#and suddenly that inevitable fall to heresy

[lordcaptains]

:(

:)

[xuxunette]

My own translation of MDZS, chapter I.

My own translation of MDZS, chapter I.

Done for fun and for free.

Rebirth - Part I

“Wei Wuxian is dead! Everybody celebrate!” Not two days after the frightful assault on Shambled-Tombs Mound1, the news flew to every corner of the Daoist world as if it had sprouted wings — spreading with more speed than the erstwhile flames of war. Suddenly, whether famous masters from prestigious schools or wandering practitioners from mountain tops, everyone was discussing the punitive expedition led by the allied Four Great Clans, who had charged into the fray ahead of a hundred smaller sects.   “Great, great news! Everybody celebrate indeed! But who could have slain the Master of Monsters Mountain2?” “Who else could have done it? His sworn brother, the young chief Jiang Cheng, of course! He led into battle his own clan from Misty River, alongside the Jin Clan from Orchid Hill,  the Lan Clan from the Maiden Forest, and the Nie Clan from Honest Creek3. He upheld justice over family ties by destroying the ‘Shambled-Tombs Mound’ where Wei Wuxian had dug his lair.” “I’ll say a fair word: good riddance!” Someone immediately cheered on loudly, “You're right, good riddance! If the Jiang Clan hadn’t picked him up off the streets and raised him, that rascal Wei Wuxian would have remained a common vermin from the slums all his life... let alone become anything else! The former Jiang patriarch raised him as his own son, but him? He openly rebelled and made enemies out of all the other sects. Not only bringing dishonour to the Jiang Clan, but also causing them to be nearly wiped out. That’s the definition of being an ungrateful cur; he bit the hand that fed him!” “I can’t believe Jiang Cheng tolerated that punk’s arrogance for so long. Were it me, back when he defected, I wouldn't have let him off the hook with only a stab wound. I’d have purged his whole sect straight away, and he wouldn’t have committed all those atrocities afterwards. With scum like that, there is no ‘consideration for a childhood friend’ and ‘regard for a co-disciple’ to be had.” “But that’s not what I heard, is it? Hasn’t Wei Ying4 gotten his comeuppance from his devious sorcery backfiring on him? Wasn’t he torn apart and gnawed to pieces by the demonic generals under his command? I heard he’s been mawed alive and turned into fine bone powder.”   “Hahaha… That’s karmic retribution for you. I wanted to say it all along, those demonic servants he kept? They were just like badly-leashed, rabid dogs, waiting to bite. That they ate him in the end only serves him right!” “Be it as it may, if Jiang Cheng hadn’t carefully planned the assault around the Master of Monsters Mountain’s weaknesses, the expedition may not have succeeded at all. Don’t forget about the artefact Wei Wuxian possessed, and the time he decimated an entire army of three thousand skilled practitioners in a single night.” “Wasn’t it five thousand?” “Three thousand or five thousand, it's all the same. Though, I bet it was five thousand.”　 “...The rampage of a true madman!” “At least he destroyed the Yin Tiger-Tally5 before his death. That’d count as paying some amends. If he’d left the cursed object in this world to inflict further suffering on humankind, his sins would have been even greater.”The crowd fell silent as the three words “Yin Tiger-Tally”  were pronounced, as if everybody had turned to contemplation. Eventually, someone sighed.“Alas... To think that, back in the days, Wei Wuxian was an exalted practitioner: the illustrious scion of an influential clan. He wasn’t without merits either. He made a name for himself at a young age, and lived in boundless fame… How he ended up where he has, I wonder…”  At the changed topic, the chitter-chatter of commentaries ignited anew. “It goes on to prove that orthodoxy is the only way to practice the Discipline. Deviance and heresy may yield flitting glory to gloat about at first, but look at what happened to him in the end.”The crowd cried out at once, “Death with no whole corpse left behind5!” “The path he chose in his practice wasn’t the only cause of his downfall, though. Ultimately, it was Wei Wuxian’s

despicable character that did him in — angering the heavens and vexing men. As the saying goes, good and evil each reaps their rewards, and the heavens see to it that what goes around always comes around...”Thus, judgment was passed upon Wei Wuxian’s cold remains. The content of the debate never varied much, and a consensus was soon reached. The few, faint dissenting voices that rose on occasions were swiftly quelled. However, the shadow of a worry still lingered in people’s hearts. Although the Master of Monster Mountain’s carnal envelope was said to have perished at Shambled-Tombs Mound, no one was able to summon his injured soul to dispose of it.  Perhaps the demons had devoured it at the same time they did his body... or perhaps had it escaped. If it was the first, then all was well. But the latter was also far from impossible: the Master of Monsters Mountains had been so powerful, he could upturn the skies and trample the earth, move mountains and change sea’s tides — or so it was told — and resisting the summon would be for him no feat at all. 　 Hence, should the day come that Wei Wuxian managed to restore his soul and snatch a body to reincarnate into with his powers still intact, all of the Daoist realm, or even all of humanity, would inevitably face his dreadful retaliation. His wrath would then only be augmented many times over, bringing about the reign of darkness without the bright of dawn, gales of pestilence and tempests of blood. Consequently, one hundred and twenty beastly-stone guardians were erected on the peak of Shambled-Tombs Mound whilst the largest clans carried frequent soul-summoning ceremonies. Incidences of demonic possession were strictly investigated, information about abnormal occurrences was carefully collected; all practitioners remained in a state of highest alert. The first year went by, and all stayed calm. The second year went by, and all stayed calm. The third year went by, and all stayed calm.… The thirteenth year went by, all still stayed calm, and people started to relax at last.  Maybe Wei Wuxian hadn’t been so powerful after all. Maybe his soul had perished as well. And even if he once could, with a wave of his hand, overturn the skies and command the fall of rain, he had been the one to be toppled over in the end.   Besides, nobody could be dreaded above the gods forever. Legends, after all, were only legends.

Notes:1. 乱葬岗 (Luanzang gang) lit.: ‘disorderly burial mountain ridge’. 2. 夷陵老祖 (Yiling Laozu) is Wei Wuxian’s honorary title/nickname. In this case it is an informal one. Yiling lit.: ‘barbarians’ mountain’. Laozu lit.: ‘venerated ancestor’. 3. Jiang from Yunmeng, Jin from Lanling, Lan from Gusu, Nie from Qinghe. These clan names hint at the four cardinal directions, as well as four different settings. Note that xianxia typically take place in China’s southern regions, following the tradition of Water Margins, and as represented in The Untamed web-series. I chose to translate the region names to convey some of the flavor that transpires from the Chinese text. See appendix on names from the story for further details. 4. Wei Wuxian’s birth name. At this point all three names of our protagonist have been cited: his birth name — given at birth (Wei Ying), his courtesy name — given upon adulthood (Wei Wuxian), and his honorary title/nickname — given for achievements (Master of Monsters Mountain). 5. Yin refers to Yin-Yang, the dual principles central to Daoist beliefs. Yin being the negative/feminine/lunar/shadowy/deadened side, to Yang or positive/masculine/solar/light/alive side. I've seen it translated into ‘stygian’, on youtube, which carries the notion of ‘hellish’ — although this translation mixes in a western concept (the Styx River from the ancient Greeks) it’s not an error insofar as Daoists consider the underworld ‘yin’ in nature. A Tiger-Tally is a historical artefact used by generals to confirm the deployment of troops. 5. In Chinese beliefs, the body of the deceased not being conserved integrally is considered a desecration of the worst sort. This is why Meng Yao's actions later on are considered so cruel.

[werezmastarbucks]

v i o l e n c e

believe it or not, two (2) people asked me for the second part of c a r e, so there you go. I’ve no idea if I can manage the third part, so no strings attached, yeah?

Kai’s feeling much better now.

words: 2793

music: blink-182 - long lost feeling, pantera - heresy, cemetery gates

You sat with your eyes closed as the best part of the song came in. It made you think of… things.

say goodbye until it hurts

stormy skies and foreworks

You mouthed words quietly, feeling the sun on your face, and even by the warmth of it you could tell it was closing to evening. Suddenly, a gut feeling pulled on your string, told you, open your eyes! And you did.

Kai was sitting on his bed, examining you curiously, and music was still playing.

“Why am I wearing your airpods?” he screamed suddenly, and you jumped, immediately annoyed.

“Take them off”, you tried.

“I can’t hear you!” he yelled over the music in his ears, “I’m in your airpods!”

He tried to get out of bed, and you sprang up, all your muscles tense in a blink of an eye, like the rubber ties.

You walked to him, causing Kai to lift his dark eyes watching you like a lamb.

Don’t give me that look, you thought grumpily.

You took out your airpods and put them in the case, keeping your hand on his shoulder to prevent the witch from standing up and racing away through the window on his imaginary broom.

“Lay back”.

“Agh”, Kai winced. He laid his palm on his stomach, falling back on the pillow. You couldn’t tell if he was faking or not.

“I can’t believe Olivia nearly killed me”, he uttered, squinting his eyes and then focusing on you again.

“Really? You can’t believe it?” you asked, disinterested, but impressed on the inside, and took your phone to call Damon.

“She’s my sister”, he said miserably. You exchanged long looks. Kai’s pupils were huge like black lakes, liquid, and the orange rays of sun were crawling to his ear up his pillow. It felt like the light was haunting him, trying to conquer him, but he moved, attempting to escape the inevitable.

“You’re funny”, you finally said. You were sat on his bed, securing him on the pillow, “you’re a funny man”.

Malachai sighed heavily and rested his hand on the blanket. He looked a bit pale.

“Can you… can I get a glass of water? I’m thirsty”.

He was a fox. His voice, like silk, when he wanted something, could drill inside a brain and infect it. There was almost sweetness in that craze job’s demeanor when he was at disadvantage. When he knew he needed someone.

You stood up, put your phone in your back pocket and walked to the water cooler. You looked out in the window and then turned your head back to watch Kai. Of course he could be all whiney and hurt, laying there nursing his huge scar, gutted and bled out. But you’d be damned if you believed for one second that little shit didn’t have something on his brewing mind. He watched you back from the pillow, his eyes like two coals, silent. You brought the cup back to him, and he attempted to sit again, acting like it hurt him more than you could imagine, regardless of the fact that he’d already got up earlier. As he posed himself in bed, he took the cup from your hand.

“Thanks”.

In a split second you knew something was going on. It wasn’t the look he hooked you on, it was the water flying in your face. You shirt was wet as he threw the cup away, and grabbed you by the hand. You tried to get up, but his grasp was strong, and immediately, he started chanting. You bent your knees, trying to slither from bed. Kai’s fingers crawled up to your elbow and dug into your skin in a bulldog-like manner. It seemed like there was no escape from him. Before you knew it, incredible feeling of infirmity washed over you, and your brain cried emergency. You kicked, shrugged, trying to get away, and nothing worked. Your limbs stopped complying with you, warm sun turning into burning density in the room. Everything was swaying, the room started spinning as Kai’s voice was getting louder and louder. There was uneven pain in your chest, burning between your ribs, headache �� all you could think of. Every part of your body went in overrun, and the bones felt like cracking, while your lungs deflated, and only sucked the air slowly, unwillingly. You couldn’t even feel his grasp anymore, as every inch of your skin burnt, but above all, there was that paralyzing faintness that turned a human into a toy. Apparently, you slid down onto the floor, and he lifted you up and put you back into bed.

Bleakness of the room was pierced by random specks of sunlight like glistening particles of dust. Even your mind was on hault because you couldn’t feel angry. Somewhere far away your own voice sounded like a fain echo, saying, asshole, but you didn’t get the whole idea. The only thing you could feel was that you were dying.

Malachai’s face appeared in front of yours, and his lips weren’t moving with his words,

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal. I can’t go on with the wound like that…”

He left. There were steps, and then a blunt thump.

“Ah, shit”.

He tried to leave the room and bumped into the invisible barrier Bonnie had set up. This one was smart, the source of magic in a bell, not more than a trinket she found in her house. The type of thing was irrelevant, it could be a bar of chocolate for all they knew. But the bell wasn’t here, so the barrier couldn’t be siphoned. Kai was restricted by it, but couldn’t reach it, and he couldn’t suck it out of the air. Every time he’d do it, the bell, somewhere in the town, would restore the barrier again, and again.

“Smart”, he grumbled. You realized you were now stuck here with him, dying, helpless, unable to move your fingers. Just like him, you were now locked inside, only your head working half-properly, while your body was slowly decaying. You had no idea what he’s done to you. But seeing – or, rather, feeling him walk around, said that he sucked all the life force out of you, repaired himself and left you to die.

Heartless. But then again, it’s Parker. What did you expect?

Your eyes felt full of sand, but you were struggling to keep them open. You didn’t notice the second he returned to the bed. All of a sudden his hand was sliding around your waist, and your inner voice became a bit stronger out of terror.

He’s touching me.

You were turning into a doll, unable to move, your limbs itchy and out of control. Only a part of your mind was intact which was painfully similar to what happens when you get a fever. Well, that was one nasty infection lingering above you.

Kai pulled your phone from your pocket and then lifted your palm, pressing your finger to the button to unblock it.

“That’s cool”, he mumbled to himself. The bed just next to you sank as he sat closer. Your sight started to return, but your body refused to work. You started seeing the outline of Kai, humped over your iPhone, frowning like he was real busy with something extra responsible.

He shot you a glance, and his eyes smiled. You felt like an insect prepped against the glass. He lifted your phone to his ear without taking his eyes off you.

“Good day, Diamond”, he smiled, “I’m up. Wanna come and let me out?”

You couldn’t hear what Damon was saying. You could just watch him and wait. You tried to force the muscles of your legs to work, to push him off the bed, but all the systems were shut down. It didn’t hear you. You wondered if he took too much, and you were really going to die. What a wheel of fortune, with you two, the comical irony in which one of you is laying bleeding out life, and it’s the other one’s choice to let you go or spare you. You tried to tell him that you weren’t afraid of him; that he was an A-class douchebag. Suddenly you realized he was already completely dressed. When did he have time to dress up?

“Oh, Y/N, she’s here. She’s dying. You know, the stab wound was so big, it kinda sucked, so Y/N kindly offered to help out… she’s so full of energy. Well, was”.

Silence again. He gave out the baddest smirk and looked away.

“Uh-huh. Scary”, his voice was completely calm, “well, imagine the kinds of things I can do to her while you’re running around fuming. Bring the source of magic, and let me out, buddy”.

He hung up and sighed.

“Stuck again…” Kai said slowly, after a pause.

“You guys know it hurts me, right? I kind of have a PTSD after being locked away, and now this, again…” he clicked his tongue, “not nice”.

He reached for the case with your airpods and opened it. You rolled your eyes away, testing what you see. The room was returning, all the things in it in their places. He put one of the airpods in your right ear.

“Is that left or right? Right”, he sank into your phone again.

“You know… when I was young, I loved Pantera. Have you heard about them? You don’t have any songs…”

You were drifting in the air, your limbs intact but silent. The warmth of this bastard’s body next to you was the only thing you felt except eternal feebleness and pain. No wonder he was a Gemini, dual in all things.

“Check this album out. That was one of the last ones I got to listen to before I got to prison. It’s one of their best works”.

Loud music banged into your ear; that insane jerk put the volume on maximum listening to a metal band.

“This is Heresy, a great song”, Kai promised. His face was lit with a dreamy smile. When the full drums came in, pain pierced your brain. Torture! He was torturing you. Knocked you out, made you absolutely harmless, and then went on physically abusing you. Pantera was fine. The volume was deafening. His head started rocking back and forth slowly.

“Everybody was going crazy when I listened to them in my room. I like it loud”.

One song went, then another.

Reverend, reverend, is this some conspiracy?

Crucified for no sins…

You were blinking slowly, as your consciousness was fighting to return.

“Oh!” Kai turned to you with a swing and slapped you on your lap. An eerie wave of cyan pain rolled all the way down your body, and it got dark for a second. You swam out of the twilight to hear him say,

“…actually, when I was, like, twenty one. I was in California with my ex-girlfriend. And we went to this underground show and met them. They were just a sad act back then, very fresh beginners, you know. Very bunt punk-rock, no melody, no nothing. They were playing with Scott Raynor and he was so-o-o unimaginative, you know? After the show I met with Tom and Mark and told them, you guys, you’re gonna go far, because you got the spirit. But you gotta lose this drummer. And then, like next year, I go to prison. That sucked. And when I got out, they were big! How cool is that? Is that cool or sad? But, I mean, first of all, it’s unfair, because you can actually say that Blink owes everything to me…”

You were losing concentration over the music and his voice drilling your brain at the same time. The room was getting more and more even, and suddenly, there was a light stinging in your left arm. You tried to move it – and your fingers retracted. You made you hand crawl on the sheets and touch his hip.

