“Thank you for the lift, Michel!” said Miriam to the pilot of the time scooter who had brought her to Paris from the Time Patrol main base. The young field agent smiled back to her while taking out her travel suitcase.
“It was a pleasure, Miriam. Good luck in Rome.”
Miriam backed away with her suitcase in the transit hall of the outpost, letting space for the time scooter to lift off again and jump spacetime, disappearing in a flash of white light. Extending the pulling handle of her travel suitcase, Miriam then walked out of the transit hall, towing her suitcase on its two small wheels. She was dressed in a contemporary, conservative style dress and shoes, in order to blend in with the people of the time. Before Miriam could walk out of the small outpost complex, she was intercepted by Anna Hauser, the duty field agent of the Time Patrol in Paris at this time.
The German woman actually ran to her and her concerned expression alarmed Miriam, so she stopped and faced her.
“Is something wrong, Anna?”
The German braked to a halt in front of her before answering Miriam with a question.
“Are you staying here in France or are you heading to another country, Miriam?”
“I was heading for Rome, as a matter of fact. What is it?”
Miriam’s answer seemed to make Anna more glum.
“A number of European countries have just broken diplomatic relations with the Holy Land of Palestine and with us, on the pretext of supposed defamation of their religions by the Overseer and by the Time Patrol. Those same countries are also reserving the right to refuse access to their territories to members of the Time Patrol.
Italy is one of those countries. Do you have a visa already for Italy?”
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“No!” said in a hollow voice Miriam, who was already seeing her all important trip being possibly over before she could even get to Rome. “I was planning to get a visa at the Italian embassy here in Paris. Is there any chance that I stil could get one?”
“I doubt so, Miriam. This crisis looks quite serious, unfortunately.”
Miriam’s discouragement then made way to frustration and anger.
“How could this happen? The whole of Europe owes heavily to the Time Patrol and Nancy Laplante. Have they all forgotten already what we did for them? We saved them from Nazi occupation and put an end to World War 2, dammit!”
“It seems that their churches were able to convince their governments to take action against us, Miriam.” answered Anna, sounding understandably bitter. “Not surprisingly, the countries which have broken relations with Palestine and the Time Patrol are the ones with the most conservative Christian churches. We are talking here about Belgium, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Poland, Portugal and Spain.”
“POLAND?” shouted Miriam, stunned. “But, we saved so many lives there during the last war.”
“Those were mostly Jewish lives, Miriam. Besides, the Catholic Church does pretty well what it wants in Poland.”
“But…such a political move had to be organized. Who initiated this?”
“The Pope of course! Who else?” replied at once Anna. “The Catholic Church is on the verge of bankruptcy because of the steady fall in the number of its followers and benefactors, thanks mostly to us and Nancy. The Orthodox and Protestant churches are also hurting bad and seemingly made an alliance pact with the Vatican against us.”
“The Protestant Church too? Does that mean that Great Britain is also turning against us?”
“Not yet, Miriam, at least officially.” responded Anna gloomily. “I suspect that only the opposition of Queen Margaret and the popularity of Nancy with the British people has stopped the British government from joining this diplomatic boycott.”
“Why? Why now?” asked Miriam, near tears with discouragement. “The World has now known peace for thirteen years, thanks to Nancy and the Time Patrol.
Hundreds of thousands of people have been healed by Nancy in Jerusalem. And that’s how they repay us?”
Anna, also feeling down, stepped forward and hugged the Galilean woman.
“We did bring peace to the World, Miriam, but we also disturbed the spiritual monopoly of men who refuse to accept other views than their own.”
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“Then, what are we going to do? Are we going to fight this or simply accept it?”
“We are not going to take this lying down, Miriam.” replied Anna in a resolute tone while stepping back, “and neither will Natai, I strongly suspect. Look, Farah is going to show up soon to try to bash sense back into some of those governments. Why don’t you stay here until the worst of this crisis is resolved? We have a few transient rooms available.”
“Thanks, Anna, but I will go to Paris and see if I can still find a way to go to Rome…legally. My mission is too important to be delayed or cancelled.”
“And what is your mission, precisely?” asked Anna, a bit apprehensive now.
“To convince the Christian churches to effect reforms in order to follow the true words of Yeshua.”
Her frank admission only unnerved Anna more.
