The Pestilence (9 page)

Bill shook his head.

“Or any illness, runny nose, cough, sore throat, anything?” added Mariam.

“Nope, nothing. As I said I've been feeling great. What's going on?”

Mariam shared a look with Samuel. “In our TV interview you asked me about a little girl in Jericho. She was one of the first people Samuel healed. I spoke to her father today and he said she had a minor accident, just a cut on her knee. He called us because he said that the cut healed itself immediately.”

Samuel continued. “I put more energy into healing this girl than anyone else—.”

“She was very sick,” interrupted Mariam.

“So we thought that perhaps she was a special case but we don't know for sure. That's why we wanted to check in with you to see if you also retained any healing ability.”

“Hey, I'm happy to stab Bill again,” volunteered Hazel cheerfully.

“No,” said Mariam.

“Yes, why not?” grinned Samuel.

Hazel jumped up and went over to the kitchen. “Mrs Srour, could I borrow this?” She picked up a meat cleaver and waved it towards Bill.

“I don't think I'm comfortable with this.” Bill stood up and backed away from the group.

“Relax Bill, Hazel's just kidding,” said Samuel. “I will just make a scratch and see what happens. Mama, pass me a clean knife.” Dalia passed him a knife and Samuel made a small cut on Bill's index finger. It drew a thin line of blood which trickled across the nick. Bill winced. They all watched, they all waited. Dalia meanwhile began toasting the almonds for the maqluba.

“Looks like nothing's happening,” said Bill. “My finger stings a bit though. Maybe that little girl was a special case as you thought.”

Mariam took Bill's hand and wiped off the drying blood. The cut was gone. The skin looked perfectly normal.

“Immunity,” said Mariam.

“Immunity from what?” asked Bill.

“Probably everything. Dina, the little girl, and now you have just shown that the Healed have ongoing immunity to injury. Samuel has been healing for three days now. Anything he has encountered, every sickness, injury and disease he has cured. I don't have a strand of smallpox handy that I can inject into you Bill, but I think it's logical to assume that the injury immunity we have just witnessed also extends to sickness and disease.”

There were a few moments of silence as the weight of the words sank in.

“Bottom line,” said Samuel, “you are never going to get sick and should recover almost instantly from injury.”

“Yikes. Thanks for stabbing me Hazel. Samuel just made me superhuman. Woohoo.” Hazel threw a little bow Bill's way.

“But this changes everything for Samuel.” Mariam shook her head. “Our improbable task has just become an impossible one.”

“I don't follow,” said Bill.

Mariam shrugged. “Simple numbers. Hazel, help me out here. On your phone look up and tell me how many people die from chronic illnesses each year.”

Hazel produced her laptop from her bag. “Let me use this, it's quicker. Okay, the CIA World Fact Book says that global mortality rate is 7.89 per 1,000 which is the equivalent of 55.3 million people dying per year. Wow that's a bummer. I haven't got a number for all diseases but the World Health Organisation does have data on the four main non-communicable diseases; cardiovascular disease, cancer, diabetes and chronic lung disease. These account for 68 per cent of the 55.3 million deaths. Which is, let me work this out… ”

“Thirty-seven point six million per year,” said Mariam. “And that's just the life-threatening main diseases. The number is absurdly high. Bill, just do the math. How many people would Samuel need to heal per day, assuming that 37.6 million people are magically in the same place waiting in a nice orderly line?” Bill made a “no idea” face so Mariam answered her own question. “One hundred and three thousand people every day. That is the improbable task.”

“Which has now become an impossible task,” said Hazel catching Mariam's train of thought, “assuming that Samuel can immunise the healthy.”

“I'm sure I can,” said Samuel.

Hazel continued. “Then Bill's finger means that the 37.6 million number has just become a seven billion number. Everyone on Earth will want immunity, a life free of injury and sickness. Who wouldn't want that? My goodness, who wouldn't pay for that?”

“Exactly,” said Mariam. “But logistically there is absolutely no way Samuel could heal or immunise everyone. He couldn't get anywhere close.”