Kai looked at your hand with outmost curiosity, like it was a bug he’d never seen before.

Then he looked back at you with compassion.

“Wow, he’s not in a hurry to save you, is he? You’ve got cool friends”.

You opened your mouth, your lips parting lazily, and the air flew out of your throat.

“What?”

You tried again, anger boiling in you. With it, there came joy, because your mind was clearer and clearer with every Pantera song that swept through your decomposing eardrums.

“Try again”, he advised. You sucked the air through your teeth.

“Motherfucker”, you whispered.

Malachai frowned and bit his lower lip, looking at you, puzzled.

I’m going to kill you, you mouthed, but he ignored you.

“Should I call him again?..”

Just as he said it, you both heard steps outside the room. At that time exactly you wondered why nobody came to check on him, and didn’t even look inside. What would he do to the doctors if they discovered you half-dead in his bed?

Kai sat himself even deeper next to you, lifting one leg and pulling it to himself, as Damon appeared in the doorframe.

He couldn’t come in as long as the barrier was holding, because he wouldn’t be able to leave again. The plan had been that you’d jump out in case something goes south with Kai when he wakes up. He was hurt, and he didn’t have vampire speed, that’s what you hoped for.

“Did you bring it?” Kai asked immediately. Damon looked inside, puffed like a handsome hedgehog.

“Y/N”.

“She’s here”, the witch took your arm and waved it like you were a corpse.

“Leave her”.

Kai sighed, and his cheekbones cut under his skin which said he was losing patience. You looked at his perfectly pointed nose, a work of art in terms of shape. No wonder the guy was a complete narcissist, unbearable in self-admiration. Even lying there at his very unlikely mercy, you could still admit he had good genes. That didn’t help the fact you desired to peel his skin off.

Kai put up your phone above your face thin edge down, and Damon grabbed on the doorframe.

“Give me the damn thing, or I’m killing her. Did you see her neck? You think one hit is enough to break it? I bet it is”.

You looked at his wrist and how steady his hand was.

“Get away from her”.

“I’m killing her…”

Your blood boiled. You reached for his elbow, pulling on the sleeve of his hoodie with weak fingers, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The music that was still playing in your ear was driving you crazy and you tried to shake your head to get the airpod out, but it was sitting neatly inside.

“Four… three…”

“Kai, stand up and come here, let me choke you myself”.

Just give him the damn bell, you thought. You tried to move away from under his aim, but Kai just adjusted. There was nowhere to escape from the hard, guillotine-like edge of your own device.

“Two…”

“Okay!” Damon yelled. He threw something inside the room, and Kai caught it with one hand, silencing the thin ringing. He dropped your phone, having lost all interest in both you and Pantera in a skip of a heartbeat.

“Hmm… okay”. He took it with both hands and started siphoning. Damon was waiting in the door, getting ready to charge like a bull.

You shouldn’t have brought him the water. It’s actually pretty understandable, what he did. That was the worst thing. You could understand the kind of things Kai did, and why he did it. You just hated the fact he was living in this alien dimension, completely alone, and no one could relate. You understood but you couldn’t empathize.

He threw out his hand, and Damon got pulled by an invisible force, crashing hard into the opposite wall somewhere in the corridor.

Kai took out your airpod, and the silence of the room went ringing louder than the bell. He jumped off the bed and patted you on your shoulder.

“I hope you enjoyed my Blink story. It’s completely true. I actually still like them. Alright, bye”.

Putting the bell into his pocket like a shoplifter that can’t keep his hands away from stuff, he walked away, leaving you floating on the bed, with your head full of squealing.

In a couple of minutes Salvatore’s face was next to you, and his salty, hot blood started flooding your throat. You closed your eyes, trying not to puke, as it healed you from the inside.

If your mouth wasn’t occupied, as you were gradually gaining all your body back, you would be swearing so much.

[skeletonpunching]

Vatican Miracle Examiner book recap - The Apostles Without Original Sin

Or the one where Hiraga and Roberto go to Japan, and then… uh.

Things this book definitely contains: Hiraga being adorable, your regular dose of Roberto whump, shady Vatican politics, lots of esoteric science and history, and spoilers for stuff past the anime.

Beyond that, I grow uncertain.

This post has been in the works for a very long time, partly because I found the plot of this book pretty confusing, even by VME standards.

The publisher’s official summary:

At Amakusa in Kumamoto Prefecture, a snowstorm is observed in midsummer, and a massive cross suddenly rises into the sky. At the same time, an ocean explorer who was shipwrecked in the sea nearby claims, "I was rescued by a beautiful black-haired angel." Hiraga and Roberto begin their miracle examination, but even more enigmatic mysteries and codes surface in the land of Amakusa, suffused with the remnants of the Hidden Christians’ faith. What is the truth behind the legend of Amakusa Shirou?

As always, I am a mere mortal and can only do my best to capture the glory.

(This is more of a standalone episode than some others, but you may want to read my previous recaps to get the lowdown on a new recurring character, Dr. Chandra Singh.)

This book is a slow burn, especially compared to the others I’ve recapped. That is to say, there’s a lot of great character stuff, but there isn’t as high a concentration of “what the hell is happening” on a page-to-page basis. It absolutely gets weird, but the nature and extent of that weirdness isn’t as upfront from the start.

Reading this book was like sailing a boat through the fog, squinting at the faint outlines I glimpsed in the distance and wondering if they were just my imagination, until I crashed straight into the iceberg and started sinking. I hope you’ll stick with me.

And on that nautical note...

The prologue introduces us to Robinson Baker, a 26-year-old American ocean explorer. He’s fit and bronzed and has appeared in fashion magazines, but lest you think he’s just a pretty face, he’s made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs won the Vendée Globe, a solo non-stop yacht race around the world.

Now he’s sailing his yacht solo across the Pacific for a magazine piece on “Pursuing the Legend of Prester John”. Robinson himself isn’t really religious, but reading the legend as a kid was what made him aspire to be an ocean explorer.

He’s currently heading towards Japan; he has no particular interest in Japan either, but the magazine editors made him write that “the kingdom of Prester John might possibly be Japan”, for clickbait reasons I guess. Mostly he’s looking forward to partying with his adoring fans at a swanky hotel.

This is interrupted by a typhoon warning. Robinson is pretty confident it won’t be any trouble, but as the typhoon approaches without weakening and the boat starts rattling ominously, it occurs to him that maybe he’s miscalculated. He considers calling for help, but then decides against it because he’s too attached to his reputation as a badass. He can handle this! He’s hardcore! Time to shut himself in the cabin and struggle with his growing dread!

The storm, unimpressed by his level of hardcore, overturns his boat. He’s still at least 15 km from land. Before the water pressure can trap him inside the cabin of the sinking yacht, Robinson makes his best decision so far and, wearing a life-jacket, he throws himself into the sea - “the sea he loved more than anything, which was now betraying him”. I’d accuse him of being melodramatic, but honestly it seems justified.

Something hits him on the back of the head and knocks him out, which at least saves him from making any more bad decisions.

When he wakes up and finds himself still adrift, he prays to God for the first time in his life, and in that instant he sees a pale light that doesn’t look like a lighthouse or buoy. He paddles towards it with his remaining strength, and as his consciousness ebbs, he sees: a miracle! The glowing figure of Jesus Christ is floating above the surface of the pitch-black ocean, wearing a crown of thorns and holding a shepherd’s staff!

Robinson swims towards it, having a religious epiphany the whole time, and finally makes it to shore. He thanks God, and the figure of Christ vanishes into the darkness, leaving Robinson alone on a deserted beach. He’s too exhausted to budge any further. Guess he’ll freeze to death here! But then:

A beautiful angel came walking along the beach, long black hair fluttering.

With a tender smile, the angel gently touched Robinson’s body.

Robinson is engulfed in a sense of warmth and relief, and passes out.

We will be returning to Robinson, which is why I’ve recapped the prologue so extensively.

But for now, we head to the Vatican, which recently decided that IT dungeons weren’t enough and added some CODEBREAKING dungeons. Previously, members of different religious orders weren’t able to collaborate or discuss their work across party lines. But Saul has been working on implementing reforms, like establishing the new “Forbidden Documents Research Division” (mentioned in Norway book), which brings together scholars from various factions and ranks to decipher old Vatican texts that have been sealed away in the archives for ages.

Roberto, naturally, is part of this elite new codebreaking division. But Vatican transparency only goes so far - the names of the members aren’t publicised, and they aren’t actually allowed to interact with each other. They’re locked in separate rooms and have to get the guard to let them out when they want to leave. Roberto isn’t really bothered by this because hey, old books!

He was deeply proud to have been selected as a member, and it put him in high spirits. But at the same time, he suspected that Archbishop Saul had created this department with some sort of deep plan in mind.

Oh well, no point worrying about Vatican politics when there’s NERDING OUT to be done. Roberto is deciphering a classified document about a ceremony at Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey on Easter 1633. Somehow Roberto makes the mental leap to the fact that Galileo’s trial for heresy took place in 1633, and this gets him thinking about how the church suppressed all this cutting-edge knowledge.

In this way, the knowledge that was “hunted down” had grown into vast archives of classified material. These had been hoarded in the Vatican - which had led the Roman Inquisition - and the headquarters of the various Catholic orders.

Hadn’t this been fuelled by an extraordinary possessiveness and desire to monopolise knowledge? No, that was too mild a way of putting it. It must have been something like a frenzy - a maddening passion.

Roberto was aware that he himself possessed such passion, and so he could understand these people.

Through trial and error, he hits upon using the Lullian Circle to decode the document - he constructs his own Lullian Circle, and when he encounters some cryptic string of characters, he treats it as a substitution cipher. By lining up the three concentric circles of the Lullian Circle and considering the associations between the words, he can unpack a range of complex meaning from just nine characters, and he manages to decode the whole document this way. Basically he is being very smart and I’m not doing justice to it.

The document turns out to be about a ritual performed by “the ones illuminated by light”. Roberto is alarmed, because he realises that this is VME and of course “Those who referred to themselves as such were none other than the Illuminati.” The Illuminati predates the Catholic orders; it formed among the Roman ruling classes, influenced by Egyptian mythology, and so it turns out that there was worship of Isis and Horus going on right there in the abbey.

It occurs to Roberto that the Jesuits use the emblem “IHS”, which allegedly stands for “Iesus Hominum Salvator” - but it also happens to be the initials of the three Egyptian deities Isis, Horus, and Set.

Was this merely a coincidence?

Sure, it could be, but why go with the tiny-brain explanation? It could also be a sign of the DARK INFLUENCE OF THE ILLUMINATI in the Catholic Church.

If the forbidden documents continued to be deciphered, this was bound to come to light eventually - and then the extent of their influence over the Catholic world would inevitably become clear.

What on earth is Archbishop Saul planning?

He’s probably laying the groundwork to flush out the dark powers that have spread throughout the Vatican…

But that’s far too dangerous…

Roberto decides to shelve this thought for now and just do his job. He writes his report, has lunch delivered to the room, and takes a break to have judgemental thoughts about how the latte is cold and the panini are tough and it’s all very unpalatable.

Hey, maybe it’s time for the actual plot to start! Roberto leaves the codebreaking dungeon at 8 pm, and sees that he’s gotten an email from Hiraga: “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Roberto figures that Hiraga is probably still in the lab (guys, please, it’s 8 pm, stop making everyone look bad), and calls him.

“Yes, this is Hiraga- ah!”

From the other end of the line came the sound of something heavy falling over.

“You... what’s wrong?”

“No, nothing at all, please don’t mind it. More importantly, Father Roberto, did you see my email?”

“I did. You said there’s something you want to discuss?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re so busy, but…”

Hiraga launches straight into rambling about the discovery of a cross in the sea near Goa. He’s “rattling on at the velocity of a runaway train” when Roberto clears his throat and cuts in. “It’s getting late, so if you like, how about we have dinner at my place and you can tell me about it slowly?” Hiraga thinks this is a “wonderful proposal”, hangs up, and soon shows up in person, out of breath.

Roberto cooks a delicious meal of lamb chops, grilled vegetables, risotto, and some smoked salmon appetisers, while listening to his favourite bossa nova music, because this man doesn’t know how to chill. But I guess when you have an appreciative audience...

“It smells excellent. Thank you for always cooking such splendid meals, Father Roberto. I find it incredible that you can make such elaborate dishes in your own kitchen,” Hiraga said admiringly.

“No, they’re not really that elaborate.”

“Is that so? They seem very complicated to me…”

Hiraga began to scrutinise the table closely, as though examining the subject of an investigation. Seeing this, Roberto hastily spoke.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“Yes,” Hiraga said, and went on with a bright smile.

"Father Roberto, I'm sorry for always imposing on you like this. My house is currently undergoing renovations. I will invite you over once they are completed."

What?! Roberto thought, reflexively doubting his ears.

Hiraga was utterly unconcerned with matters of everyday life, and dwelt placidly in a house that had transformed into a mountain of trash. The news that he was undertaking renovations was truly astonishing.

Knowing him, he was probably planning on constructing a laboratory in his house.

"Is that so? I look forward to it," Roberto replied with a vague smile.

Hiraga eats a bit of his food, and then starts going on about the mysterious cross again. It washed up in some fishermen’s nets, and when appraised, it turned out to be hollow, containing a cache of Catholic ritual stuff. This includes a “holy belt”, which is embroidered with the crest of the person who had it made, but Hiraga can’t identify it, so he wanted to consult Roberto.

Hiraga takes out his laptop to show Roberto a picture of the crest, and “Roberto took that moment to sneak a lamb chop onto Hiraga’s dish.”

Then he takes a look at the picture and oh, very simple, it’s Gregorius XIII. Of course. This turns into talking about Malachy’s Prophecy of the Popes, and this quality exposition really gets Hiraga going.

Hiraga leant forward across the table; Roberto looked pointedly at the food and said, “Do eat for now.”

Hiraga absentmindedly took a mouthful of risotto, and bit into the lamb chop.

Roberto mentions how the prophecies have been used as propaganda by power-hungry church officials who wanted to get elected pope.

Hiraga wore an expression of disbelief.

To a pure person like him, it was practically undreamt of that people would maliciously manipulate the hearts of others - let alone in the Vatican, the nation of God.

[...]

“Is that so… One could say that Catholicism is currently facing an upheaval, but at least there aren’t any new phony prophecies circulating. I’m glad.”

Hiraga beamed and took a drink of his wine.

Roberto, who had lately been reading nothing but forbidden books about savagery, felt himself awash in gratitude at having a partner as pure as Hiraga.

The reason why Hiraga did not notice the malice of others was because he himself harboured no malice.

When talking to this friend, Roberto felt as though he was cleansed of the dirt of the world.

Roberto’s face softened, and he continued eating.

From tomorrow onwards, I’ll try to take things easier. I’ll go out for lunch at least, and if the timing works out, I’ll invite Hiraga to dinner. Even as an apostle of God, I should be entitled to enjoy life.

As he was thinking this, Hiraga spoke up.

“Roberto, how are things going at the Forbidden Documents Research Division?”

“Mm, so-so. The work itself isn’t too different from what I usually do. It’s just that every day I have a feeling of tension, like it’s hard to breathe.”

“That sounds difficult. If there is anything I can do to help, please say the word.”

“Sure, I will.” Roberto nodded.

“This just occurred to me, but from now on, won’t you be busy whenever I’m sent on miracle examinations? Will I end up being partnered with someone else?”

“I wonder. It’s up to Archbishop Saul to say, but after all, my ultimate duty is as a miracle examiner. If I’m sent on an official mission, I’ll gladly comply.”

“I see. So that’s how it is.”

Neither of them expected that an opportunity to resolve their doubts would arrive so soon.

Haha, okay, NOW it’s actually time for the plot! Two days later, Saul summons them and gives them the mission: they’re going to Japan to investigate the miracle of a midsummer blizzard in Amakusa, and a giant cross that appeared in the sky and then vanished. Oh, and there’s also a young American who’s been yelling about how a glowing image of Christ and an angel appeared and saved his life, a few days before that.

Hiraga is very into this miracle and wants to go check it out as soon as possible, but Saul points out that there are… complications. The Vatican received an investigation request from a church in Amakusa, which is run by Jesuits; if it’s verified, they want to build a church near the site of the miracle. But our excitable American friend has been in touch with the Franciscan church in his California hometown, and they also submitted a petition to the Vatican; if it’s legit, they want to embark upon missionary work in Amakusa. So there have been some dick-measuring contests negotiations between the Franciscans (to which Roberto and Hiraga belong) and the Jesuits.

