The Last Day (73 page)

The reporter was moved. “They've all been watching and waiting here for me?” he asked in disbelief.

“You're an important link to Jeza for them,” Alphonse Litti said, coming up behind Feldman to admire the crowd. “You've had a special relationship with the Messiah, a closeness that I confess, even I envy.”

A placard below, held as high as the unseen author could stretch, read: “Jon, You Are Jeza's Chosen.” Another said, “Show Us the Way!” And still another proclaimed: “She Is Risen!”

In spying the ex-cardinal at the window with Feldman, the crowd's excitement intensified.

Feldman gazed without focus into the distant Israeli hills, waving abstractedly to the celebrating throngs, as Anke watched him, intently, silently.

Fearful that Feldman's energies were being overtaxed, the doctor returned to clear the room. The visitors were, forced to offer their abrupt farewells, but Feldman wasn't about to let Anke go. As the room emptied, he grasped her by her arm and held her back.

“Anke,” he said earnestly as they held hands, locking eyes, attempting to see into each other's hearts. “Everything is much clearer to me now. Clearer than ever before. I know what I want from life. And I know how that I could never be happy without you.”

She didn't respond immediately, taking time to consider more than just his words.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Sweetheart, I love you, too,” she finally said. “But during these past strange days, I've had lots of time to think. And things are much clearer to me now, too. I know our love for each other is very important, but it isn't a complete answer. It's only a beginning.

“Look at all you've been through. Look at all the incredible experiences you're holding inside you. Look at what's going on right now outside your window. Jon, you've got to deal with this first For my own peace of mind, I need to know exactly where all this is taking you I need you to tell me where
you're
heading before we can decide where
we're
heading. Maybe we can get there together, and maybe we can't But I need to have the facts so I can decide for myself.”

Feldman nodded and looked away toward the window. “You're right, Anke. I know I have to do something with all this. I have to deal with it somehow. But not in the way that Breck and Alphonse are. I'm a journalist, not an archivist. Maybe I have been chosen, but I intend to have a say in what I do with that responsibility. And I know now that that's perfectly okay with Jeza, that's part of Her message.
I
get to determine my own way. I do need to unburden, but I'll do it in the way any self-respecting journalist might. I'm going to
write
about it I'm going to commit everything I've experienced to paper.”

Anke followed his eyes out the window and nodded with a growing appreciation and approval.

“I can do my part to spread the gospel of the New Way,” Feldman explained, “transcribing all the experiences and revelations I've been privy to. But Anke, I don't want to be without you anymore.”

“Is this a marriage proposal, Mr. Feldman?” she asked with feigned suspicion.

Attempting to kneel to make this more formal, Feldman put undue weight on his injured foot. He groaned in pain, releasing Anke's hands just in time to avoid pulling her down to the floor with him. Despite the hard landing, he did not evade the question. “Yes, yes!” he moaned. “Will you marry me?”

Assuring herself he was okay, Anke stepped back, restraining a smile. She pursed her lips and began a careful assessment of his bandaged body. “Well, I can't say that's exactly my idea of a romantic proposal,” she declared.

He grimaced up at her thoughtful stance, rubbing his ankle, still hoping for a positive response.

Graduating to a frown, she put her left hand to her chin and stroked it with thumb and forefinger. “I don't know about this marriage thing, Mr. Feldman,” she vacillated. “You look like damaged goods to me. I wouldn't want to find myself stuck for the rest of my life with defective merchandise.”

He broke into a grin. She helped him to his feet and he placed his good arm around her shoulders.

“So,” she changed the subject, “how are you going to write this story, anyway? As memoirs? As a biography? Autobiography?”

Feldman sighed, impatient over her coy avoidance of his proposal. “I'm not sure, exactly. I haven't had a chance to think it through yet I'll probably write it as some sort of journal.”

“Good!” Anke approved his choice. “A journal's the perfect vehicle for telling Jeza's story the way She'd want it to be told. It'll help you stay more objective and keep personal interpretation out of it.”

“What's this!” Feldman rejoined with a smile of amazement “Is this the same woman who once heckled me about my reporting being too objective? Is this the same woman who called me a human word processor, who said I should inject more personal opinion into my journalism? Well, well, well!”

She screwed up her face in amused irritation and gave him a disparaging look. “There's nothing more obnoxious than a man who thinks he's right all the time!”

“Hey,” he cautioned her with raised eyebrows and mock superiority, “are you forgetting that I'm a recipient of divine revelation?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned in close. “This is going to be an interesting marriage, isn't it, Mr. Feldman?”

He drew closer still, narrowing his eyes back at her. “Yes, ma'am,” he prophesied, “I believe it is.” And he kissed her.

Outside the window, the cheering swelled, rose up and spread across the greening spring landscape of the Holy Land.