strengths and weaknesses of the other pieces.
Her father was fond of saying that the seeds of both victory
and defeat lay in every move. Even a retreating move should
compel one toward victory and not simply delay one’s defeat.
As she grew older, the two of them poured over the
campaigns of Napoleon, Lee and Hannibal and discussed the
tactical philosophies of Shaka, Sun Tzu, and Machiavelli, the way
most families discussed box scores.
Hours seemed like minutes as she sat alone, allowing her
father’s grave message to burrow in. Valora could feel her father’s
pain in his every word. She wondered what could coax him away
from his family.
Having foreknowledge of the coming fate of the world must
have forced him to die a thousand deaths, she thought.
Valora took another sip of tea, sat the mug down, and curled
up in the recliner. Fully relaxed, she stared at the family photos
adorned throughout the den. The resonating warmth of the tea
mixed with memories of happier times brought a smile to her face.
 As her father had forewarned, the coming days saw the start
of widespread bank failures sending out shock waves across the
globe from ground zero, New York City.
Night after night she sat watching her country coming apart
on MSNBC. Meanwhile, Olivia slipped deeper into darkness.
Valor knew that whatever she was going to do, she had to do it
soon. Their window of opportunity was quickly closing. She was
certain that she could get them to the underground refuge, but what
then? With no better plan, she decided to go for it.

Chapter Three

The next morning Valora packed judiciously, deciding on two

lightweight duffle bags. Then, she dressed her mother and waited
inside the foyer for the half-light of early morning. At the first sign
of a blue-gray sky through the smoked glass doors, she composed
herself, grabbed Olivia by the hand and started out.
She feared the night and all of its veiled mysteries. But, the
new day offered hope.
Pausing at the top of the steps, Valora glanced up and down
the street. With the coast clear, they hurried down the stairs and up
the street. Walking so close together, in the dimness, the two
appeared as one.
Two black youths in their late teens called out to them,
mistaking them for one of their own. Valora shot them a hand sign,
one she had often seen them use. Ironically enough, it was a peace
sign flipped upside down. While they didn’t appear totally
convinced, they made no move to intercept them. Without looking
back, Valora hasten to the end of the street and headed south for
another three blocks.
Even before they reached the Schomburg, she could tell
that the building had been ransacked. Most likely by local gangs,
she reasoned. The security gates had been ripped from their tracks.
The glass doors and huge plate glass windows were shattered,
beads of glass littering the sidewalk. Once inside, she paused,
allowing her to rest her load.
Valora scanned the jumbled room for hidden dangers and
queried the silence for the slightest sound. Her heartbeat quickened
and a single bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as they
inched forward, arm in arm, into the spacious gallery. Except for a
partly damaged, overturned lectern, the room was bare.
The wires from track light fixtures reached down from the
ceiling like scrawny fingers threatening to snatch them up. Moving
more cautiously now, with her mother in tow, Valora crossed
through gallery into the reading room. She had accompanied her
father to the museum/library many times. As a result, she found her
way to the stairs leading down to the storage room with ease.
Grabbing a flashlight from her bag, she stood at the top of the
stairs peering down. There, at the foot of the steps stood a blue-
gray door. Following the weak beam, they crept down. Valora
began rummaging through her pockets for the key.
The sound of crushed glass above made her pause. Muttered
voices seeped down to where they were standing. She knew,
instinctively, that it was the street thugs. As her search for the key
grew frantic, she was forced to sit the flashlight down. They had
recognized their missed opportunity and were out to atone for their
blunder, she thought. Maybe she left it behind. Her heart raced as
death tiptoed closer.
Olivia, propped against the wall, was oblivious to the menace
lurking above. The collapsing shadows on the wall were like
sinking sands in an hourglass. Body trembling, she felt the key
wedged in the corner of her jean pocket. Retrieving it, she
promptly snapped up the flashlight.
But as she did, the beam vanished. She shook the flashlight
several times, but it was no use. The batteries were dead. She could
have kicked herself for not checking them. With time running out,
she used her mind’s eye to locate the keyhole. Carefully, she
plunged the key into the lock and turned. Falling tumblers and
revolving cogs sounded like sweet music. With a vigorous tug on
the handle, the door flew open.
With the sound of the footstep growing louder, she hauled her
mother to her feet. Seconds ahead of their pursuers, Valora jerked
her mother forward into the pitch black and slammed the door shut.

Chapter Four
 In the dark void, there was only the pounding of her heartbeat,
and the feel of a Death-Valley-like dryness against her face. Valora
soon spotted a flashing red light on what she took for an electrical
panel. After lowering Olivia gently to the floor, Valora ventured
across the stretch of unknown. Cautiously, she inched forward, her
arms outstretched, her steps probing the divide. After reaching the
beacon, she felt around on the face of the panel for an on switch.
Valora pressed the switch and the florescent lights overhead
staggered on, randomly. The room was slowly taking shape
through Valora’s squinted eyes. Mouth agape, she wandered
throughout, growing increasingly astonished as she went.
The museum storage rooms had been overhauled into a small
maze of rooms separated by partitions. Right off she saw her
father’s meticulous nature and his disciplined mind in the modular
floor plan. Though practical, the living quarters did not want for
comfort.
The smallest of the four spaces comprised twin beds. The
other three areas, equally modest, included a kitchen, a living area
and a workstation. Each section was well designed and outfitted
with the best equipment that money could buy. Down a long
narrow causeway and behind a formidable door sat twin
generators. Valora found the deep drone from the generators
strangely soothing and in the days ahead would spend hours there
reading.
Just beyond the generators was another door. Behind it were a
giant fridge and a sub-zero walk-in freezer stocked with enough
food to feed an army. The last stop on the tour was a door with the
word ‘Caution’ stenciled overhead, a skull and crossbones
hammering home the message. Valora decided that finding out
what was behind the last door could wait.
Over the first few days, Valora spent countless hours surfing
the Net. Using a back door that she and some friends had installed
in one of Berkley’s mainframes, she crisscrossed the globe using
satellite uplinks. With most commercial sites abandoned, pirated
sites and government-sponsored sites were her windows to the
world. The fact that they gave such conflicting reports was a
source of amusement. Painstakingly, she pieced the information
together into a plausible account.
Official sites provided daily updates, mostly scripted stuff. But
something was better than nothing. Each morning she monitored
emergency broadcast by the Federal Emergency Management
Agency sites where they warned residents to stay indoors while
giving the locations of staging areas for evacuations, and
emergency services. Valora interpreted the message to mean,
venture forth at your own peril.