The higher-ups discussed it, and decided that Roberto and Hiraga were the most qualified to deal with this level of Weird Shit. Well, the real clincher is that it happened in Japan, so Hiraga seems like the obvious choice. But our heroes will be hosted by the local Jesuit priests, and this level of cooperation between different orders is kind of an anomaly.

“So we’ll be heading to Japan tomorrow, huh? I’m looking forward to this much more than the usual miracle examinations,” Roberto said cheerfully, as they set off down the corridor.

“Why is that?” Hiraga asked, puzzled.

“You’re of Japanese descent, aren’t you? You could say it’s the country where you have your roots. I’m interested in it.”

Hiraga let out a long sigh.

“About that - I’m very uneasy.”

“Why?”

“I myself am unsure whether I’m that familiar with Japan. Even though it’s my grandfather’s birthplace, I only ever visited the country when I was a child…” Hiraga muttered. “Just now, Archbishop Saul said, ‘The location being Japan was the deciding factor; it was settled that Father Hiraga was the most qualified’ - when I heard that, I thought my heart would stop.”

Hiraga had straight black hair and black almond-shaped eyes. His skin was fair, but unlike a Westerner’s complexion, it was the tint of ivory. His slender, petite frame was another of the many obvious features of his Japanese heritage. Even at the Seat of the Disciple, many people knew him as “the Japanese priest”.

But in fact, Hiraga did not know Japan especially well. It was merely that his parents were both of Japanese descent, and so they had also spoken Japanese in the household.

“By the way, Roberto, do you know Japanese?”

At Hiraga’s question, Roberto grimaced.

“Japanese is difficult - I haven’t been able to tackle it. European languages share the same roots, so I can learn them without too much trouble, but Japanese is one of the world’s most difficult languages. I won’t be able to step up as interpreter this time.”

“Then, I’ll have to translate Japanese, won’t I…”

“I’ll be in your care.”

“Yes… I’m not really confident about that, but I will at least spend tonight studying hard,” Hiraga said with a small shrug.

As it turns out, they’re welcomed by local priests who speak Latin, so Hiraga is spared for now. Roberto wastes no time getting judgemental when one of the local priests, Kitami, has the audacity to smile at him.

His smile was merely an upward curve of his thin lips; those eyes did not smile.

A cunning man, Roberto thought.

Hiraga, meanwhile, is listening to another local priest (Nishimaru) talk about how the four junior priests at the church all went to seminary together and have been friends since.

They drive to the local church; Roberto, whose knowledge of Japan is mostly limited to the urban landscapes of Tokyo and Kyoto, thinks that this peaceful rural scenery reminds him of some corner of Southeast Asia.

Hiraga got out of the car with a spring in his step, and murmured delightedly, “It looks like my grandfather’s hometown.”

They’re introduced to Father Gerard, the guy in charge, and the other two young priests, Nanjou and Andou. (At this point, I start rooting for some of them to die soon so I don’t have to keep track of all these names. I can reassure you that most of their names aren’t actually important, but they each contain one of the cardinal directions - Nishimaru is west, Kitami is north, Nanjou and Andou are South and East - which I thought was a pretty hilarious bit of theme naming.)

The youngsters make sure to introduce themselves as being “from the Society of Jesus”, which rubs Roberto the wrong way. Uh, waiter, how did this political intrigue get in his nerdery

“Thank you for your warm welcome. Although we belong to the Franciscan order, we are priests serving the same God as you. The current Pope himself is from the Society of Jesus, but I understand that he dispatched us Franciscans here in hopes of a more impartial investigation. We will investigate this incident with wholehearted commitment, in order to be worthy of the trust His Holiness has placed in us.”

Father Gerard smirked cynically.

“To be frank, it came as a surprise that they were sending Franciscan miracle examiners. But I, too, have received direct instructions from the Jesuit higher-ups to cooperate with you. Since that is how the matter was settled, I intend to abide by my superiors’ decision.”

“You have our heartfelt gratitude for your cooperation,” Roberto replied without missing a beat.

“By the way, when can we go to the site of the miracle?” Hiraga interjected from the side.

They’ll have to wait till tomorrow for the boat, but in the meantime, they can settle in and talk to Robinson, who is staying in the same lodgings as them. It’s an inn on the outskirts of the village, run by a guy named Yoshioka, who’s very honoured to be hosting actual priests from the Vatican.

Yoshioka tells them about how Kamishima - the small uninhabited island where the miracle actually took place, off the coast of Amakusa - has always been rumoured to be cursed. Residents include: a frightening deity named Mahiru, spirits such as ghost lights and oil pressers, and poisonous snakes. Fun times.

Our heroes meet Robinson, who is wearing a yukata and sitting seiza-style, and greets them in Japanese. Hiraga, too, sits down seiza-style and bows his head. Robinson seems deeply stirred by this image, and goes, “Oooh… What a charming priest.” (Roberto, at a loss, imitates Hiraga’s posture, but his legs immediately start to hurt.)

Robinson tearfully recounts the story of his near-death experience - how he was saved by the glowing figure of Christ and then a beautiful angel with long fluttering hair, and survived to be picked up by a passing fishing boat.

“By the way, Mr. Robinson, even though the island is uninhabited, that does not necessarily refute the existence of the angel.”

“So you believe me, Father Hiraga?”

“Yes. I have no reason not to believe,” Hiraga replied with a smile.

“I see… Everyone I talked to said it was all just in my head, and I was starting to be convinced myself. But with you believing me, I feel like I’ve been saved. Thank you, Father Hiraga,” Robinson said joyfully.

Robinson, dude, he’s married, slow your roll

Then our heroes go to their room, where we’re treated to more culture shock with Roberto Nicolas. He’s startled that there’s no furniture - no bed, no desk, no sofa. Meanwhile, Hiraga’s only qualm is that they need to set up wifi, so he can be a nerd at all hours.

Hiraga cheerfully explains what a kotatsu is - you can write on it, you can lie down when you’re tired, and it heats the room in winter.

“I see…”

When Hiraga was at home, he would occasionally sit on the floor rather than using the sofa, and would roll about on the floor. Roberto now understood that this was due to Japan’s culture of using the kotatsu.

Then Hiraga explains what tatami is to Roberto, who needs a pile of cushions to settle down and remarks, “I have trouble with the way you’re sitting. Is it considered rude in Japan to sit with your legs crossed Arabian-style?” Hiraga reassures him that it’s perfectly fine.

Hiraga is apparently in full travel-show-host mode, because he decides to make tea.

Hiraga: There’s a tea chest here. I’ll brew some tea.

Roberto: You will? That’s rare.

Hiraga: I do know the general method for brewing tea. You steam it a little, like this. But you may find Japanese tea bitter.

Roberto: Excuse me, I do know a thing or two about Japanese tea. Asian teas which are rich in catechin and vitamins have been getting a lot of attention in Rome lately. There are even baristas who specialise in Japanese tea. The different varieties of Japanese tea are bancha, sencha, houjicha, genmaicha, kukicha, gyokuro, matcha… and so on. So, what kind of tea are you brewing right now?

Hiraga, softly: I don’t know. I’ve never thought about the different kinds of tea. I figured that if it was light green, it was green tea, and if it was light brown, it was regular tea.

Then they go to dinner, where they meet Yuuko, their host’s daughter who also works at the inn. She’s young and beautiful and demure, and blushes when her father talks about how sweet she is and proud he is of her.

“That girl truly feels like a model of Japanese womanhood,” Roberto murmured admiringly.

“How so, exactly?” Hiraga inquired, puzzled.

“She’s quiet and gentle, and seems shy and obedient.”

“Is that so? There are many Westerners who hold this image of Japanese women, but all the Japanese women I know are surprisingly strong-willed.”

“Oh? I really can’t see it.”

Roberto shrugged.

Roberto, man, don’t be one of THOSE guys.

At this point, Yoshioka serves them a dish piled high with sashimi, which awes and intimidates them. Hiraga objects that they’re priests and really don’t need such lavish food, and also, he’s worried about whether Roberto can handle eating sashimi. But it turns out to be fresh and tasty, and they eat half of it before Hiraga starts feeling the strain.

And then Yoshioka brings out the rest of the meal, which is a massive donburi full of rice and fish sauce.

Hiraga broke out in a cold sweat.

“...Roberto, I’m sorry, but my stomach has reached its limit.”

Hiraga set his chopsticks down on the table.

“Honestly, me too. But the fish sauce is pretty tasty. How about you try a bite? The flavour is different, so maybe it’ll put you in a new mood and you can enjoy the food.”

Roberto reached for the fish sauce, looking a little relieved.

“You’re talking strangely. My mood has no effect on my stomach capacity,” Hiraga muttered, suppressing a hiccup.

The two of them agree that this is just Too Much for them, and Hiraga should go request that Yoshioka halve their portions from now on. I almost feel like I don’t need the casefic plot, I would be fine with the Roberto and Hiraga Travelogue forever.

But the casefic plot wants to remind us that it exists, because suddenly, while Hiraga is talking to Yoshioka, Roberto sees a mysterious figure standing stock-still outside the window. It’s a young Japanese girl with pale skin and black hair, dressed in white, and she’s staring expressionlessly at him.

A chill runs down Roberto’s spine, but presumably because he hasn’t seen The Ring, he doesn’t freak out and nope the hell out of there. He glances around, but no one else seems to have noticed the girl’s presence, and when he looks back, she’s gone.

Hiraga returns and asks what’s wrong, and Roberto deflects, because of course he does.

Meanwhile, our American friend Robinson is bored. He’d rather be partying in California, not out here in the sticks where there’s one karaoke bar and it closes at 10 pm. He can’t even chat up his adoring friends in California, because of time differences. Robinson has gotten very fond of Japan, but this is a real issue.

Robinson decides to engage in the classic American pastime of getting drunk and setting off fireworks without permission, and that’s exactly what he does. He tries to drive back to the inn after this, but gets lost in a creepy forest.

This reminds Robinson that he watched an anime movie a few days ago, about spirits living in the Japanese forest. So naturally he should go check out the forest right now! Our intrepid explorer finds a bunch of old houses surrounded by graves, and then his flashlight goes out. He’s trying not to freak out, but then he hears a slithering noise like a giant snake, and an unearthly flickering ball of flame appears before him. The flame is held in a disembodied dark green hand, like a zombie’s.

Robinson loses it and bolts for the car, and heads straight to our heroes to yell about this.

It’s 4 am, and Roberto was planning to sleep in a bit more, but Robinson is clearly panicking; he clings to Hiraga’s arm and pleads, “H-help me!” He raves about having seen a phantom and been possessed by it, and Roberto blesses him with holy water until he settles down enough to describe what he saw. Robinson adds that he used to visit haunted places with his friends just for fun, but he never saw anything, and they called him “Robinson the Fearless” - but apparently now he can see God AND he’s plagued by demons too? He doesn’t want this, guys.

Hiraga says, “No, I believe that you may have encountered a legendary lifeform.” Roberto has no idea what he’s talking about. Hiraga explains that after Yoshioka mentioned the oil presser spirits earlier, he did some research online. They’re youkai that manifest as hands holding oil or fire, and there’s no record of them causing harm to humans, they just give them a fright. Robinson doesn’t really get it, but he goes along with the explanation.

Hiraga nodded in satisfaction, and looked over at Roberto.

“So even Father Roberto, with his extensive trove of knowledge about folklore, isn't familiar with Japanese youkai?”

Roberto stared back at Hiraga, astonished.

“No, well, youkai are basically creatures like Yeti and Mothman, aren’t they? So because I don’t know about Japanese youkai, you’ve been staying up late to research this?”

“Yes, that’s right. I borrowed some compilations of local folklore from Mr. Yoshioka, and I’ve been reading them,” Hiraga said, indicating several books next to his pillow.

“......”

“It’s not out of mere curiosity. Ghost lights and oil pressers - they’re both spirits related to combustion phenomena. And so I thought that they might have something to do with the glowing image of Christ, and the mysterious shining cross. Usually you would be the one to tell me about this kind of information, but I can’t ask you to read Japanese materials.”

“I see, so that’s it. You suddenly started talking about something so unlike you - that was quite a shock.”

Roberto patted his chest in relief.

Robinson is excited that Hiraga believes in spirits; Hiraga reasons that there’s no concrete evidence refuting their existence either, so he can’t deny it. Robinson, who has apparently recovered from his terror, starts enthusing about how wonderfully exotic youkai are. He thought there was no real point being an explorer in the 21st century, since there are no more undiscovered frontiers, no more romanticism and the thrill of the unknown - but look at these delightful mysteries! God must have shown him this phantom to send him an important message!

As Robinson was getting carried away by his impulsive fancies, Roberto let out a brief sigh.

“Mr. Robinson, just what do you think God is telling you by showing you that phantom?”

“He’s given me a mission, of course! To stay in Japan and explore its unknown parts, and introduce all these marvellous youkai,” Robinson answered cheerfully.

“...ah, I see. You’re a modern Lafcadio Hearn, then.”

Roberto’s words were laden with sarcasm.

Unfortunately, Roberto’s sick burn is wasted on Robinson, who has never heard of Lafcadio Hearn. (Neither had I, to be fair.) Roberto explains that he was a journalist who researched Japanese folklore and catalogued ghost stories, like the story of Houichi the Earless.

At this moment, Hiraga blinked uneasily, and he muttered softly, “Roberto, could you stop talking about Houichi the Earless?”

“Why?” Roberto asked.

“Well, Father Hiraga saying that just makes me even more curious about this earless so-and-so. I definitely want to know, Father Roberto,” Robinson said, his eyes shining.

Hiraga would occasionally get scared by things that were basically trivial. Roberto decided to tease him a little.

“Then, at Mr. Robinson’s request, I’ll tell the story.”

I can’t tell the story better than Roberto or Wikipedia. The really important thing is Roberto being a shit.

Roberto paused dramatically. In that moment of suspense, there came the clatter of Hiraga’s teacup falling over. Roberto pretended not to notice this, and went on.

[...]

Roberto finished speaking, and glanced at Hiraga, who wore an expression of childlike fear.

“Oh my, what’s wrong?” Roberto asked, as though only just noticing Hiraga’s odd behaviour for the first time.

“It’s scary. I heard that story long ago from my grandmother, who was a skilled storyteller, and ever since then, it’s been a terrifying trauma. My grandmother was good at scaring me… Please, don’t ever tell that story again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry,” Roberto said. Hiraga sighed in relief.

Next, Roberto looked over to see Robinson’s reaction. His cheeks were flushed, and he was breathing heavily.

“Fascinating… How fascinating, and frightening, and fantastic! My heart was really racing. Father Roberto, you’re good at telling stories.”

“I’m glad. Lafcadio Hearn was the one who wrote down that story. How about you look him up on the Internet and read some of his other works?”

“I’ll do that right away, thank you! I’ll definitely become like Lafcadio Hearn.”

“That’s a lovely dream,” Roberto said with a smile.

Sadly, instead of staying with passive-aggressive Roberto, we go to our heroes at breakfast. They’re being served the leftover sashimi from last night, now pickled. Roberto tries to eat a piece, but just the smell makes his gorge rise.

“Sorry, but… I can’t do it.”

“Please leave it to me. I have the willpower of a Japanese priest.”

Hiraga took a bite of the sashimi, his face grim.

Then they remember that oh right, there’s a conflict in this book beyond FOOD PROBLEMS. So they’re going to take a look at the island of Kamishima, and talk to the people who witnessed the snowstorm and the appearance of the cross.

But first Hiraga goes back to the room to call Dr. Chandra Singh, their new IT guy. As ever, he is a ray of sunshine.

Hiraga: Good morning.

Dr. Singh, expressionlessly: It is 1 am here.

Hiraga: Ah, good evening. Well, when will my investigation materials be arriving?

Dr. Singh: It's scheduled for today. Do you want to know further details?

Hiraga: Yes.

Dr. Singh: I've emailed you the tracking number, and the contact information for the national support centre.

Hiraga: Thank you.

Dr. Singh: Is there anything else?

Hiraga: Nothing.

Dr. Singh: Then excuse me. [hangs up]

Roberto: Dr. Singh is as unfriendly as ever, I see.

Hiraga: Really? The doctor is a kind person.

(I love him so much.)

Hiraga makes delivery arrangements, and then checks on the boat they’re supposed to take to Kamishima.

“You handling things this way - it’s kind of refreshing,” Roberto said without thinking.

“I can get things done if I try. After all, I’ve always been a fiend for schedules.”