“Miriam, the refusal to reform is the main reason why the Christian churches pushed those various European governments into cutting relations with us. You are in fact one of the persons specified by name as being persona non grata in those countries. They will never listen to you, especially now.”
Those words brought tears to Miriam’s face this time, and she had to sit down on her suitcase, totally dejected.
“But…I spent the last three years writing down what I could remember of the life and words of Yeshua. I was bringing copies of my accounts to the various Christian churches, so that they could study them and hopefully use them to rewrite their own sacred books. And you are telling me that this was all for nothing?”
Miriam then started sobbing, prompting Anna in kneeling besides her to console her.
“It won’t be for nothing, Miriam. We wil find a way to make all these churchmen and politicians more reasonable, you’l see.”
Anna was still comforting Miriam when a Global Council member of the Time Patrol, a bald giant measuring a bit over two meters in height and with six fingers per hand, came to Anna and handed her a message while speaking softly.
“Anna, we intercepted a communiqué from the United States government: they are also breaking diplomatic relations with us and Palestine.”
Anna sighed as she read the official American communiqué: the American government had a particular grudge against Nancy and Palestine since Nancy, in her shape as Sarah Ur, had turned all the racists in the World coal-black four years ago. That the
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majority of the racists thus affected had been in the United States, with over half a million of them committing suicide after seeing their skin turn black, had created a great enmity since then between Palestine and the United States. Anna was thus less than surprised by this development. Farah Tolkonen, the Chief Administrator of the Time Patrol, was going to have her hands full dealing with this diplomatic crisis.
As if thinking of her had conjured her, Farah Tolkonen came out of the transit hall, accompanied by her secretary. The latter was pushing an antigravity cart loaded with suitcases. The slender bald giant didn’t look exactly happy now, something Anna could understand easily. Farah stopped besides Anna and gave a concerned look at the still sobbing Miriam.
“What is wrong, Miriam? Can I do anything to help?”
“Yes! You can put some sense in the heads of all these churchmen.” replied Miriam, truly bitter. “Yeshua gave his life so that the people around him could practice a more tolerant and kind religion. And what do we have now? A bunch of ungrateful, power-hungry and intolerant men who claim themselves to be infallible. I was bringing to them the true words of Yeshua, only to be told that I won’t even be permitted to meet them.”
The gentle giant patted Miriam’s back, trying to console her.
“This won’t go on for long, Miriam. Hell! It won’t be allowed to go on for long if I have my way.”
“What are you going to do, Farah?” Asked Miriam, her voice still half choked.
“I will have to talk to Natai first, in order to coordinate with her our actions, but I intend to place a diplomatic protest at the United Nations about this. Maybe we will be able to shame those countries and their churches into backing down from their stupid stance.”
“Add the United States to these countries, Farah.” then said Anna, presenting her the message recently given to her. The giant’s yellow eyes were nearly flashing lightning bolts by the time she finished reading the message.
“Decidedly, those Americans wil have proved consistent in their ungratefulness.
We were still helping them by fighting the Japanese in 1942 when their stupid racist policies forced us to relocate our ships from Pearl Harbor to Paris. How could one be so advanced technologically in comparison to the rest of the present World, yet be so
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retarded socially? Well, they will get their diplomatic lumps like the rest. Can I and Virna get the use of two of your spare quarters, Anna?”
“Of course, Farah! Follow me.”
Left alone with her suitcase in the main hallway of the outpost, Miriam took the time to dry her tears, then grabbed the pulling handle of her suitcase and walked outside to get a taxi, still resolved to try her luck at obtaining a visa to Italy and then, hopefully, an audience with the Pope. She didn’t have to pass through French customs before leaving Le Bourget, as France was possibly the best friend of the Time Patrol in this time period, save Palestine, and granted free and full access to its territory to the members of the Time Patrol and to the citizens of the Global Council.
She already knew from previous vacation trips to Paris, a city she loved, a small family hotel owned by a Jewish couple near the Eiffel Tower, in the center of the city.