Chapter Five

September 2, 1012

Valora propped her mother up with pillows, and tenderly

brushed her hair. For the first time, she noticed shimmering strands
of silver interlaced with her long, sable tresses. However, most of
the time, she sat by her side reading from bound copies of
Shakespeare, Hemmingway, Hughes, or Morrison, some of her
mother’s most treasured storytellers. She had hoped her mother’s
beloved prose would stir her from her perpetual slumber.
For the next six months, Valora was entombed with a
computer for a companion and a mummy for a mother. The walls
and ceiling seemed to close in around her. The sound of her own
voice taunted her to tears. She needed someone to talk to or she
would surely go mad.
One moonlit February night, while checking topside through
the surveillance cameras, she sat watching the falling snow, her
vision obscured by the puddles of tears. For hours she sat clutching
a box of Kleenex, and staring at the glowing flakes wafting to the
ground like tiny feathers.
The luminous white boulevard ferried her back to her
childhood and the nights in her bedroom window watching the city
being magically transformed from its customary dirt and grime to a
winter wonderland. From where she sat, the whole world appeared
peaceful and serene. Universal perfection held evident in a single
snowflake, God’s existence verified in the beauty of a frozen
moment.
At first Valora thought that she was imagining the sound of her
mother’s voice, as the past was sometimes mistaken for the
present. When she heard it a second time, Valora jumped to her
feet, sending the chair flying. Entering the bedroom, Valora was
shocked to find her mother awake and sitting up.
“This doesn’t look like the Pearly Gates,” Olivia quipped.
Olivia, while withered to a reed, sounded like her old self. The real
clue was in the sharpness of her stare, which had been dull and
lifeless like that of a person caught in a never-ending daydream.
Valora, all vigor drained from her body, wrapped her arms
around her mother’s neck and began to weep. Valora’s body
heaved as she wept wildly. “Everything is going to be fine,”
whispered Olivia.
It would be days before Olivia could walk. Though Valora
was relieved to have her mother back, the months still crawled
along like molasses in winter. In their captivity, time stood still.
Each day was identical to the next, without distinction or variation.
Olivia was beginning to notice a growing uneasiness in her
daughter. The seclusion was beginning take its toll on her restive
spirit. Valora was fidgety and introverted, retreating into herself.
When she wasn’t sleeping, she was staring at the screen’s portrait
of the empty streets above.
After lounging around for weeks, suddenly, Valora was a burst
of activity. She scoured the net around the clock, for what, she
wouldn’t say. But, the assiduous look in her eyes was a dead
giveaway. Since Valora was a child, she had been headstrong and
unrelenting. When Valora set out to do something, it was useless to
try to stop her. One would have better luck trying to wrench a hunk
of meat from the fastened muzzle of a junkyard dog.
With all but the government super mainframe computers shut
down, Valora had to piggyback her way through satellite
transmissions to European web links. The sites told of the forced
evacuation of hundreds of thousands of Americans to parts
unknown. They speculated that citizens were being rounded up and
placed in forced labor camps in Maryland and Virginia. The sites
further told of thousands more falling prey to marauding bands of
criminals and psychopaths.
From the reports, she learned that the city she loved had
become a ghost town. Only the most disparate or insane remained
behind. Shortages of everything had forced millions to migrate to
the countryside. With Washington helpless to reverse the mounting
chaos, total collapse appeared unavoidable
 Convinced that she had extracted everything that she could,
Valora hesitantly broached her mother with the scheme for
checking out of their subterranean hotel.
Olivia was reading in the living area when Valora came and
sat down beside her. “Mother, if we stay here we are going to die,
if I don’t lose my mind beforehand.” Olivia, placing her book
down in her lap and removing her reading glasses, peered over at
her daughter.
“Baby, I understand how hard it’s been on you with me sick
and all. You could always talk to me in the past, about anything.
The world may have up and gone mad, but we haven’t, so speak
your mind, child.”
Valora, her face solemn, began. “The walls are closing end on
me, Mother. Daddy provided us with what he thought we needed to
survive. But, life is more than surviving; waiting for the day
someone knocks on the door and says it’s safe to come out.
Mother, it may be risky, but we have to try and make it to the
countryside. Now, I have spent countless hours going over—”
Olivia stopped her in mid-sentence. “Honey, I didn’t tell you
this, but during my illness, I was in a deep, dark place with no way
out. The darkness held me its prisoner. Then a small child appeared
holding single candle, which seemed to glow brighter than any
light I’d ever seen, yet gentle as a sunset. I followed the child and
he led me back to you. I believe that it’s a good omen. Let’s do it.”