They have a 20-minute boat ride to Kamishima, accompanied by local priest Father East Andou. The boatman won’t go ashore with them because of local superstition, and Andou says he’ll wait in the boat too, so our heroes are on their own.

Hiraga frolics around collecting soil samples and taking photos. He and Roberto discuss what the glowing image of Christ might have been, if not a miracle - maybe it was a projection on the cliff face, or a 3D hologram, or small LEDs made with a 3D printer, but for various reasons none of these is very plausible. I mean, I agree, but who wants to bet the eventual explanation is about as implausible?

They climb to the top of the cliff, up a very narrow and steep path surrounded by dense foliage.

“This is a rather difficult climb,” Hiraga said, short of breath.

“That rucksack is getting in your way, isn’t it? I’ll carry it.”

“No, this is light. I’m fine.”

“Tell me if you’re having trouble.”

Roberto notices someone standing in the shadow of a tree, but when Hiraga calls out, the figure silently vanishes. They figure it was their imagination, but then they find multiple sets of fresh human footprints.

They get back to the boat and go to another local church to interview witnesses to the miracle. This being VME, it turns into exposition about the history of Christianity in Japan, and how it was outlawed in the 1600s and Japanese Christians were severely persecuted and driven into hiding. The head priest of this church explains that Christianity has come so close to being snuffed out in Japan, and it’s up to them to keep it going - basically, it would be REALLY NICE for this miracle to get verified, so the priests can once again spread the glory of God throughout the country.

“You’re Japanese too, so you understand, don’t you? Our fervent wish…”

Father Takeo clasped Hiraga’s hand tightly as he spoke.

“Yes, this is the purpose of the miracle examination. For the glory of God’s name, I promise to carry out a rigorous investigation, and make sure of this miracle’s authenticity,” Hiraga replied, his gaze utterly earnest.

Father Takeo’s expression froze, startled, and his shoulders sagged.

“...rigorous… yes, of course. I couldn’t help getting worked up in the face of this mystery.”

Even without knowing Japanese, Roberto could understand what they were discussing, judging from Hiraga’s usual attitude and the other priest’s obviously crestfallen demeanour.

But without the language to convey his support to the Japanese priest, all Roberto could do was sincerely bow his head to him.

They’re done investigating for the day, but Roberto notices a museum and naturally wants to pay a visit. Hiraga isn’t especially interested, but doesn’t mind going with Roberto - or so he thinks, until he sees Roberto checking out the museum displays and realises what this means.

“Roberto - I’m sorry, but I’ll wait in the lobby.”

“Huh? Why?”

“How should I put it… The instant I saw all those lines of Japanese characters on the display cases, my eyes started spinning and stopped processing information. I’ve seen all sorts of things today, and my head is full. I think I’ll be better after a bit of rest.”

Hiraga tottered unsteadily into the lobby and flopped down on the sofa. It seemed that his hard disk had overheated.

“That’s a problem… Without you, I have no idea what’s written here.”

(Ah, heritage speaker problems...)

Father Andou (whom I keep forgetting is even there) offers to translate for Roberto, and they hit it off pretty well because they’re both nerds about Christian culture and stuff. Andou gives some exposition about the Hidden Christians, who continued practising their faith in secret even after it was outlawed by the Japanese government, risking jail, torture, exile, and martyrdom.

This is Roberto’s cue to angst about his faith, which I guess is what happens as soon as he’s separated from Hiraga for five minutes.

Roberto himself had decided to become a priest merely as a pragmatic way of making a living. As such, this made him reflect deeply on the strength of faith.

Oh, and it looks like his angst is probably infectious.

“Could you please listen to me for a bit?”

“Yes,” Roberto replied, bewildered.

Father Andou took a deep breath.

“Father Roberto, I have something to confess. I… I was envious of you. Ever since I decided to become a priest, I’ve hoped that someday I’ll achieve something splendid, and be recognised and summoned by the Vatican. It’s my lifelong dream, and I’ve been working extra hard towards that goal. And yet you all so easily achieved my dream. It frustrated me…

“I heard that the Vatican’s miracle examiners were an elite division chosen from all over the world, and I was convinced that they had to be unpleasant fellows, smug and full of themselves. When you said, ‘We will investigate this incident with wholehearted commitment, in order to be worthy of the trust His Holiness has placed in us,’ I honestly couldn’t believe it.

“But today, when I saw you both climbing the mountain and getting your cassocks covered in dirt, and when you were bowing deeply to Father Takeo, I felt ashamed of myself. Father Roberto, please forgive my rudeness so far.”

Father Andou slowly lowered his head to Roberto, who was taken aback.

“Rudeness? Nothing of the sort. It’s because of you that I was able to learn all sorts of things today. I’m grateful. Thank you.”

Roberto, too, bowed to Father Andou, who laughed wryly.

“You’re unusual. I didn’t think that Westerners bowed like this.”

“Ah, that’s… My investigation partner is Hiraga, who’s of Japanese descent, so I guess I picked up a thing or two.”

“I see. Father Hiraga is also rather… unusual, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he gets that a lot. But he is a highly outstanding man of ardent faith.”

When our heroes get back to the inn, Hiraga’s equipment has arrived, but Roberto knows that once he lets Hiraga get started, good luck getting him to eat dinner. So he asks Hiraga about the witness interviews at the church just now; Hiraga apologises for forgetting to translate earlier. Basically, there are no recordings of the miracle. Hiraga does some infodumping about weather anomalies and solar flares; he posits that the miracle might be caused by St. Elmo's fire, but he’ll have to check the soil samples for traces of our old friend ELECTROMAGNETISM.

Then Roberto seizes the opportunity to suggest they get dinner, which had totally slipped Hiraga’s mind. On their way to dinner, they see Yoshioka telling off his daughter Yuuko, because she got back late from walking the dog.

And again, the true conflict of the book rears its head: Roberto and Hiraga versus their hosts’ food.

The dinner that was served to them was, indeed, a huge helping of sashimi. It seemed that Hiraga’s appeal to reduce their meal portions hadn’t gotten through to Yoshioka.

“Well, we’ve been out and about today. Shall we tuck in?”

“Yes…”

The two of them said grace and began to eat, but Hiraga’s chopsticks soon fell still.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just looking at raw fish makes me a bit queasy.”

“But whatever we have left over will just be pickled and added to our breakfast. That’s the system.”

“I know that, but…” Hiraga muttered, his face pale.

“You pushed yourself too much at breakfast. Luckily I’m feeling peckish - I think I can handle this.”

Hiraga sighed in relief at Roberto’s words.

[...]

“Actually, I realised I had to come up with a strategy for handling meals, starting tomorrow,” Roberto said, setting down his chopsticks and gazing steadily at Hiraga.

“What sort of strategy?”

“You’ll be absorbed in the investigation and lose track of time, won’t you? There’s no way you’ll manage to go to the dining hall at fixed times.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, you could say that.”

Hiraga nodded, as though discussing someone else entirely.

“So you’ll persuade Mr. Yoshioka to bring the meals to the room from tomorrow onwards. The menu can be very simple - tell him that just rice and one dish will do. If that’s not possible, I’ll buy food from somewhere. I’d like to get Mr. Yoshioka’s permission for that.”

“Can I really manage this?”

“But you’re the one who speaks Japanese, aren’t you?”

“That’s true…”

Hiraga nodded determinedly, and went off to negotiate with Yoshioka.

And he shoots, he scores! Hiraga is really achieving some A++ adulting in this book.

“Roberto, the discussion went well.”

“I’m glad. Deep down, I was worried.”

“Miss Yuuko lent me her support midway - she chimed in with, ‘Father, your stubbornness is causing trouble for the priests. Let’s do as they say.’ It was a real help.”

Hiraga picked up his chopsticks with an expression of relief, and bit into a slice of sashimi.

Roberto turned towards the direction of the open kitchen. Yuuko smiled bashfully and nodded to him.

“Miss Yuuko is a nice girl,” Roberto said appreciatively.

Well. Still, good work there, Hiraga!

They decide that tomorrow, Hiraga will... do his thing... and Roberto will go do some research - maybe there are some miracle witnesses whom they haven’t interviewed. Hiraga is worried about whether Roberto can get around without him, but Roberto says, “I think it’ll be fine. I’ve made a friend who’s an excellent interpreter.”

Roberto goes off with his new priest friend Andou, who takes him to another museum; it has a massive golden cross that’s engraved with the usual Christian iconography and also a mysterious Japanese inscription: a cryptic string of syllables. Andou has no idea what it means either - “It’s a code that no one can solve.” Naturally, Roberto perks up at the mention of codes, and requests more exposition.

Basically this is a replica of a cross that used to belong to the Hidden Christians, and there’s a theory that the inscription encodes the location of the Hidden Christians’ secret treasure. Roberto and Andou speculate for a bit about how the Japanese syllables might actually represent some slightly mangled Latin words.

As Roberto spoke passionately, Father Andou gave him an odd look.

“I didn’t expect someone like you, an elite Vatican priest, to get so serious about a long-forgotten code.”

“Ah, excuse me. It’s just my nature. I’m a miracle examiner, but I specialise in codes and the restoration of antiques, so… If it’s alright, might I be able to take a look at the original iron cross itself?”

Father Andou’s expression abruptly went rigid with discomfort.

There was no hope of this happening. Even if this code concealed the “treasure of the Hidden Christians”, it was a treasure that had been bestowed to the Society of Jesus - it belonged to the Jesuits. They had no obligation to disclose their secrets to Roberto, who was a Franciscan.

“Oops, I guess I’ve overstepped. I’m just sincerely interested in codebreaking, but I shouldn’t have meddled. Sorry I bothered you - don’t mind me,” Roberto said breezily. Father Andou looked relieved.

Damn these Vatican politics, getting in the way of our heroes geeking out.

But hey, at least we’ll always have infodumps? They go into the museum, where Roberto learns about Amakusa Shirou, “probably the most famous Christian in Japan”, who led a Catholic rebellion against the Japanese government when he was only 16, but was never recognised by the Vatican because he wasn’t formally baptised. He was a beautiful, charismatic prodigy who was said to have a healing touch. After his rebellion was crushed, he basically vanished from history; a body was found and beheaded, but it’s unclear whether it was actually his. Academics debate whether he actually existed.

Roberto wonders if the Hidden Christian community still exists; apparently no one knows for sure, but the scholarly consensus is that they were stamped out.

Also, Roberto sees some chipped, badly worn clay dolls, and after looking at them for 10 seconds, he comments, “They were so uncanny I’ll probably dream about them tonight.” And he teases Hiraga for being scared of ghost stories...

(This place is a real museum, by the way, which is pretty cool.)

Next they go look for more people who might have witnessed the miracle. Andou tells Roberto about a very secretive and close-knit village in the mountains, led by a family surnamed Futou. It has a good view of Kamishima, but the villagers are “extremely odd” and seem to dislike priests - they turn away Andou & co. whenever they visit.

Roberto immediately wonders if they’re Hidden Christians, because come on, but there’s no definitive evidence for it. Roberto really wants to visit them anyway, so they drive to the village, but no one seems to be there.

So they drive around more and talk about local religion, and Andou mentions that deer are the sacred animal here. He also takes Roberto to another museum and shows him a bunch of antique printing presses. It occurs to me that this would be a very good date if Roberto weren’t already married.

Or maybe not, because while Roberto is sighing adoringly over printing presses, Andou slips off. Roberto finds him crying silently in front of a painting - it’s a reproduction of the “Coronation of Pope Sixtus V” fresco in the Vatican Library. Roberto pretends he didn’t see anything and beats a discreet retreat, and when Andou comes back they act like nothing happened. But yeah, awkward.

Hey, I wonder what Hiraga’s up to while all this is going on? Oh, no big deal, he’s just GOING TO SCALE A CLIFF BY HIMSELF

Hiraga stuffed a small pickaxe and other climbing equipment into his huge rucksack, and set off alone for the harbour, in search of the boat captain. He then requested to be taken to Kamishima.

In order to examine the cliff face, he had to climb it. That much was obvious.

But if he told Roberto, he’d be sure to object that it was dangerous. That was why Hiraga had kept quiet about this.

...I was wondering how we’d gotten this far without any dead bodies, but looks like Hiraga is trying to make up for that.

Hiraga cinched a safety harness around himself, and fastened a high-strength climbing rope to it. With this, he had no worries about falling to his death.

GREAT, GUESS I’LL WORRY FOR BOTH OF US

Gripping the pickaxe in one hand, and with six pouches tied around his waist, Hiraga began to slowly descend the steep cliff face.

The cliff rapidly turned into a sheer precipice, but the surface was slightly uneven, which offered some footholds.

Hiraga thanked God for his own small feet and light body.

okay Hiraga but what if you slip and break your STUPID NECK

He survives the descent, so naturally he does this two more times, on the other sides of the cliff. He confirms that there are no traces of snow or anything that might emit light on the cliff. I sure am glad Hiraga risked his life for a whole load of nothing! (Or, well, 10 kilogrammes of soil samples.) Then, apparently satisfied that he’s done enough death-defying for today, he prays, “O Lord who appeared on the face of this cliff, please show me the reason why.”

The poor boat captain, who had to sit there anxiously watching this whole display, hurries over and asks if he’s alright. Hiraga is covered in sweat and mud and his clothes are fraying, but he reassures the captain that he’s fine. The captain is curious what he’s going to do with the load of soil that he went to all this trouble to get.

“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps this was unnecessary - but it was important to me. After all, the truth can be found in unexpected places. Even a single grain of soil cannot be dismissed.”

I can’t really argue with this, but I want to.

When Roberto gets back to the inn, he sees Hiraga covered in dirt and staring at soil samples through a microscope.

Roberto: Hiraga, just what is all this?

Hiraga: I’m examining the soil from that cliff.

Roberto: Soil from the cliff - on Kamishima, you mean?

Hiraga: Yes.

Roberto: How did you… You did something dangerous again, didn’t you?

Hiraga: It's alright. I made sure to wear a safety harness, so I could gather samples without any danger.

Roberto: A safety harness, huh… Really, you're always startling me. I'm glad you're fine, but you sure brought back a lot. Well then, did you figure out anything from the soil?

Hiraga: I won’t know until the examination is complete. But I have to investigate, even if nothing comes of it - after all, that’s the site of the miracle.

Roberto: That’s true. You really are your usual self, no matter where you are. But I have one piece of advice: you should take a shower or bath, and change out of your dirty clothes. Mr. Yoshioka will be bringing the dinner soon, and he’ll be worried if he sees you all covered in mud. We couldn’t even complain if he decided to throw us out of the inn.

Hiraga, startled: Is it that late already? I see… I’ll go take a shower.

Roberto: You sure were in a trance. Is there something strange about the soil?

Hiraga: No, it’s just ordinary fragments of igneous rock.

Really, it was very typical of Hiraga to get so engrossed in examining ordinary soil that he lost track of time.

While Hiraga takes his shower, Roberto tidies up the room so as not to scandalise their poor host, and fetches a yukata for Hiraga to change into.

Hiraga comes out wearing the yukata, and then notices that his cellphone has apparently been going off this whole time, but he overlooked it because he was so busy with his soil samples.

“Ah, I have a lot of voicemails and emails from Mr. Robinson.”

“Mr. Robinson? What’s he saying?”

Hiraga, tilting his head, read the emails out loud.

"The first message is, 'I want to discuss something.' The next is, 'It's important.' Then the next one is, 'Do you have time?' The next is, 'Please contact me.' The next is, 'I'm waiting for your reply.' The next is, 'Why won't you contact me?' The next is, 'Whatever.' The next is, 'Please contact me after all.' The next is, 'When will you contact me?' The next is..."

Roberto sighed.

"What a persistent man. Did he mention what he wanted to discuss?"

Apparently Robinson took Roberto’s snide remark about Lafcadio Hearn very seriously, and is now running around looking into youkai and jabbering about oil presser spirits. Points for initiative, I guess.

“Anyway, when did you give Mr. Robinson your email address?”

“As soon as we met. He asked me to take out my cellphone, and it was done quickly - it took about three seconds. Weren’t you in the room too, Roberto?”

“I was, but I didn't notice. In a sense, that's an impressive feat. It's none of my business, but maybe you should watch out.”

“For what?”

“For what, you ask... well, this and that. Now, I'm going to shower,” Roberto said evasively, getting to his feet.

Even in Japan, Roberto can’t escape all these guys trying to cosy up to his husband. WOW

Honestly, I kind of admire the sheer audacity of asking a priest for his number, in three seconds, the first time you meet him, when his partner is RIGHT THERE (even if you don’t know they’re married). But seriously Robinson, don’t be a homewrecker.