“Yikes,” said Bill again. “So only a few will be chosen. Perhaps only the righteous, like me.” He grinned. “The people who get healed would end up living much longer, healthier lives than the rest of humanity. Samuel, you could be creating a master race within our species.”

“Which is a bit of a bummer, unless you're one of the Healed,” said Hazel glancing at Samuel then at the scab on her palm.

Dalia inverted her cooking pot and the lamb, vegetables and rice fell onto the serving plate. She garnished the dish with chopped parsley and the toasted almonds. “Food's ready, come and eat,” she said.

At that moment Mariam's phone, Hazel's phone, Dalia's phone and Bill's phone all rang in unison. The same 001 United States number showed on all four caller IDs. Save for the synchronised ringing of four mobiles the apartment was still. Hazel was first to answer and as she did all the other phones fell silent.

“Hello.”

The man who replied had an unmistakeable French accent. “Hello, I must be speaking to either Dalia Srour, Dr Mariam Fara or Hazel Sears.”

“It's Hazel.”

“Hazel, would you be kind enough to pass the phone to Samuel Srour.”

“Can I say who is calling?”

“Victor Pierre Chaput.” Hazel stared at the phone in her hand for a moment then passed it over to Samuel.

***

BY the evening over a hundred of the Healed had come and read over the Original Task List nailed to the farmhouse door. Some had donated a few hours, others committed to stay until the work was done. The Healed donated more than their labour; people brought food, clothing and camping equipment. Money was pooled and other needed supplies were purchased. The scrubland around the farm was being cleared and a makeshift camp set up. Rami had constructed a rudimental kitchen, the fire of which was the focal point for the evening's discussion.

Eight of the eleven tasks on the Original Task List had been completed and the assignments related to the setting up of the camp were naturally added to the list. The current discussion mainly centred on the priorities for the following day.

Rami poured coffee and enjoyed the debate. So far all decisions had been made collectively and dialogue was open and trusting. Where someone had expertise on a topic, they would naturally lead the discussion and the camp seemed not to have an overall leader. All who spoke were listened to and respected. It was a fluid dynamic. Rami enjoyed it. He hoped that this was the shape of things to come.

***

SAMUEL stood on the balcony of Mariam's bedroom. To his right the Temple Mount crowned by the glorious Dome of the Rock presided over the sleeping city. Samuel could hear Dalia snoring; somehow she managed to find sleep on the uncomfortable sofa. Mariam was also asleep in the bedroom behind him. She was leaving him tomorrow. It seemed a permanent feature of their relationship, ironic that this time she was the one going to Haran while he remained in Jerusalem. In the bedlam of the airstrike Mariam had left her research material back at her mother's. Despite the absurdity of the last few days, Mariam's mind was turning back to her work. That was his Mariam he thought. As he toured hospitals healing the sick she wasn't prepared simply to become a smiling appendage. Mariam had her own life, her own priorities and for that he loved her deeply.

His mother was leaving as well. She wanted to visit the small camp of the Healed who were trying to rebuild her farm and elected to join Mariam on their drive to Haran.

Samuel would be staying on campus. He had visited seven of the twelve hospitals in Jerusalem and tomorrow would be working at the teaching hospital attached to the university. Mariam had made the arrangements with the Dean who in turn asked Samuel to heal his wife's haemorrhoids. Samuel was only too pleased to oblige.

Samuel grasped the railing and leaned over the balcony. He could see the TV trucks parked off the main entrance, another request of the Dean to increase security and restrict access to campus.

He reflected on his brief discussion with Victor, the benevolent billionaire. Samuel felt great kinship with the only other person to have been touched by the lightning. He was relieved for the security Victor had volunteered. Samuel knew, after Bill had published his article on immunity everything was going to change.

A car alarm sounded somewhere beyond the campus. Samuel moved to close the patio door behind him so the noise wouldn't disturb his sleeping family. He played the numbers issue over in his mind. He knew that immunity was real and everyone could benefit but what good was this power if he couldn't use it for the benefit of all. He clenched his fists, looking down at his hands and the remarkable power they now commanded, this ability of his, this gift, this poison chalice. He cursed the impossible task he had been given.