She thus asked the taxi driver to get her to that hotel and then sat back, thinking about how she would go about trying to gain access to the Pope. It was obvious however that she first had to obtain a visa to enter Italy, something that was not going to be easy, if she could believe Anna Hauser. After a thirty minutes drive through Paris, the taxi finally dropped her in front of the hotel, with the driver helping her taking out her travel suitcase and getting a good tip as a reward. Miriam was greeted with open arms inside the small lobby of the old building by the owner’s wife, a woman in her forties with a heart of gold.
“MIRIAM, MY DEAR FRIEND! WELCOME TO PARIS!”
Miriam returned her hug, then smiled to her host.
“It is nice to see you, Madam Chomsky. I hope that you have a room available for me.”
“At this time of the year? Of course, Miriam! And please call me simply Hanna.
Are you planning to stay long in Paris?”
“A few days at most, Hanna: I am merely transiting on my way to Rome…if I can obtain a visa to enter Italy.”
Those words immediately made Hanna Chomsky sigh with exasperation.
“Those idiots from the Catholic Church. We heard this morning about the cutting of relations with the Time Patrol and Palestine announced by Italy and other countries.
Me and Shaul are still trying to figure out what went to their heads. Enough of this for the moment, though. Let’s get you a room.”
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Going behind the reception counter of the hotel, Hanna grabbed a key from the key press on the wall and gave it to Miriam, then made her sign the guest registry. Next, she led her up the old staircase to the first floor, unlocking the door of one of the four rooms on that level and pushing it open for Miriam.
“Here you go, Miriam. You have a view on the street and the bathroom is small but fully equipped. Wil you have your breakfasts here at the hotel?”
“How could I skip on your morning collection of bagels and croissants, Hanna?
Of course I will have breakfasts at your hotel. Is that Jewish restaurant three blocks from here stil open?”
“It stil is, Miriam.” replied softly Hanna. She and her husband had been saved from death in a Nazi concentration camp by the Time Patrol thirteen years ago. Despite the years which had passed, she still was grateful to her saviors. Besides, she held true admiration for Miriam, who had proven many times to be a woman with nearly infinite kindness but also great courage. After wishing her a good stay, Hanna left Miriam’s room and went back downstairs to the reception desk, in time to greet a couple of young travelers from Palestine.
Taking ten minutes to unpack her suitcase, Miriam then looked at her watch and decided to go to a nearby bistro for some wine before lunch. While not an alcoholic in any way, ancient Jews in the Antiquity had favored wine as a drink of choice when dining...if they could afford wine. Going down to the lobby and saluting Hanna in passing, she then walked out and followed the narrow sidewalk towards the nearby street corner bistro. While the owner and barman there knew her by name, they didn’t know who she was really, thus she was able to take a street-side table without creating a sensation. A few customers were already sitting at the bistro and having their customary drinks while chatting or reading newspapers. Miriam ordered a cup of chilled white wine and grabbed a newspaper from a pile on the bar counter, eyeing the front page at once.
The diplomatic tiff concerning Palestine and the Time Patrol was the top article and she read it avidly. The newspaper being a left-leaning one, it ridiculed the position of the Catholic Church and compared what it called its empty promises and inflexible rhetoric with what Nancy Laplante and the Time Patrol had done for the people of France and Europe. Getting her glass of wine and starting to sip from it, Miriam went through the various articles and editorials on that subject with great interest. One article in particular, about the opinions of a group of so-called worker-priests opposed to the official doctrine
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of the Catholic Church, attracted her attention. Those worker-priests had as a goal to spiritually support workers of the lower classes toiling in the big industries for minimal wages, notably by working alongside them in those same industries. They were also pushing for better treatment and conditions for those workers, something that had earned them the designations of ‘communists’ and ‘social trouble makers’ and had put them in trouble with their original church. From what she could read, Miriam felt that those worker-priests could be counted on to support the cause of Nancy Laplante and of the Time Patrol here. She noted down the name of the author of that article and promised herself to meet him one fine day.
After finishing her cup of wine and paying her bill, Miriam walked to the Jewish restaurant she knew nearby and had a frugal lunch there. From there she took a taxi and went to the Italian embassy, still hoping somehow to obtain against all odds a visa there. Stepping out of her taxi in front of the main entrance of the embassy, Miriam gathered her courage, then entered the building, walking past two French policemen standing guard at the gate. Two Italian Carabinieri and a young receptionist greeted her inside the reception lobby, with the young woman smiling to her from behind her desk and addressing her in good French.