Late that night, Hiraga is analysing his soil samples and Roberto is tossing and turning in bed, when there’s a knock on the door and a dark figure looms outside the glass pane, like the start of every horror movie. Roberto, understandably, has a bad feeling about this. Hiraga points out that they can’t do anything without knowing who’s outside, and calls out, “Who’s there?”

An icy voice responds, “It’s Futou. Open up,” and Roberto realises it must be one of the reclusive villagers he missed meeting today. Outside is someone dressed in black; it’s a teenage boy with long hair, pale skin, delicate features, and a surprisingly intimidating presence. Sounds very goth.

He’s accompanied by a stoic young girl in white - the same girl Roberto saw outside the dining hall the other night. This girl is called Sara, and she speaks Latin, which Hiraga appreciates because “I’m not confident in my Japanese.”

Futou ominously says, “Are you the ones trespassing on Kamishima? That island is in an extremely unstable state right now. Do not go near it again.”

This pretty much sets the tone of the conversation.

Hiraga: I was the one who went to Kamishima a second time - I was just collecting a bit of the island’s soil. I apologise if I shouldn’t have done that. But my duty is as a miracle examiner. If you tell me not to go to Kamishima, it puts me in a difficult position. Besides, the island doesn’t seem unstable to me. There are no historical records of any earthquakes or natural disasters occurring on Kamishima, and no data on landslides either.

Futou: So you see and understand nothing? I hoped it’d be a bit easier to communicate with a Vatican priest - what a pity. Kamishima’s instability isn’t an issue of geography. It’s a spiritual issue.

Hiraga: A spiritual issue…?

Futou: This shouldn’t be discussed with someone who doesn’t understand. But even if you don’t understand, you have to comply. There’s no other option.

Futou is like “oh, by the way, apparently there’s a foreigner running around yammering about the oil presser spirits - is that you too? You’d better back off and stop talking about the spirits, or bad stuff is going to go down and it’ll be your fault. There have been multiple incidents of cars slipping on roads since last night.”

Hiraga is genuinely confused. He doesn’t think the oil pressers would cause car accidents or otherwise hurt humans, and besides, the person yelling about the oil pressers isn’t them, it’s their “friend” Robinson. He can try to convince Robinson to chill - but before that, he himself needs to understand what’s going on. Why can’t they go to Kamishima, and why can’t they talk about the oil pressers? He’d like an explanation.

Hiraga stubbornly insisted. At times like this, his extremely obstinate nature came to the fore.

But his opponent seemed remarkably stubborn as well.

“Why should I talk to someone who doesn’t understand, about things they won’t understand? I don’t have time for this. If you won’t do as I say, the conversation is over.”

The boy Futou got to his feet. Roberto suddenly spoke up in German.

“Is there anyone here who understands German?”

Futou, Sara, and Hiraga all stared at Roberto, perplexed. Futou and Sara looked like they had no idea what was going on.

Hiraga blinked.

“Let me translate what Father Roberto said…”

Roberto put a finger to Hiraga’s mouth, shushing him midway.

“I’ll negotiate with Futou from here. But I don’t want Miss Sara to get wind of our plans, so we’ll make our arrangements in German. Alright?”

“I understand.”

I just want to appreciate Hiraga not realising that Roberto is trying to talk to him in secret. Bless.

Roberto asks how long it’ll take Hiraga to finish analysing his soil samples, and Hiraga says probably about ten days. Roberto has an offer for Futou - how about they stay away from Kamishima for one week? (Roberto guesses from Futou’s urgency that they’re operating under some time limit.) Futou agrees.

As for the oil pressers, Roberto says that their “friend” has just gotten really into Japanese youkai, but he doesn’t mean any harm; he hopes Futou will understand.

The boy Futou raised an eyebrow slightly.

“It doesn’t matter whether I understand. What I’m asking is whether he’ll stop or not.”

“I’ll try to convince him to stop, but he’s a free man with his own dreams for the future. Just how long should I restrain him?”

Futou’s face tensed, and his voice was dark when he replied.

“I can tell you’re trying to sound out our plans. But very well - I’ll answer. Three days. After three days, once the full moon is safely past, he can do whatever he wants. Otherwise, there will be an even greater disaster. People are likely to die.”

Roberto gets chills at this declaration, but agrees. Of course, being Roberto, he can’t just leave it at that.

“Until the full moon is past… I see. Hmm. That might be a bit tricky.”

“Why?”

“Our friend is quite an energetic man; it won’t be easy to hold him back. I’ll probably have to put my own work on hold, to keep an eye on him constantly.”

“Are you saying you won’t do it?”

“No, that’s not it. I just have a minor condition. If you fulfil it, I can keep my friend in check.”

Roberto wants Futou and the other villagers to give him any information and recordings they have related to the miracle. Futou seems reluctant, but Sara talks him into it. (She addresses him as “Shirou-san”. Hmm.)

Two can play at the same game, though - Futou also wants our heroes to do something in exchange for the info. He won’t tell them what it is now, but he’ll return to fetch them on the night before the full moon.

After the visitors leave, Roberto and Hiraga discuss this latest bit of weirdness. They agree that it’s quite the coincidence that the boy Futou has the same given name as Amakusa Shirou, and Roberto infodumps everything he learnt today about Amakusa Shirou, the Hidden Christians, etc. Hiraga is impressed. “That’s amazing. You gathered this much information in no time at all.” They also wonder what the boy wants from them, but who knows.

The next morning, someone really had died.

OH, FINALLY, we’re way overdue for a corpse

This one is an unidentified body found along the coast, and it’s completely covered in scars like it was scalded with hot oil. I await the VME explanation for this.

There are also news reports of multiple accidents due to cars slipping on the roads. All this lines up with the warnings from the boy Shirou.

Hiraga has contacted Robinson, who goes pale and asks, “Oh Jesus, you mean this is all my fault…?” Roberto says it could be a coincidence, but if so, that’s pretty uncanny - either way, it’s probably best to take Shirou’s warning and not go around mouthing off about spirits. Loose lips sink ships (or crash cars, apparently).

“Just who did this warning come from? Who on earth are they?” Robinson asked dubiously.

“Well, we’re not too sure. We only met them for the first time last night,” Roberto deflected.

“So, Father Roberto, you’re telling me that because of what these strangers said, you’ll be monitoring me for the next three days? This is a violation of my privacy! Don’t you think so, Father Hiraga?” Robinson asked, gazing beseechingly at Hiraga.

“But there has indeed been a death. I also believe we should be cautious, so as not to endanger anyone. Besides, we made a promise to them, and I want to keep it as well.”

“Well then, Father Hiraga - say ‘please’ to me. If you do, I’ll do as I’m told.”

Robinson demonstrated by clasping his fingers together, turning his gaze upward, and saying, “Please.”

Hiraga followed suit by clasping his fingers and saying, “Please,” but he looked like nothing other than a priest praying earnestly.

Robinson wants to stay and talk to Hiraga more, but Roberto hurries him out of the room.

Of course, this was to keep him from disrupting Hiraga's work.

Sure, sure.

Robinson sulks. “Dammit, there go my plans for today. And I even turned down a date for this!”

Roberto is having a worse day, since he’s now on babysitting duty, keeping Robinson from being too much of a dumbass. He’s got his work cut out for him.

Especially because Robinson catches sight of Yuuko doing the gardening, and his face lights up and he dashes over to her, yelling greetings.

This was a common sight in Italy, but here, the shy Yuuko hung her head, evidently distressed.

Roberto sighs and is wondering whether to intervene, when Yoshioka shows up and hurries Yuuko back indoors. Robinson sulks about how Yoshioka keeps getting in the way when he’s trying to chat up Yuuko - he’s even barred Robinson from the dining hall. It’s like he thinks Robinson is a shady character or something. Can’t imagine why.

“I fell in love with Miss Yuuko the day we met - it was the first time I’d ever fallen for someone at first sight. So I said, ‘Miss Yuuko, you’re my angel, my Madonna! Go out with me!’ And then she started shrieking, and her father yelled at me.

“But my feelings are the real deal. I’d never seen someone so beautiful before… That lovely hair, those clear and gentle features! Don’t you think she must be an angel?” Robinson asked earnestly.

“Well… It’s true, she seems like a nice girl.”

“Yes. And my heart races when I see her long black hair. Didn’t I tell you how, when I was miraculously saved by God, I met an angel on the beach? I think the angel back then looked exactly like Miss Yuuko…” Robinson murmured feverishly.

Roberto’s reaction to this is to… start thinking about the case instead. The mention of long black hair reminds him of the boy Shirou, and he remembers all the footprints he and Hiraga found on the supposedly deserted island - was Shirou the angel Robinson met that day?

They go for a drive in Robinson’s car, for lack of any better ideas. Roberto is getting bored when Robinson’s like “okay, I know we’re not supposed to TALK about the spirits, but we can go LOOK for them, right?” Roberto is actually on board with this terrible logic; they go to the forest but see nothing, and decide to get lunch at a family restaurant instead.  

The two of them ordered steak and salad. Roberto was pleased; it had been a while since he last had Western food.

“By the way, didn’t you email Hiraga about something you wanted to discuss?” Roberto asked, making small talk.

“I was hoping Father Hiraga would be a go-between for me and Miss Yuuko,” Robinson replied, his mouth stuffed with a thick chunk of steak.

“I see. You can’t approach her without her father showing up, so you thought you’d make use of Hiraga?”

“That's a harsh way to put it. I don't want to make use of Father Hiraga. I want to get along with him too. After all, he also has wonderful black hair,” Robinson said with no trace of shyness, and kept going. “I like Japanese people. They're all kind and gentle, demure and clean, and they like housework. They're small, quiet, and adorable. I’m tired of stubborn, wilful American women.”

Roberto thought of responding, "Hiraga isn't like that," but decided to stay silent.

Robinson sounds uncannily like an American fratboy, and like an American fratboy, he needs to be stopped. Maybe he should actually talk to Hiraga and realise that he spends his time flinging acid and living in a mountain of trash.

After eating, they have nothing better to do than try looking for the oil presser spirits again. Robinson complains about how fruitless and boring this is.

He should probably be careful what he wishes for - they’re on a deserted mountain road when suddenly, the tyres skid, the car spins out of control, and they almost crash into a reservoir. They’re only saved because Roberto reflexively pulls the handbrake.

They have no idea what just happened - the road seemed to be glistening with an oily lustre right before Robinson lost control of the car, but it looks completely dry now. Maybe they were just imagining things.

Meanwhile, Hiraga is having a much quieter time examining soil samples. He finds jute fibres in the soil - like someone was digging there, put soil into jute sacks, and tossed it off the top of the cliff. Hmm. He remembers Roberto telling him about the creepy clay dolls at the museum; apparently pottery is a local specialty? So he hits up the local potters to check if they excavate earth from Kamishima, and he learns that the cliff was actually man-made, but they haven’t been digging there since the local economy went into a slump.

He was so overly focused on his work that he lost all sense of time passing.

Abruptly noticing his parched throat, Hiraga got up and opened the refrigerator.

Inside were some onigiri and tamagoyaki wrapped in clingfilm.

There was a note from Roberto attached to them, saying, “Pregate che si mangia (I’m praying that you’ll eat)”.

It occurred to Hiraga that his brain did feel slightly fatigued - probably due to low blood sugar.

He stuffed the cold, hard onigiri into his mouth.

(The Italian is just lifted straight from the text, by the way, please don’t @ me.)

Roberto is doing so much good work here, and his reward for it is… spending another day with Robinson, I guess. Yesterday’s incident dampened their enthusiasm for spirit-hunting, and more importantly, Robinson is now in trouble; it turns out he borrowed the car from an adoring female fan, and has to apologise for damaging it.

“I’ve had enough! That girl got mad at me because, ‘You had an accident when you were on a date with another girl, right?!’ I told her, ‘No, I was with a Vatican priest,’ but she wouldn’t believe me. So I want you to come vouch for me today, Father Roberto,” Robinson said.

“You said she’s ‘a female fan’ - what’s she like?” Roberto asked, figuring that if she’d lent him her car, they must be close.

“Well, her name’s Haruko. She was my nurse when I was in hospital. She was really kind to me, and so cute with her black hair, so I guess I told her ‘You’re cute’ and ‘I like you’...? And that’s why she lent me the car,” Robinson replied without hesitation.

“But you - you’re actually in love with Miss Yuuko, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. So after my destined meeting with Miss Yuuko, I cooled things off with Haruko.”

“But you still borrowed her car?”

“Don’t tell me off like that. Yeah, that was my bad - but I didn’t expect things to turn out this way, and I was going to return the car when I found the chance. More importantly, we mustn’t make Haruko mad today. I’m counting on you to back me up,” Robinson said.

Roberto could feel a headache coming on.

[...]

Robinson got out of the car and hurried over to Haruko.

“Why didn’t you contact me?” Haruko cried out angrily.

Robinson let fly a string of frantic excuses in English and clumsy Japanese. Roberto watched them from the passenger seat of the car.

Robinson’s fervent apologies and repeated compliments seemed to restore Haruko’s good mood. The two of them linked arms affectionately and came over to Roberto.

“You’re the Vatican priest? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Haruko,” Haruko said in strongly accented English.

“Miss Haruko, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Roberto Nicolas,” Roberto said with a smile.

“Oh wow, he’s really hot. If only he wasn’t a priest, I’d totally switch over. But he’s a priest, so…” Haruko mumbled in Japanese.

“The two of us are planning to go on the Dolphin Cruise after this. How about tagging along, Father Roberto?” Robinson asked cheerily next to her.

“No, I’d better not intrude on your date. Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, I ought to head back to the inn,” Roberto said, and waved goodbye to the couple.

But Roberto doesn’t actually want to go back to the inn and bother Hiraga while he’s working, so naturally, he finds an obscure historical archive to visit instead. He meets a random man looking through a telescope at the sea, and tries to strike up a conversation with him. They have an exchange that’s kind of perplexing, and not because of the language barrier.

“Catching fish,” the man said in accented English. “No dolphin today.”

He seemed to mean that there were no dolphins.

“That’s right,” Roberto acknowledged.

“Sightseeing?”

Roberto, unsure how to reply, said, “We came here to examine the miracle of Kamishima.”

The man grimaced.

“Kamishima? No. It’s - Shikashima. There are - many - shikashima.”

Roberto was at a loss as to what the man meant. Just what was he saying?

He looked around the room for some means of communication, and saw the map of Amakusa on display. He went over to the map and pointed at Kamishima.

“Here. Kamishima,” he said, and the man nodded.

“Yes, yes.”

It seemed that neither of them was getting through to the other.

“It’s Shikashima. It’s Bambi. Uhh… Do you know ‘Bambi’?” the man asked, mixing in some Japanese.

“Bambino?”

At Roberto’s uncomprehending reply, the man looked discomfited and shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be throwing in the towel.

All Roberto could do was make the same gesture and laugh awkwardly.

Hiraga is STILL chugging away at the soil analysis, but he’s hit a roadblock and decides to email Dr. Singh for advice. Dr. Singh replies with, “I cannot say anything without seeing the actual article,” so Hiraga sends him some soil by international airmail.

When Roberto gets back that evening, he decides to open the window to get some fresh air and admire the full moon.

OH RIGHT, THE MOON

There’s a knock on the door; Sara is here to pick them up for whatever she and Shirou are planning. They get into a car with her and four men, and drive off into the dark mountain passes. Everyone seems tense.

Eventually they arrive at a shrine gateway, and three men alight and pass through the gate, “vanishing as though they were swallowed by a black hole”. (I might as well clarify now that there are no black holes in this, indoor or outdoor. I know, I was getting my hopes up too.)

The remaining man (Kazuhito, who looks about 20 years old) starts explaining what’s up. He belongs to an organisation that has studied spirits and the old deities for a long time, and they’re trying to accomplish a ritual that hasn’t been performed in 120 years. This immediately piques Roberto’s interest, of course. Nerd.

tl;dr: the deity Mahiru that is worshipped on Kamishima is an ancient sun deity, also known as Hiruko, the firstborn child of Izanami and Izanagi. This deity takes the form of a white snake.

“A… snake…?”

Roberto shuddered.

(He’s just thinking of the serpent that tempted Eve, and all the other snakes in mythology, but, you know. I’m thinking it.)

Kazuhito talks about how when the Yamato people settled Japan, they basically drove out the indigenous people and their deities, and portrayed those deities as symbols of evil instead. “History is written by the victors, you could say.” This reminds Roberto of what happened to indigenous faiths in the Christianisation of Europe, with people being subjugated and their deities being swallowed up.