Samuel looked up at the Temple Mount once more. He looked hard, anger rising from within. “Come on,” he whispered. “Show me something.” Samuel grasped the handrails of the balcony and sunk to his knees, the skin on his knuckles turning white. For the first time in his life he closed his eyes and begged for guidance.

When Samuel opened his eyes, Jerusalem fizzed and glowed around him. The sheer number of people made it impossible to decipher the healthy from the sick but close by, concealed in a thicket below the balcony was a shimmering aura. At this distance the acquisition of memories and intentions was difficult so Samuel called down softly.

After a few seconds' hesitation a woman stepped out of the thicket into the light directly beneath the balcony. She had dark straight hair and unmistakeably Japanese features. She stood with her back to the full moon. In her right hand she held an unsheathed samurai knife, a Tanto. The blade was a nineteenth-century copy of a twelfth-century weapon made in reverence to the glory days of the samurai. The Tanto was a masterpiece forged from Japanese tamahagane steel. A master swordsmith used two types of tamahagane, the brittle higher-carbon hard steel and the supple lower-carbon soft steel. The raw steels were heated separately in a blessed forge, hammered, split and folded to increase the strength of the metal. After hundreds of hours of folding and hammering the hard steel was wrapped around the soft. This allowed the finished Tanto to hold a razor sharp cutting edge surrounding a flexible core.

A full-length Katana blade that would slice only through a wrist or ankle would have a lower certification than a blade capable of cleaving straight through a human midsection. The best blades, the venerated masterpieces of Japanese sword making were the five body blades, swords capable of slicing through five human beings in a single stroke.

The twelve-inch Tanto contained a small double edge in the Kissaki-Moroha-Zukuri style. While naturally shorter than a traditional Katana and without the deep curve of a full-length sword the Tanto was still a blade of the highest quality. It was principally made for stabbing through samurai armour and in terms of craftsmanship was without doubt the equal to a five-body Katana.

Beneath the balcony, the woman held the Tanto so the moonlight caught the length of the blade. She pointed the tip at Samuel, an invitation, a challenge. “I am White,” she said.

She was now close enough for Samuel to peer deep into her aura. He saw a tightly controlled mind racked by conflict and self-doubt but one which still had the courage and sense of duty to challenge him so brazenly. He dared ask himself, could this be a sign? Could this be the challenge that unlocked the answers he was seeking? Samuel knew in the core of his being that he was up to the task. Samuel nodded his acceptance of White's challenge.

Samuel carefully made his way past the sleeping women, ghosting silently out of the apartment, down three flights of stairs to the lobby, then out of the main entrance where he circumnavigated the building to stand directly beneath the balcony. White waited patiently for him, the Tanto now sheathed in its black leather scabbard and held loosely in her left hand. White bowed deeply from her hips. Samuel reciprocated.

“I'm sorry White. I'm not the False Messiah.”

“Our father said you would speak with a forked tongue.”

Samuel wore only a thin T-shirt and a pair of shorts. He hoped it was the cool breeze that raised the hairs on his arms and not the immediate proximity of the deadly Tanto.

“You saw your father die in Tokyo.”

“My other father.”

“Ashen?”

White's composure was momentarily disrupted. “Only the chosen may refer to him by that name.”

“Ashen poisoned then burnt the bodies of your family and his entire congregation. You know this. You know he murdered them.”

White silently stared at Samuel, her aura iridescent but racked by confusion.

“I'm not going to call you White anymore. You have a proper name, a name you shared with your late mother. May I call you Mariko?”

White shook her head.

Samuel ignored her. “Mariko, tell me, why were you amongst the chosen?”

“Because I'm capable.”

“I know you are not a killer, you are one of the innocent. This path isn't for you.”

White looked at Samuel with black dead eyes.

“I know Ashen has shared his plans with you. He has, hasn't he? After the coming of the King he wants to rebuild his church and you, Mariko are to be Eve to his Adam.”