“May I do something for you, miss?”
“Yes, miss. I am here to obtain a visa to Italy.”
The receptionist nodded and pointed towards a wide double door to Miriam’s left.
“The visa section is this way, miss. The lineup is short at this time, so you should not need to wait very long.”
“Thank you very much, miss.” said Miriam warmly, encouraged by this, before going to the designated door and entering a large room lined with chairs and writing desks. Four service wickets were lined along a long service counter and there was maybe nine persons waiting at the time to be served. Miriam was about to grab a number from a wall dispenser when she saw the notice fixed besides it. It was in Italian, French, English, Spanish and German and proclaimed that citizens from Palestine and from the Global Council had to take a number from a special dispenser marked in red.
With her apprehension returning, Miriam went to that dispenser and took the top red tag hooked to it. A Carabinieri on guard in the room came at once to her, his face neutral, and showed her a number of chairs separated from the others in a corner.
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“If you will take a seat over there, miss, you should be called to a service wicket soon.”
“Uh, thank you!” replied Miriam, a bit intimidated by now. She nonetheless went to sit in the designated corner and steeled herself for whatever would come. She was quick to notice that the Carabinieri, instead of returning to his original spot, took position only a few feet from her. While impassive and not staring at her, Miriam was now acutely conscious that the Italian policeman was in fact paying special attention to her.
Since he probably only followed instructions from the embassy staff, Miriam couldn’t hold it against the man, who had stayed polite up to now. Before she could spend much time worrying, Miriam was called to the last wicket by a man sitting behind the service counter. Hurrying nervously to the wicket, Miriam tried her best to appear calm and smiled to the man in his late thirties now facing her.
“Good day, mister! I would like to obtain a visa in order to visit Rome.”
“Your passport, please!” said the man in a cold voice, not smiling back. Miriam took her Global Council passport out of her purse and gave it through the small opening in the Plexiglas window of the wicket. The embassy employee grabbed it and frowned at once on seeing which kind of passport it was. His look back at Miriam was distinctly suspicious: the only Global Council citizens which were not bald giants with six fingers per hand were members of the Time Patrol or their families. Opening Miriam’s passport and looking at the first page, the man stiffened at once and gave her a hostile glare.
“Miss Miriam of Magdala, or whatever your real name is, you are not welcome in Italy. You may take back your passport and leave this embassy at once.”
“But…” replied Miriam in a choked voice, “Miriam of Magdala is my real name. I am no impostor, mister.”
The employee ignored her protests and, slipping her passport back through the wicket’s opening, waved at the Carabinieri to approach.
“Signor Busconi, please escort the lady out of the embassy.”
Before Miriam could do more than get hold of her passport, the policeman was on her and firmly took hold of her left arm.
“If you will follow me, miss…”
Realizing with bitterness that there was nothing she could do but obey without fuss, Miriam let the Carabinieri lead her towards the exit. She was however in tears and feeling humiliated to the core as the Italian policeman made her pass through the main door.
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“But I wanted only to go ask for a private audience with the Pope.”
The young Carabinieri gave her an apologetic look and released his hold on her arm, but kept blocking the entrance to her.
“I am sorry, miss, but I have my orders. I am afraid that any attempt for you to return here would be futile. Goodbye, miss.”
Now totally discouraged, Miriam turned around and walked down the steps of the embassy, sobbing quietly. A French press photographer, who was standing vigil beside the embassy’s gate in case some demonstrators or protestors showed up because of the present diplomatic row, came to her as soon as she was on the sidewalk and took a picture of her before asking her a question loudly.
“Miss, why are you crying like this while coming out of the embassy?”
Unaccustomed in dealing with media people, a concept that had not even existed in her native First Century Israel, Miriam answered with the simple truth.
“I was refused a visa to enter Italy and was thrown out of the embassy.”
“Do you know why, miss?” asked the photographer, now scribbling on a notebook. Miriam nodded slowly her head.
“Yes! I live with the Time Patrol and Italy is now refusing access to all members of the Time Patrol.”
“May I have your name, miss?”
Miriam hesitated at first, hating the idea of making a public spat out of this. She was however proud of her name, which had just been smeared. Wiping away her tears, she faced the photographer and made a brave face.