But belief in the ancient deity Hiruko never vanished for good, and Hiruko kept appearing in different forms, most notably as Yamata no Orochi.

Hiraga is excited because oh hey, he knows about Yamata no Orochi!

“Is it that famous a story?” Roberto asked, and Hiraga nodded delightedly.

“Yes. Yamata no Orochi was a great monster with eight heads and tails. When I heard the story from my grandmother, I wondered all sorts of things - like whether it was useful for a creature to have eight brains or not, and the location of the main system that controlled all these.”

Kazuhito laughs and explains that Yamata no Orochi was a villainous figure defeated by the deity Susanoo, and this symbolises the conquering of the original eight island civilisations in Japan.

“Yamata no Orochi was the sun deity of the general that governed these eight nations. That is why it had eight heads.”

“I see - this was a story about the purge of the ancient sun deity,” Roberto said.

“So the eight heads were a literary metaphor for the eight countries…?” Hiraga muttered, sounding bored.

Poor Hiraga, he’s too left-brained for this.

Apparently the oil presser spirits are also remnants of the ancient beliefs. The point is that these powers are still strong in Amakusa, which is why the ritual has to be performed here. But when Christianity came to Japan in the 16th century, it disrupted Amakusa’s spiritual energies even further and caused natural disasters.

Kazuhito: That’s what we think. Please don’t misunderstand - I don’t mean to belittle you, Fathers. Please think of this as merely an interpretation based in spiritual science. Do you understand?

Roberto: Regardless of the theory, didn’t missionaries get in the way of your rituals? I’m in a complicated position here… Even if we’re just talking in terms of spiritual science.

Hiraga: I think I understand. Put simply, you can think of it as a theory of parallel universes.

Oh yeah, that sure clears things up.

Hiraga starts talking about about Everett’s multiverse theory, and the more recent idea - developed as part of M-theory - that perhaps parallel universes can interact and influence each other through gravity.  

“Likewise, even in the Bible, we cannot access the world of God - but the power of the Holy Spirit lets us establish a connection from our own world, yes? It’s the same thing. Everything that happens on this earth, like conflicts and natural disasters - such things are events that only occur within a single sealed world. The arrival of missionaries in Japan, and the religious conversion that people underwent - those results belong to a completely different dimension from what happens in the spiritual world. And methods like ‘prayers’ and ‘rituals’ are a vector of force that allow us to influence the spiritual world. How about thinking of it in that simple way?”

Maybe if I had eight brains I could understand what’s going on.

The youth Kazuhito smiled at Hiraga’s words.

“Now this is an interesting priest,” he said.

“I am not an interesting priest. I am Hiraga,” Hiraga said, pursing his lips.

“Pardon me, Father Hiraga. I haven’t introduced myself either, have I? My name is Yukimasa Kazuhito.”

Kazuhito bowed in greeting, and then looked over at Roberto.

“You are Father Roberto Nicolas, are you not?”

“Ah- yes…” Roberto replied, taken aback.

Kazuhito finally starts to explain what they actually want from our heroes. Basically, his organisation performs rituals in order to keep both the mundane world and the spiritual world in order, and they want our heroes’ assistance with the one-of-a-kind big spiritual ritual happening tonight. Our heroes are still pretty confused (same), but they roll with it.

Roberto: If I get to participate in a ceremony that only happens in Japan once every 120 years, I have no reason to refuse…

Hiraga: Yes, that’s right. If there’s some way I can help too…

So the ritual involves chanting to calm the deity Hiruko, while the boy Shirou, dressed as Susanoo, does the dance of defeating Yamata no Orochi. If this ritual is successfully performed, Hiruko will be appeased and will return to the sea, but if it fails, the deity will become malicious and curse them.

The tricky thing is that Christianity is deeply entrenched in Amakusa, which is why they had to get the Hidden Christians to participate in the ritual. (Yep, Shirou and his clan are Hidden Christians, big surprise.) But Kazuhito says the Hidden Christians themselves have forgotten what they are, and their practices have departed significantly from traditional Christianity and fused with local beliefs.

Hiraga: This is a real mystery. How fascinating.

Kazuhito: It’s not “fascinating”.

The spiritual energies are so tangled and complex now that the traditional ritual wouldn’t work too well, which was a real conundrum. But then Roberto and Hiraga conveniently showed up in Amakusa, and Kazuhito and his associates looked into their backgrounds. “We learnt that you are a qualified exorcist, Father Roberto. And you, Father Hiraga, are a priest with deep faith.”

(Ouch. It’s like hey Roberto, you’re not super devout, but at least you have the paper credentials to make up for it?)

Our heroes finally get to the shrine; Roberto is handed a stole, a Bible, and holy water, while Hiraga is whisked off and comes back dressed as an ancient Shinto priest (thanks for the fanart inspiration). They all go into a bamboo grove, there’s a lot of chanting, and the boy Shirou, who seems to be in a trance, draws a real sword.

It’s time for some classic VME confusion!

The next moment, the atmosphere of the scene abruptly transformed.

The wind picked up strangely, and the full moon vanished behind a cloud.

The turbulent breeze set the bamboo trees shaking noisily, and behind it echoed a tremendous sound like the roaring of waves.

A frightful gale swept through for an instant, extinguishing the pine torches in the men’s hands.

Simultaneously, there came the sound of something trampling through the bamboo grove, drawing closer every second.

Slide… slide…

Rustle…

Slide… slide…

Crunch, crunch, crunch

No matter how they strained their eyes, nothing was visible in the darkness. But something strange was approaching - that was evident even without being able to see it.

The air was suffused with an extraordinary presence.

Roberto nervously clutched his crucifix and holy water. Hiraga gulped.

Suddenly the strange presence was lifted - or so they thought. But the next instant -

With a noise like a bestial howl, a huge white figure swooped down from overhead.

Roberto stared up at the night sky; a moment ago, it had been an unchanging deep blue, but now it was crossed by a trail of what looked like a faint mist, which was thickening and growing right before his eyes.

The giant white snake reared its head.

Or at least that was what it looked like to Roberto. This had to be a mirage, or a hallucination, or something. He blinked, feeling like he’d stumbled into a bizarre nightmare.

The great snake stopped right above the wine cask, and its coils dived into the bamboo grove. The part of it that was closest to the ground - its front end - split into eight branches.

This figure - the great snake that was plunging its eight heads into the wine cask - this was Yamata no Orochi.

“Oohh…”

Someone let out an involuntary cry of wonder.

That instant, the boy Shirou approached the nearest head, his movements fluid, and swung his upheld sword. The silver flash sliced the air, whipping through the darkness.

Shirou whirled through the air, and as soon as he landed on the ground, he darted to the next head, moving as nimbly as though carried by the wind.

The severed heads of the great snake melted swiftly into the darkness, like snow out of season.

Just what on earth was going on?

As Roberto thought this, the youth next to him spoke in Latin.

“Quick, perform the exorcism! Psalm 68!”

Roberto decides to just go with it, and flings some holy water and recites the psalm. Everyone is chanting various things. The snake seems pretty pissed off, but Shirou chops off more of its heads, “his motions as sharp and beautiful as a needle”. The instant he cuts off the last head, the chanting stops and everything falls silent; Shirou bows to everyone, looking tired and relieved. “Thank you for your cooperation today. The ritual has been successfully completed.”

Everyone disperses, and Hiraga and Roberto are kind of shell-shocked. Hiraga says uneasily, “I was in a daze, and just kept praying to God. Is that really fine?” but Sara confirms that it was good enough.

“Anyway, what on earth did we see…?” Roberto murmured distractedly. Hiraga turned to him, curious.

“What did you see?”

After Roberto told him what he had witnessed, Hiraga posed the same question to Sara.

“I saw many trails of thick fog that formed the terrifyingly huge shape of Yamata no Orochi,” Sara replied. Hiraga blinked.

It’s okay, here comes Hiraga with the explanations. He says it’s probably a hallucination caused by… “magnetic disturbances affecting the neurons in the brain”, which caused people to imagine shapes in the formless fog.

LOOK, HIRAGA, YOU CAN���T JUST EXPLAIN EVERYTHING WITH ELECTROMAGNETISM, OKAY. It isn’t always electromagnetism! Sometimes it’s cocaine!

Here, I’ve made a flowchart.

Okay, okay, the actual explanation:

“In cemeteries during summer, the temperature fluctuates between daytime and nighttime, which causes the gravestones to expand and contract repeatedly; this leads to disturbances in the magnetic field. Likewise, when a bridge made of iron is magnetised by a lightning strike, this is said to produce conditions that are conducive to hallucinations. Perhaps the environment of this bamboo forest is similarly aligned.

“As for why you both experienced the same hallucination, Father Roberto and Miss Sara - this can be generally attributed to the fact that you both received the same explanation from the young man Kazuhito.

“But… what disappoints me above all is that I couldn’t see this. All I noticed was the wind strengthening and shaking the bamboo trees, and the formation of a faint white mist,” Hiraga said regretfully.

“I myself have no idea exactly what I saw. Maybe you didn’t see it because you were praying with all your might, and weren’t looking around you.

“Parapsychology recognises the existence of psychokinesis - the possibility of moving physical objects by interacting with them mentally. Another possible theory is that some of the people participating in this ritual had that power, and used it to manipulate the shape of the mist that was created by magnetic disturbances. But I really don’t know much about that,” Roberto said with a shrug.

“It is often said that what humans can recognise with their five senses and comprehend with their brains is only the tiniest fraction of the universe. But I want to know,” Hiraga said, gazing intently at Roberto. “If only I could witness the ritual once again, I would carry out better observations, but unfortunately, this is impossible.

“As for the knowledge that can be acquired at present - it’s possible to analyse the fact that you and I were in the same place and should have seen the same thing, but instead we had different experiences. Speaking of which, it seems like you and I have very different brain structures. You are the type with a highly developed right brain, and I’m probably the opposite.

“So I have a proposal. How about we submit our experiences this time to the medical division, and if we get permission, the two of us can undergo a PET examination of our brain function? At least, I’m terribly interested in your brain structure.”

Hiraga said this with complete earnestness, but Roberto shook his head.

“No, no, I’ll pass. I don’t want to see my own brain.”

This marriage proposal crackpot discussion is interrupted, as always, because Sara gives them video footage of the miracle, as promised. “Apparently Hiraga’s interest had shifted from the topic of brain scans and returned to their job. Roberto heaved a sigh of relief.”

The video footage shows a dense blizzard over Kamishima, and the appearance of mysterious red-orange lights on the mountain peak, which then coalesce into a huge glowing cross. This goes on for about 10 minutes.

Roberto’s reaction to this is pretty… millennial.

“Since the only evidence of the miraculous snowfall was a single photo, and the witnesses were all affiliated with Ooe Church, I suspected that it might be a ruse. But now this video has shown up, that changes things.

“Still, Futou and Miss Sara are Christians too, so why didn’t they publicise this incredible footage? If I’d filmed a miracle like this, I’d distribute it on TV and the Internet, to share the awe with everyone.”

Yeah, Roberto, we all know what you do when you want to go public with something. (This guy has never heard of moderation. It’s either bottling up his emotions forever, or PRESS CONFERENCES TO REVEAL HIS TRAUMATIC BACKSTORY ON INTERNATIONAL TV.)

More importantly, being back to their actual job means back to hassling Dr. Singh! Hiraga sends over the video, in the hopes that he’ll spot something they missed. Dr. Singh calls back.

“Thank you for the beautiful video. It doesn't snow in India, and so I watched it with great interest.”

“Whether it's beautiful or not is irrelevant. We finally obtained footage of this miracle, and so I sent it to you,” Hiraga replied matter-of-factly. Dr. Singh’s brow furrowed.

“You think of nothing but miracles, I see. So, what do you want me to do with this?” Dr. Singh asked, resuming his usual steely impassiveness.

Hiraga asks him to analyse the footage and see if it's possible for snowfall to occur in summer. Dr. Singh points out that he’s not a meteorologist, but he’ll get in touch with the science division to work on it. (Honestly, he wins even more points with me for being the first person to say anything like “you realise I'm not THAT kind of scientist?” in a world where everyone else is pulling doctorates out of their ass.)

Hiraga and Dr. Singh disconnected from the call almost simultaneously.

I can’t quite tell if the two of them get along or not, Roberto thought.

Hiraga settles in for a long day of looping the video over and over; Roberto lies down because it’s 5 am, but he can’t stop thinking about the boy Shirou and the story of the hero Amakusa Shirou, and the encoded inscription on the cross, and the youkai, and all the weirdness on Kamishima, and the boatloads of historical exposition he’s been getting, and basically it occurs to Roberto that there’s a lot going on in this book.

At least he can tackle one small piece of it, i.e. what the guy at the archives was saying about Kamishima being “Shikashima”.

Still stretched out upon the futon, Roberto propped himself up on one elbow and called to Hiraga.

“Hey, Hiraga. I met someone who called Kamishima ‘Shikashima’. What do you think that was about?”

“‘Shikashima’, is it? Probably a reference to deer,” Hiraga answered without turning around.

“What, deer? Then ‘bambini’ was referring to fawns?”

“Yes. The story of Bambi is very well-known in Japan; it was a picture book and nursery rhyme, and also became a Disney animated movie. The part where the food runs out in winter, and the mother deer gives tree bark to the fawn, is especially tearjerking. And yet that mother deer was killed by hunters,” Hiraga said, sounding angry.

“That was Felix Salten’s fairytale, Bambi: Eine Lebensgeschichte aus dem Walde, wasn’t it? But I seem to remember the fawn ended up becoming the king of the forest - it was a happy ending.”

“Is that so? I don’t remember. I suppose I was so sad and irritated that I stopped reading halfway,” Hiraga said, head tilted doubtfully. Roberto laughed.

ACTUAL DISNEY PRINCESS HIRAGA JOSEF KOU

They talk about how deer are regarded as divine beasts in Japan, like at the shrines in Nara; this is because aristocrats close to the imperial family had a legend about a deity riding a white deer.

Roberto thinks it’s kind of odd that the deer worship of the imperial court was so readily received by the people of Amakusa. Oh well, there’s no point thinking about it now.

More importantly, I should be thinking about the miracle.

So the footprints we found on Kamishima did belong to Shirou and the others?

Then they must be hiding something after all…

The next day, Roberto goes off to the Hidden Christians’ village, and unlike the other day, it’s bustling with people and cars - including police cars. He finds Sara, who’s crying, and she explains that her father was missing and they’ve just learnt that he’s dead.

Turns out the oil-scalded corpse that was on the news was Sara’s father. It was strange that he went missing just before the ritual, when he’d been preparing for it for so long, but she was hoping that if the ritual was successful, he’d come back safe and well.

Roberto is temporarily speechless, and just races through possibilities. It can’t have been suicide. So it must have been an accident, or murder...

Roberto wants to take a look at the body when it’s brought back to the village, which will probably be tonight or tomorrow.

“I’ve had a lot of experience working with the police, in my line of work. I think perhaps I can be of some help.”

Sara frowned. “You’re a priest, aren’t you? Just what is your work like?”

“Of course I’m a priest. But at the same time, I’m also an investigator.”

Roberto explains that they came to investigate the miracle on Kamishima, and he thinks this miracle may have something to do with her father’s death.

“For example… if you’re hiding something, and perhaps it has to do with the miracle on Kamishima. Let’s say, you all know how the miracle was produced, and someone was kidnapped to extract information about this… That’s possible, isn’t it?”

Roberto, the girl’s dad is DEAD, can you let up on her for a bit

Sara protests that they have no idea about any of that, but Roberto is relentless. He points out that at the very least, they probably visit Kamishima frequently, which is how they had a recording of the miracle. “From this, we can deduce that you all pay special attention to Kamishima, and carry out regular surveillance. That’s a fact.”

He presses her to admit what Kamishima means to them, and she says it’s “the origin of our faith”. She gives some exposition on the history of the Hidden Christians, and how the Futou clan is a line of apothecarists who heal people with herbs and folk remedies, and also prayers and spells.

“But talking about prayers and spells in this day and age just sounds like nonsense, doesn’t it? It’s like the ritual the other day - I know it’s difficult for you to understand how we feel.”

“Not at all. I’m not much of a priest myself. When it comes to believing in God and praying to heaven, there isn’t really a difference between East and West.

“Besides, the Catholic monasteries of the West have an ancient tradition of cultivating medicinal herbs, and there were mysterious women known as witches who practised folk medicine. Don’t you think it’s pretty similar?” Roberto said with a smile.

Sara nodded, seeming a little more cheerful.