“Yes, you can! I am Miriam of Magdala and I was born in Galilee in the year 6
C.E.. I simply wanted to go to Rome to ask for a private audience with the Pope. I wish to see the Pope in order to present to him my written account of the words and deeds of Yeshua of Nazareth, whom you would better know as Jesus Christ.”
The photographer opened his mouth wide, not believing his luck.
“You are Saint Mary Magdalene, miss?”
“I prefer to be called simply Miriam of Magdala, mister.”
“And…you said that you wrote a gospel about Jesus, miss?”
“Yes, that’s correct. After all, I lived seven years with Yeshua and knew him very well. The mistakes and distortions about him that are contained in the Bible used by the Church need to be corrected.”
“And…that gospel, are you planning to have it published, Miss Magdala?”
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The question from the photographer struck Miriam at once: she had not thought about that possibility, hoping in her naiveté that giving a copy of her manuscript to the Church would have sufficed to ensure its circulation. She now realized how much hopeful thinking that had been.
“Uh, I may do that eventual y, mister.”
“Please tell me how things went inside the embassy, miss.” asked gently the photographer, smelling a top story but not wanting to scare her away. Miriam obliged and spent a good two minutes telling her tale. At the end of it, the photographer thanked her and took a last picture of her, then hurried away, most probably to return to his newspaper’s offices and present his story to his editor.
Now alone on the sidewalk save for passersby who paid little attention to her, Miriam wondered for a moment about what to do next. Trying to go to Rome was now a moot point, at least until this diplomatic row was resolved. In fact, nearly half of the countries of Western Europe were probably closed to her, and not only Italy. The photographer’s suggestion about publishing her manuscript was definitely an appealing one and would probably ensure a wide circulation for it around the World. An idea then hit her, prompting her to search for a taxi: she had another place to visit, but would first need to go back to her hotel in order to grab one of the three copies of her gospel she had printed while at the Time Patrol’s main base.
A bit less than a hour later, Miriam got out of a taxi in front of the Apostolic Nunciature of Paris. The Nunciature was in effect the equivalent of an embassy and represented the Vatican and the Pope in France. If she couldn’t get to the Pope in Rome, maybe she could see his representative in Paris instead. With luck, she could maybe even convince the Papal Nuncio to secure a special permission for her to enter Italy in order to go see the Pope. As she walked towards the front entrance to the stone building, which was squeezed between two other buildings along the wide and affluent Avenue du President Wilson, two men came out while arguing rather loudly. One was wearing a gray civilian suit while the other wore the black robe of a Catholic priest. They were arguing in French, so Miriam was able to understand quickly that the civilian was probably a creditor or service provider who was clamoring for some late payment due to him by the Nunciature. The priest insisted however that the Nunciature didn’t have the means to pay right now, prompting the civilian into turning around and walking away
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after threatening a judicial seizure. Miriam slowed down and hesitated, realizing that now was maybe not the best time for her visit. The priest however noticed her and looked at her, blowing air out discreetly to calm down before addressing her in a polite tone.
“May I do something for you, my child?”
“You may, Father. I was hoping to be able to speak with the Papal Nuncio, if that is possible.”
“His Excellency is rather busy right now, miss. May I ask what is the subject you wanted to speak about with him?”
“Wel ,” said timidly Miriam, holding her large purse with both hands in front of her,
“my name is Miriam of Magdala and I wished to present to the Pope my written account of the words and deeds of Yeshua of Nazareth.”
The priest’s polite demeanor evaporated at once on hearing her name and he glared at her, furious.
“YOU? YOU AND YOUR LYING FRIENDS ARE NOT CONTENT IN RUINING
OUR GREAT CHURCH? YOU HAVE TO COME LAUGH AT US ON TOP OF THAT?
GO AWAY!”
With Miriam paralyzed by his violent reaction, the priest then walked back inside the Nunciature and slammed the door behind him. Miriam lowered her head, more saddened than angered by the priest’s reaction. His unwillingness to even try to consider her point of view ran in sharp contrast to the tolerance and open-mindedness Yeshua had preached in his time. That same open-mindedness was however exactly what she was striving to promote, but she now had to face the self-interest of the Christian churches, the same churches which had tortured and murdered tens of thousands of innocent women falsely accused of witchcraft during the past centuries.