Sara shows him the rosary she wears, which is apparently an ancestral relic from Amakusa Shirou. Roberto takes a closer look at it and notices that it has almost the same design as the replica cross outside the museum - the one with the mysterious inscription. So the cross at the museum belonged to Amakusa Shirou himself. In that case, what does the inscription mean?

Sara sees him deep in thought, and gets worried. The Hidden Christians didn’t think this cross was especially valuable to anyone other than them, but maybe someone was targeting it after all? Roberto says no, they’re not after the cross itself - they’re after what it represents.

Sara sighs, “You’re talking about the legendary treasure of Amakusa Shirou, aren’t you?” She tells him that lots of people have come in search of the treasure, but it doesn’t actually exist. She can’t stand the thought that her father might have been targeted because of that. All the Hidden Christians want is to practise their faith discreetly and live in peace.

Roberto latches on to this. If the Hidden Christians just want a quiet life, then there’s no reason for them to draw attention to themselves by staging some conspicuous miracle, is there?

“I’m relieved to hear that. Like I said, we came to Amakusa to investigate the miracle on Kamishima. I truly wish to keep those mysterious events from being used as political tools.”

“Political tools… what are you talking about?”

“People want to stage miracles and have them verified for all sorts of reasons - to exploit them for political advantage, to demonstrate the power of the Lord Christ, to win back believers, to bask in the world’s attention, to gain resources and funding… Recently, we’ve been getting countless miracle reports of this sort, and I believe it’s related to the current instability in the Vatican.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s talk throughout the Catholic world of using God’s miracles as a unifying force to regain believers,” Roberto replied, with a trace of self-derision.

Sara is reminded of the four local Jesuit priests, who showed up after the events on Kamishima to urge all the Hidden Christians to go back to church. But the Hidden Christians have been doing their own thing for a long time and would prefer to keep it that way. “Our faith is something that belongs only to us, and we wish to safeguard this in secret.”

Roberto has a final piece of advice for her:

“Something that seems to hold no value for you may not necessarily be worthless to others. There’s a strong possibility that someone is after your secrets. Miss Sara, please be very careful.”

That’s actually good advice, Roberto.

Back at the inn, Dr. Singh calls Hiraga and tells him that he’s run a bunch of calculations on the velocity and mass and consistency of the snow, the ambient temperature, etc. Basically it’s physically impossible for this snow to have happened, especially considering how rapidly it was falling.

Hiraga: In other words, this snowfall displays a profound scientific contradiction?

Dr. Singh: That’s correct. It is a truly unnatural phenomenon - a mystery that defies the laws of mathematics.

Hiraga: So, Dr. Singh, do you also think this phenomenon is a miracle from the Lord?

Dr. Singh: Please stop. I am not the one to judge that. And it is not my business to say whether this video is a hoax or not. What I can say as a mathematician is that, for snow to fall at the speed shown in the video, it must be dense snow with high water content. If so, it should melt and become rain before reaching the ground. Conversely, snow that accumulates on the ground would have to fall more slowly. In any case, it is certainly inexplicable.

Hiraga: Ahh… Thank you very much. [hangs up, sighs]

Roberto remarks, “Dr. Singh is as cold as usual, huh,” and when Hiraga asks how much he heard, he says, “Just the last part, and you sighing. Are you stalled on the investigation? If you don’t mind, you can talk to me about it.”

“I don’t wish to complain, but at times like this I think, if only Lauren were around… And so I couldn’t help but sigh.”

Hiraga frankly expressed his thoughts.

“Well… Dr. Singh’s inadequacy can’t be helped, can it?”

“No, how should I put it… Dr. Singh is truly outstanding. But you could say he’s… not too interested in the investigation? I think this is the difference between him and Lauren.”

I’m not sure if Lauren was mainly interested in the INVESTIGATION, Hiraga, but okay.

“So from your point of view, the doctor’s talents are on par with that great genius Sir Lauren. That’s the highest praise you could give Dr. Singh. But well, if he won’t cooperate with you, won’t that brilliant brain of his just go to waste?” Roberto said, his words somewhat mean-spirited.

He struck his hand. “How about I teach you a magic word?”

“What’s that?” Hiraga asked, frowning.

“A magic word for getting Dr. Singh to help you.”

“Does such a thing exist? But my conscience reproaches me for comparing him to Lauren again.”

“It’s alright. They’re different people, after all.”

Roberto winked and smoothly wrote down some words in Hiraga’s notebook. Hiraga looked at them and blinked.

“Are these magic words?”

“Yes. My intuition tells me they’ll probably work well. You might as well keep them up your sleeve in case you need them.”

“I will. Thank you very much.”

Roberto then flops down and cheerfully remarks, “Aaahh. I’m getting used to the tatami, bit by bit.”

Hiraga asks what he was up to today, and Roberto tells him about Sara and her dead father; Hiraga quietly says a prayer for the dead man. Roberto remarks that as if that weren’t bad enough, there’s even more depressing stuff surrounding it.

Roberto: Looking at Miss Sara and the others reminded me of something. It seems that in the past, missionaries were up to something in Amakusa. The directors of the Christian Museum and the Collegio Museum were friendly to us; they said it was thanks to the missionaries that the Christian faith and culture flourished in Amakusa, and governance was excellent during the era of the Christian daimyou. But…

Hiraga: Did Miss Sara and the others have negative opinions?

Roberto: No - on the contrary. I realised that they hold fast to an incredibly pure faith. Even though it deviates from Catholic doctrine, they would stake their life on their faith. And this made me aware of my sinfulness...  As you know, the reason why the Jesuits began missionary work across the world was to counter the rising prominence of the Protestants. But to put it more frankly, it was because of the Vatican’s budget deficit.

Roberto launches into exposition about how the Catholic Church - especially the Jesuits - has messed things up all over the world out of mercenary motives. He basically gives a rundown of colonisation, the spice trade, and how the Inquisition was an excuse to confiscate the assets of people they had issues with. The exploration of new lands in the East was to find more ways to fill church coffers, which paid off richly with the discovery of valuable gold and silver mines in Japan.

“The Jesuit missionaries spearheaded the charge to evangelise in the East. They used the gold, silver, and treasures they brought back from the East to build the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, along with chapels, printing presses, and libraries - I have very mixed feelings about that.”

But then Christianity was outlawed in Japan, and uprisings like Amakusa Shirou’s Shimabara Rebellion took place, spurred along by European powers that supplied weapons to the combatants.

“The director of the Christian museum told me that the Shimabara Rebellion in Amakusa wasn’t a religious war. But I disagree. It was a proxy war between the Portuguese and the Dutch - in other words, between Catholics and Protestants. The Protestant Dutch wanted to seize the Japanese market from the Catholic nations, which had profited so tremendously by trading with Japan.”

The Catholics wanted to protect their interests in Japan, and so they backed Amakusa Shirou as a puppet, but his entire army was wiped out. “What this amounts to is that the missionaries brought the flames of war to this island… When I think about this, I’m overcome by the urge to bow in apology to Miss Sara and the others.”

“Father Roberto, your opinions always surprise me. I’ve never given much thought to the economic considerations behind history. But you have nothing to feel responsible for. Everything that happened was meant to happen - that’s what I think,” Hiraga said, his gaze fixed steadily on Roberto.

“Well… You’re right. I’m not so egoistic as to say it’s my responsibility. It just made me a little melancholy. And of course I couldn’t say this sort of thing to Miss Sara; that’s why I got you to listen to me.”

“Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yes. Thank you. In return, I’ll brew some Japanese tea.”

Aww, Hiraga, that’s sweet, but we all know that getting Roberto not to feel guilty is a fool’s errand.

They drink tea, and Hiraga comes up with a lighter anecdote.

“Speaking of the Age of Discovery, I just remembered something unpleasant.

“In my first year at the University of Berlin, I had to write a report about Columbus's discovery of the New World, but I remember I objected to the expression ‘discovery of the New World’ itself. ‘It's called a discovery, but weren't the Native Americans originally living there?’ - I wrote a hundred-page report about that. As a result, the professor gave me an E grade. In the end, it blew up into a big argument, and I dropped the course.”

“That was a really stubborn professor,” Roberto said, laughing wryly.

“Right? Thanks to that, I developed a temporary phobia of reports.”

Hiraga Josef Kou is truly a precious treasure.

He’s not done being chatty either - wow, it’s like he really wants to take Roberto’s mind off gloomy historical things.

“Ahh - I remembered something else.”

“What is it this time?”

“The other day, when you asked about Bambi, I couldn’t give a satisfactory answer. So I looked into it more afterwards.”

Hiraga explains that the reason why deer worship became prevalent in Amakusa was because of a superstition - fawns have spots that fade when they reach maturity, and so people who were afflicted with skin diseases would worship these deer, hoping that they too would have their blemishes vanish. Hmm.

Roberto then notices that it’s 6 o’clock; usually the girl Yuuko would have brought their dinner by now. They go out to check, and see Yoshioka pacing around. He’s worried about Yuuko; she’s seemed downcast and worried for the past few days, and isn’t back from walking the dog, even though he’s always told her to come home before it gets dark. Roberto mutters, “He’s even more overprotective than I expected.”

But it’s okay, Hiraga is here to provide reassurance.

Hiraga tipped his head to the side.

“That is puzzling.”

“What?”

“When a young girl goes missing, the worst-case scenarios are that she has gotten into an accident, or that she has been abducted.”

Yoshioka turned ghastly pale at Hiraga’s blunt words.

“But that’s strange, isn’t it? In the case of a traffic accident, there are three possibilities to consider - only Miss Yuuko was run over, the dog was run over, or both of them were run over. Unless the dog was run over, it should have remained at the scene, and it would be strange that you didn’t notice it when you checked Miss Yuuko’s usual route.

“And if we assume she was kidnapped, it would be highly unusual to abduct the dog together with the girl. In other words, you should have found the dog along the route.

“Therefore, this raises the possibility that the dog was in an accident, and Miss Yuuko took it to the hospital. But then a contradiction arises - how could she have sensed this a few days ago and grown unhappy and worried?”

As Hiraga spoke dispassionately, Yoshioka seized his arm and shook it violently.

“You - what are you saying? So what did happen to Yuuko?!”

“In short, it’s unclear at present,” Hiraga answered coolly. Yoshioka glared balefully at him.

“Hiraga, what are you talking about?” Roberto asked, worried.

Hiraga relayed the conversation, and Roberto folded his arms.

“There’s just one gap in your reasoning.”

Hiraga blinked. “Where?”

“Isn’t it possible that Miss Yuuko left home of her own accord and changed her usual route?”

Hiraga doesn’t understand why Yuuko would hide something from her father when they’re clearly close. Roberto points out that might be the problem - Yoshioka is such a doting dad that it gets kind of smothering. “If there was a boy she liked - but maybe I’m overthinking it. For now, try asking Mr. Yoshioka if there’s any sign of Miss Yuuko having a lover. If he has no idea about that, there’s nothing to do except call the police.”

Hiraga conveys this to Yoshioka, who realises IT HAS TO BE ROBINSON BAKER, THAT BASTARD. He must have dragged Yuuko off somewhere! Hiraga tries to call Robinson, but only gets his voicemail. Yoshioka is livid. He dashes off to call the cops.

Back in the room, Roberto has a dream about the Hidden Christians, and when he wakes up from it, “in his head, the scattered puzzle pieces whirled wildly through the air like a tornado, and then clicked firmly into place”. Great, Roberto, share the breakthrough with the class! Or at least Hiraga!

Roberto got up and took a shower. Then he called out to Hiraga, who was facing his laptop as usual, “I’m going out for a bit.”

Oh. I’m sure this will end well.

Roberto goes back to the Hidden Christian village to see the corpse of Sara’s father. The skin is blackened and the body is bloated due to five days of decomposition. Gosh, you know what might be really useful right now? HAVING THE BEAUTIFUL GENIUS SCIENTIST/FORENSICS GUY HERE

The corpse was mottled with inflamed burn scars, covering the face and neck, as well as the chest and abdomen - as though it had been struck by a shower of hot oil. From the blistering on the skin, these burns had unmistakably happened before death.

When Roberto looked closer, he saw that the wrists and thighs were partially marked with scars that had turned dark brown with congested blood, and the surface of the skin was marred by abrasions. These marks were probably from being bound with coarse rope.

Roberto reflexively averted his eyes from this brutality - but the sight of these wounds irresistibly reminded him of something.

Torture.

He had seen the same torture method in classified documents related to the Order of Saint Stephen, which had existed in sixteenth-century Tuscany and Pisa.

When torturing traitors and spies, they had used a device that consisted of a handle attached to a sphere with numerous small holes in it. This was commonly known as a “lead sprinkler”. The instrument had been filled with molten lead and tar, or boiling water or oil, and the searing liquid had been dripped onto the victims to torment them.

The Order of Saint Stephen had been formed to combat the heathen Ottoman Empire and Turkish pirates; they were the Pope’s division of elite guards, and also had deep ties to the Jesuits.

The Jesuits… Is this their doing?

Cold sweat ran down Roberto’s brow. His hand trembled as he adjusted the garment on the corpse.

No, calm down. I have to confirm the facts first.

Hey, Roberto, this might be a REALLY GOOD TIME to call someone!

Roberto took out his cellphone and made a call to Father Andou.

GODDAMMIT NOT THAT

But Father Andou doesn’t answer, so Roberto hurries off to the church of our FRIENDLY NEIGHBOURHOOD JESUITS. My Roberto-whump senses are tingling.

The only person at the church is Nishimaru (aka Father West, who has really not been relevant so far); he seems confused when Roberto demands where everyone else is. Roberto chills enough to remember that nothing is confirmed yet and Nishimaru might genuinely be out of the loop, and he apologises for snapping at him.

Nishimaru speaks some English; he says head priest Gerard went back to France for a visit. He has no idea where the other priests went or when they’ll be back. There was a big argument yesterday between Andou and the others, and then they all left together and haven’t returned. Nishimaru says he’s not much of a priest, so all he really does is cook and clean for the others; they don’t tell him what they’re up to. But he does keep track of their schedules.

Roberto looks at the priests’ schedules and sees that they’re usually very regular - but since the miracle on Kamishima, they’ve gotten very disorganised, and they’ve been staying out at night a lot recently. Including the days Sara’s father was missing. And they were also out last night when Yuuko went missing.

If they’re behind Miss Yuuko’s kidnapping too…

The mangled corpse of Sara’s father resurfaced in the back of Roberto’s mind.

I have to save her. Where are they now?

Roberto ran through the dizzying possibilities.

He figures that the hideout can’t be that far from the church, but must also be somewhere that people don’t go near. A place that’s taboo. The place of the oil presser spirits.

Roberto is on a ROLL with the deductions now. He figures out that the oil presser story was originally about people who extracted Hydnocarpus wightiana seed oil; there were lots of those trees growing on the Kamishima mountaintop, and around the alleged lair of the oil pressers.

The oil from those trees is specifically used to treat leprosy - a disease which has strong associations with Christianity, only rivalled by smallpox. Both these diseases cause lesions or sores on the skin. Roberto realises that the prevalence of these diseases was precisely why deer worship caught on in Amakusa.

The history of infectious disease was inextricable from the existence of religion - the latter served as salvation from the inexplicable and indiscriminate suffering caused by the former.

This was demonstrated by how many early followers of Christianity had suffered from disease. Christianity had originally been for the sake of the weak and persecuted.

This was probably the same reason why Christianity had been accepted in Amakusa…

Roberto double-checks with Nishimaru whether there was an outbreak of leprosy and smallpox around the time the Jesuit missionaries arrived in Amakusa. Nishimaru confirms this. “But the Jesuit missionaries, who were firmly devoted to their work, bravely entered the land of Amakusa.” As a result, they managed to convert about 400 heathens.

Was it really their firm devotion to their missionary work that drove them to set foot in the dangerous land of Amakusa?

Roberto knew that the answer was no.

They had a secret - they had no need to fear the smallpox.

Roberto says he’ll come back tomorrow, and skedaddles.

Good detective work, Roberto, but seriously, maybe it’s time to phone a friend.

Roberto flagged a taxi, and headed to the place of the oil pressers.

Or not, I guess!

He didn’t know if Yuuko would be there. It would be better if she weren’t.

I hope it’s all a misunderstanding on my part, Roberto thought.

With this prayer in his heart, he got out of the taxi and entered the depths of the forest.

You know, I now understand why these books are published under a horror imprint. This is like every classic horror scene where you’re yelling at the protagonist not to do some idiotic reckless thing like CHECKING OUT THE MONSTER’S HIDEOUT ALONE, and then they DO THE THING ANYWAY

From the shade of the trees, Roberto peered at the buildings.