Resentment and bitterness then came to Miriam when she remembered that the Inquisition, the main architect and executioner of those atrocities, still existed under the innocuous-sounding name of ‘Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office’. What could she expect from a church that still harbored such an institution and still held to its doctrine of papal infallibility?
Wanting to change her mind a bit from such depressing thoughts, Miriam started walking slowly along the avenue and eventually came to the Boulevard des Champs Élysés, the main thoroughfare of downtown Paris. The sight of the colorful shops and
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terraces, along with the dense and varied crowd of strollers and shoppers, helped lighten her mood and she ended browsing with curiosity at the content of the various storefronts. At one point, she encountered a growing crowd seemingly attracted to the storefront of an electronic appliances shop. Her curiosity made her slip politely to the front ranks, where she saw that the crowd was watching a large television set showing a live news report. Miriam’s heart jumped in her chest on seeing that Farah Tolkonen was shown speaking from the podium of the United Nations General Assembly, which building was in Paris. While using restrained words and tone of voice, Farah was making clear her disapproval and objections to the diplomatic snub delivered to the Time Patrol and to Palestine by numerous member countries of the assembly. When Farah was finished, the Secretary General, a distinguished Norwegian gentleman, gave the podium next to the representative of the United States. The American diplomat was quick in delivering a ‘no prisoners taken’ kind of reply to Farah’s address, reminding the assembly of the mass suicides caused four years ago in the United States following the anti-racist, skin-blackening energy burst released by a Palestinian Chosen in Alabama.
Directly blaming Nancy Laplante for that deed, the American then delivered the most striking part of his speech.
“In view of the repeated acts of interference in the internal affairs of the United States by the Overseer of Palestine and of the slanderous smears spread against our Christian beliefs, smears that have caused serious social and moral upheaval, the government of the United States has decided that simply cutting diplomatic relations with Palestine would not be enough to signal our profound disapproval. Thus, in the name of the President of the United States, I am announcing to this assembly that the United States will impose a commercial embargo on all Palestinian imports to our country, effective immediately. Furthermore, all direct air links between the United States and Palestine will be stopped forthwith, and this until further notice. All Palestinian citizens presently in the United States will have until the day after tomorrow to leave our territory, after which they will be subject to arrest and forcible deportation. That last measure will also apply to all members of the Time Patrol. The United States truly regret having to retort to such measures, but the actions of the Overseer of Palestine and of the Time Patrol left it no other choices. Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen.”
As the American representative was about to leave the podium, the Secretary General, who was sitting one level higher and behind, bent forward and spoke to him in a low voice, visibly concerned by the turn of events. The conversation went on for a few
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seconds before the Secretary General looked around at the delegates and spoke in his microphone as the American diplomat walked off the podium.
“In view of the declaration by the American delegation, does any other delegation wish to present a counterpoint or comment?”
Quite a few delegates stated their wish to address the assembly then and started lining up to go on the podium. There was however a slight disturbance when a tall woman dressed in a white hooded robe seemingly came out of nowhere and joined that group.
Out of a common accord, the delegates let her go up to the podium first while excited whispers went around the assembly: the woman was no other than Nancy Laplante, Overseer of the Holy Land of Palestine and the center of the present controversy.
“The Overseer of the Holy Land of Palestine has the podium.” declared quickly the Secretary General. Miriam, like the French people around her, watched on intensely the television set as Nancy Laplante calmly took place behind the microphone of the podium. Nancy, her intense green eyes sparkling under the glare of the spotlights directed at her, looked around confidently at the United Nations delegates and spoke in her clear, agreeable voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you in advance for your attention. I will make this short and simple. I do not deny having tried to bring forward the truth about the story of Yeshua of Nazareth, nor do I deny having attempted to make the American and other governments conscious of their shortcomings in how they treated some of their own citizens, along with the citizens of other countries. In that I was merely fulfilling my mission as given to me by The One, namely to promote justice and to protect the innocents. If that is what I am accused of, then I am guilty as charged. However, if the American, Belgian, South African or any other government judge that combating racism, discrimination and blatant injustice is a crime, then I say that they are the criminals, not me. So does The One think!”
Many delegates squirmed at those last words: when Nancy Laplante invoked The One, drastic things normally followed. Nancy however didn’t let the delegates much time to think about that.
“The United States just declared a commercial embargo against the Holy Land of Palestine, while it and other countries were pushed by the Vatican into breaking diplomatic relations with me and the Time Patrol. I will not even honor their accusations of slander with a response. I have explained myself and presented facts for years now
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but was ignored and will not repeat myself anymore. Instead, I will now simply pass on a declaration from The One.”
Nancy then stopped speaking for a moment and closed her eyes, as if to meditate.
Exclamations went around the assembly when she started to grow quickly in size while becoming luminescent. Within seconds, she had become a bright silhouette standing a full twenty feet high. When she spoke, it was in a voice that boomed around the huge room.
“DELEGATES OF THE WORLD, I HAVE BEEN INFINITELY PATIENT FOR
MANY MILLENIUMS WHILE HOPING THAT THE SOULS I HAVE CREATED WOULD
LEARN TO LIVE TOGETHER IN PEACE AND TOLERANCE. I AM HOWEVER
RUNNING OUT OF PATIENCE. TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS WORLD, I SAY THIS: IF
YOU SHOW TOLERANCE, KINDNESS AND COMPASSION, YOU WILL HAVE
NOTHING TO FEAR FROM ME. TO THE GOVERNMENTS WHICH DECLARED
THEIR OPPOSITION TO THE HOLY LAND OF PALESTINE AND TO THE ONES WHO
SACRIFICED MUCH IN ORDER TO STOP THE LATEST MAJOR WAR, I SAY THIS: YOU WILL BE CURSED UNTIL YOU MEND YOUR WAYS AND SHOW GENUINE
TOLERANCE AND KINDNESS. TO THE POPE AND THE VATICAN, I SAY THAT
THEY DO NOT REPRESENT ANYTHING BUT THEIR OWN SELFISH INTERESTS.
STOP INVOKING MY NAME OR THAT OF MY CHOSEN WHILE TELLING LIES.
UNTIL YOU DO SO, YOU WILL BE AS EQUALLY CURSED AS THE OTHER
GOVERNMENTS I JUST WARNED. A PURE AND KIND WOMAN TRIED TODAY TO
BRING THE TRUE WORDS OF MY CHOSEN, YESHUA OF NAZARETH, TO THE
POPE OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, HOPING SIMPLY TO DISCUSS WITH HIM HIS
WORDS AND DEEDS. THAT WOMAN ENDED UP BEING THROWN OUT OF THE
ITALIAN EMBASSY WHILE BEING CALLED AN IMPOSTOR AND A FRAUD. IN
RETURN, I CALL THE PRESENT POPE AND ALL HIS PREDECESSORS FRAUDS, AS THEY NEVER REPRESENTED MY TRUE WORDS. FROM NOW ON, BE ALL ON
NOTICE THAT I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANYMORE THE KIND OF HYPOCRISY AND
INTOLERANCE THAT HAS TOO OFTEN PERMEATED THIS WORLD.”
Once those words had echoed around the room, Nancy’s giant silhouette faded into nothingness in a moment, leaving behind a stunned crowd of delegates. The people standing on the sidewalk with Miriam and watching the television set were equally stunned. Exclamations and excited comments then went around the crowd.
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“Was that real y God speaking to us?” Asked a mature woman while looking at her male companion, who hesitated before answering her.
“I don’t know, Francine, but can we afford to take a chance and ignore that warning? I don’t think so! Besides, is being tolerant and kind such a despicable thing to be? I have no problems with that, personally.”
“But, what about the teachings of the Bible?” replied an older woman, attracting an immediate retort from a young man dressed in dirty jeans and T-shirt.
“The hel with the Bible! It only takes a feeble mind to accept without question all the lies told by the Church.”
That sparked one mean and animated debate which Miriam was too happy to step back from. Once away from the crowd, she went to sit on a nearby bench and thought over what had just happened. Clearly, the warning from The One meant that some dramatic events would happen soon around the World, putting weight to his words. It would probably be wise for her to wait and see what happened in the next couple of days before continuing with her task. At least, being in Paris, there was still a lot she could do to fill her time here in the meantime, like enjoying the sights and the local life. Maybe she was going to be able to use this time as a true vacation, after all.
17:19 (Rome Time)
Offices of the Secretary of the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office Vatican City, Rome