At a glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

So it had just been a misunderstanding after all. He let out a breath, and took out his cellphone to contact Hiraga.

In that instant -

There was a violent impact on the back of Roberto's head. He collapsed to the ground.

Before his vision faded, he saw his cellphone crushed under someone's black shoe.

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE NOT THIS AGAIN

And then, in truly cinematic style, we cut back to Hiraga. I’m so sorry I ever yelled at him for recklessly climbing down a cliff alone. THIS really puts it in perspective.

Hiraga is still watching the footage of the summer snow, and having a mental block.

He slapped his palms repeatedly against his own head.

SAME, but for a different reason.

Hiraga is still blissfully unaware that his problems are about to get a whole lot bigger. Instead, he successfully figures out that the so-called snow is actually inversion fog caused by the sudden cooling of the air near the ground. But why did the air over Kamishima abruptly cool?  

Oh look, HIRAGA knows how to phone a friend! Or, well, a colleague. He emails his hypothesis to Dr. Singh, who checks and confirms that it’s inversion fog, but, “As for what caused the cooling of the atmosphere over Kamishima, I do not know. It is outside my area of expertise.” Hiraga calls him anyway to press it further, and Dr. Singh points out the difficulty of calculating localised weather phenomena using general regional data.

"It might be possible if you had accurate weather data for the skies precisely over Kamishima that day - but you don't, do you?" Dr. Singh said coldly.

"Yes, I don't. Who do you think might have it?" Hiraga asked, his expression earnest.

Dr. Singh seemed to be taken aback. He sighed.

"Who? Well, I have no idea. How about you go make inquiries among aliens? Now then, I'm busy. Excuse me."

The call was cut off.

Hiraga gazed at the dark screen of the monitor, imagining telescope-wielding aliens monitoring Kamishima from their spaceship.

It was true that, with observational data collected from space, the state of the skies over Kamishima that day would become clear.

And even if not aliens, there were existing entities which might possess such data. The United States National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration maintained satellites for military navigation, through the Defense Meteorological Satellite Program. They certainly had a vast store of observational data on meteorology and oceanography.

However, even if the request were to come officially from the Vatican, it didn't seem likely that the United States government would hand over such data.

"And I can't ask Dr. Singh to carry out hacking..."

Just as Hiraga let out a short sigh, there was a knock on the door.

Open up, Hiraga, it’s a WHOLE NEW PROBLEM

Outside the door are the boy Shirou and another youth - and Yuuko’s dog is with them.

“Is Father Roberto in?” the boy Shirou asked.

“No, he said he was going out for a bit. He’s been out since this morning,” Hiraga replied. Shirou frowned.

“He said ‘a bit’ - but he’s still gone at this hour?”

Now that he mentioned it… Hiraga looked at his watch. It was past 7 pm.

“He really is late. It’s strange that he hasn’t contacted me. I’ll give him a call.”

Hiraga made a phone call to Roberto, but all he heard was a message informing him that the phone was out of power.

“I can’t reach him. That’s rare…”

Hiraga’s face clouded.

“So… it really is like Sara said. I’m worried about Father Roberto.”

“He went to look for the missing Yuuko, didn’t he?”

Shirou and the other youth spoke simultaneously, looking at each other.

“Father Hiraga, do you know Father Roberto came to our village today?” Shirou asked.

“No,” Hiraga said, shaking his head.

“Sara says he was acting strangely. She got the villagers together, saying she had something important to tell everyone - she wanted to pass on a warning from Father Roberto.

“Father Roberto was worried that one of us had died. He said there’s a strong possibility that someone is after the secrets of the Hidden Christians, and we ought to be very careful…”

“Roberto said that?”

Hiraga frowned.

Yeah, that was good advice. Pity he himself IGNORED IT COMPLETELY

The other youth introduces himself as Shinichi - Sara’s older brother, and also Yuuko’s secret boyfriend. Looks like Roberto was right about this, despite being a COMPLETE DUMBASS

The couple had agreed that after the snake ritual, Shinichi would leave his family to be with Yuuko - but then he had to take his missing father’s place in the ritual, and he couldn’t be in contact with Yuuko, which is why she seemed so anxious for the past few days. They were supposed to meet when she took the dog for a walk, but he only found the dog, with no sign of Yuuko. So now it seems likely that whoever killed Shinichi’s father abducted Yuuko too.

“But no matter how hard I try, I can’t figure out where Yuuko is. My last hope was that Father Roberto might know something, so I came to ask him.”

Shinichi’s appeal was desperate.

“...Yes, I think so too. Roberto noticed something, and went alone to save Miss Yuuko. That’s the kind of person he is.”

Roberto's personality was such that he would be satisfied with warning other people to be cautious, while he himself dived into danger alone.

Why didn’t he discuss any of this with me - his partner? Hiraga bit his lip.

“Do you have any idea where he went?”

“Did he give any hint of where he was going?”

The boys Shirou and Shinichi leant forward as they asked.

Hiraga stood stock-still and silent, recalling what Roberto had said last night. Had he said anything that might be a hint?

There didn’t seem to have been anything of the sort.

“Looking at Miss Sara and the others reminded me of something. It seems that in the past, missionaries were up to something in Amakusa.”

“You have nothing to feel responsible for.”

“Well… You’re right. I’m not so egoistic as to say it’s my responsibility.”

Hiraga remembered their conversation.

Roberto had appeared to feel a sense of responsibility towards the people of Amakusa. He had seemed to feel guilt towards the people who had been unknowingly dragged into the gambits of the European powers, and lost their lives as a result. More than that, he had said that he himself was a sinner.

Even so, you don’t mean to let yourself die as a scapegoat, do you?

You’re such an idiot.

Hiraga clenched his fists. His anguished tears were on the verge of spilling over.

With trembling hands, he once again dialed Roberto’s number. But the power really had been cut off.

I LOVE THIS BUT I ALSO HATE IT

Hiraga realises that the one way to pinpoint Roberto’s location is through cellphone GPS signals, the way phone companies track lost cellphones. If not, they’ll have to call the cops, but they don’t have time for that.

Hiraga sat down before his laptop and called Dr. Singh.

Dr. Singh’s annoyed face appeared on the monitor.

Roberto, I’m using your magic.

Hiraga clutched the note in his pocket.

hey I wonder how the magician’s doing

This prize idiot wakes up and finds himself in a candlelit cave - it looks like a ward formerly used to treat leprosy patients. He’s lying down and tied hand and foot to a bed. I’m almost too stressed to appreciate the bondage. Almost.

He can hear a woman crying softly, and when he looks around, he sees Yuuko, also tied up. He calls out to her but she seems too terrified to talk, and it occurs to Roberto that he doesn’t speak Japanese anyway.

Roberto is trying futilely to yank himself free when he smells the distinctive whiff of hot oil. Turns out there’s a cauldron of oil boiling near him.

WELL THEN

Hiraga told Dr. Singh how Roberto had gotten caught up in the case and his life was now in danger.

“Then you should go to the police quickly,” Dr. Singh insisted firmly.

“I know. But this is a race against time. Roberto’s cellphone has lost power. We can’t search for him through ordinary means. But his cellphone's location history should still be on the servers. If we check that-”

“That’s why the police-”

“There isn’t enough time. Only you can do it!”

“Ah- you- surely you can’t be telling me to engage in illegal activity. What do you take me for? In the first place, asking me to act outside my duties puts me in a difficult situation.”

“But you’re our friend!” Hiraga cried out.

Dr. Singh, who was angrily moving to disconnect the call, instantly froze.

“Huh?”

His eyes widened.

“Doctor, how- how are your dogs?”

Hiraga spoke forcefully, as though latching onto the topic.

“What? Wh-why are you asking now…?”

Dr. Singh looked startled.

“I’m asking if they’re fine.”

“T-they’re fine.”

“Are those dogs your family?”

“Eh… What does that…”

“Roberto told me. Transporting those dogs to the Vatican was very difficult. I can only say this now, but he had to go outside the law a little, to smooth over that risky situation. All of that - for the sake of his friendship with you, Roberto…”

Hiraga made it this far before his breath caught.

The note Roberto had written was worded more elegantly; if it had been Roberto in his place, he could probably have deftly negotiated with Dr. Singh and persuaded him.

But he himself couldn’t do that.

Hiraga’s gaze frantically ran across the words, but his mind wasn’t following them. His mouth wasn’t moving. It hurt to breathe, and his eyes couldn't focus properly.

His gaze felt strange.

“…Father Hiraga?”

Dr. Singh stared at Hiraga, who had fallen silent onscreen.

Hiraga’s eyes were wet. A tear slid down his face.

I NEEDED THIS IN MY LIFE BUT ALSO I NEVER NEEDED THIS EVER

Dr. Singh quietly hangs up and lets Hiraga sob over his dumbass husband in peace, while he considers his conundrum.

Singh was troubled.

It was not that he did not know how to check the location history of Roberto’s cellphone. He knew that perfectly well.

The truth of the matter was that Dr. Singh had worked with the Rome police to thoroughly investigate everything from Hiraga’s call history to his cellphone location history. Even after that, he had continued monitoring for over a year, retrieving information to track any irregularities around Father Hiraga, and whether he was in contact with the terrorist Lauren di Luca.

[...]

Of course, misusing this data was forbidden by law, and the data on the servers was protected by formidable security measures. The information would only be disclosed to the police by court order, in the case of severe crimes, or if the cellphone owner was clearly involved in anti-social activity.

But if they followed formal procedures, it would take some time for the court order to be issued. Singh knew this.

He swallowed.

The question isn’t whether or not I can do it.

It’s whether or not I will.

Our damsel in distress is still trying to wrench himself loose, but it’s time for his regularly scheduled “being tied up and menaced by a villain”. Head priest Gerard, who was supposedly in France, strolls over with the classic Hollywood line, “I see you’re finally awake.” Naturally, he’s accompanied by minions (the three younger priests, including Roberto’s friend Andou).

He’s also holding the lead sprinkler. I recommend following that link so you can really picture it.

“Father Gerard, what are you doing?!” Roberto shouted.

“‘What are you doing’ - need you ask? I’m reclaiming the treasure of the Pope - the Vatican - from the heathens in this land. That is my mission.”

Gerard stepped closer, expressionless.

“Treasure?”

“Indeed. Before this, when the Vatican was on the verge of a crisis and fell into financial difficulties, it was rebuilt splendidly using the treasure of the Hidden Christians here. But the Jesuits were expelled from Japan before they could deliver the final treasure to the Vatican. Now that the Vatican once again faces a financial crisis, it is necessary to recover the medieval treasure.”

“Ridiculous. And that’s why you killed Mr. Futou?”

“I had no intention of killing him at first. That family should know the location of the treasure, and if he’d obediently handed it over, all would have been well. But he obstinately refused. He was frustratingly tight-lipped. And so I had to make use of holy torture.

“Those fellows don’t seem to value their own lives at all; if we’d taken his son, it’d have ended the same way. That’s why we took his fiancee.”

“What are you going to do with Miss Yuuko?!”

“Make a deal. What will that man’s son choose - faith or his lover? If we slowly send him more and more pictures of the girl being tortured, he’s bound to hand over the treasure at some point. I was planning to enjoy myself to my heart’s content, but then an unexpected obstacle showed up. Father Roberto, now that you know the secret, you must be dealt with.”

With these words, Gerard dipped the frightful “lead sprinkler” into the cauldron of seething oil. There was a strange sizzling sound.

Then Gerard came into sight. He was gazing with pleasure at the steaming instrument as oil dripped from it.

“Now then… Who should I start with? Should I begin with the girl’s ankle? Or Father Roberto, would you like to go first?”

Gerard's smirking face drew closer. Drops of oil fell from the lead sprinkler, and as they landed on the flagstones, steam rose with a hiss.

Gerard whispered into Roberto's ear, "We who serve the Pope should be of one mind. Submit to me and you will be saved."

He then turned on his heel, and approached Yuuko.

"Maybe I’ll start with the girl after all..."

Yuuko's eyes were filled with tears. She cried out, her voice fraying like a silk thread.

"Wait! Don't hurt Miss Yuuko! She has nothing to do with this!"

"Then you will be the first to receive punishment!"

Gerard raised the lead sprinkler. The next instant, he poured a stream of boiling oil down towards Roberto's foot.

The bed was scorched, and smoke rose from Roberto's cassock. He felt a momentary heat, but there was no pain.

He was so afraid his teeth were chattering. The sound echoed in his skull.

"Oh my, I missed? You're a lucky man."

Gerard grinned, and stepped back towards the cauldron.

Roberto shook off his terror. Feigning calm, he called out to Gerard's retreating figure.

"Father Gerard, how about making a deal with me instead? I know where the treasure is located."

"What...? Don't talk nonsense."

Gerard slowly turned back.

"No, it's true," Roberto declared.

In fact, he had no definite proof, but he had a rough idea. And if he convinced Gerard, it would give him time to consider his next move.

Gerard stared at his face with deep suspicion. Roberto hoped fervently that his demeanour seemed confident enough.

"If that's true, then tell me the location right now," Gerard said threateningly.

"It’s difficult to explain. That's why I'll show you directly. Take me to Kamishima."

"Hmph... Very well. Then, what are your terms? Are you begging for your life?"

"No. I want you to let Miss Yuuko go."

Gerard chuckled.

“Only if I get the treasure. The girl will be confined here as a hostage. If you lie or run away, both of you will be done for. Got it?”

“Of course. I understand.”

Roberto has a good heart but a TERRIBLE BRAIN

The Jesuits hustle him out of the cave bound and gagged and at knifepoint, and put a bag over his head, because we’re really committing to the bondage.

Roberto does notice that the priests are basically invisible in the darkness, because they’re wearing special black cloaks (which explains that floating disembodied hand Robinson saw in happier times). They get on a boat.

It should take about 30 minutes to get to Kamishima.

Until then, Roberto had to prepare to decipher the code. He marshalled his thoughts.

...as a reminder, he doesn’t even know for sure, he’s JUST BLUFFING and planning to SOLVE IT ON THE SPOT. You’re playing a dangerous game here, pal.

They get to Kamishima, and Roberto leads them to the spot where he saw a figure vanish the other day, and he spots a very faint Hidden Christian crest. They find a small cave and enter it, but then the path forks. There are pictures carved over each fork - the serpent tempting Eve, Jesus being crucified, sun-worshippers, stuff like that.

“Let me think for a bit,” Roberto said reflexively. Gerard glared at him murderously.

Roberto closed his eyes and tried to organise his thoughts.

Even with knife-wielding Jesuits deathglaring at him, Roberto slips into the codebreaking zone and blithely starts internally monologuing about religious symbolism. Hey, remember the Lullian Circle he was working with at the start of the book? The medieval Jesuits used that pretty extensively! So what Roberto has to do is identify the component parts of each picture (e.g. Adam, Eve, and the snake), derive their initials, and then match them with that mysterious inscription on the Hidden Christians’ cross, once that inscription is run through a mental Lullian Circle.

So simple, really.

Anyway, the first string of characters is SSL, which he realises stands for “Sol”, “Sanctum”, and “Laudo”, so he chooses the path with the sun-worshippers engraved over it. He repeats this process every time they reach a new fork, but then they arrive at a rock wall.

“Shit - it’s a dead end!”

Gerard stamped his feet, enraged, and grabbed hold of Roberto.

But Roberto sensed that there was no mistake in his codebreaking.

“This must be the goal. Surely there’s a hidden door somewhere.”

Oh, naturally.

Of course there’s a secret door, and they emerge into a chamber containing a stone altar and a box decorated with gold and silver. It looks like the legendary Ark of the Covenant - knowing VME, it might be. Gerard is thrilled. “We’ve finally found it! The treasure that will save the Vatican from its crisis!”

“What should we do with him?”

A smirk crossed Gerard’s face, and he turned to Roberto.

“Father Roberto, you’ve really worked hard to guide us here. We no longer have any use for you, but in honour of your efforts, I’ll give you a special choice. You can die here like this, or you can become my subordinate. Choose one or the other.”

Gerard drew a dagger from under his cloak, and held it to Roberto’s throat. Nanjou, too, brandished his gleaming knife.

Roberto made no reply. The heavy silence drew on.

I bet he’s about to say “guess I’ll die”, but fortunately, before that happens:

“Father Roberto!”

A loud voice echoed nearby. It was Hiraga.

“Are you alright, Father Roberto?!”

This time, it was the voice of the boy Shirou.

Then there’s a stampede of footsteps, like 20 to 30 people are headed their way.

Seeing the tide turn, Gerard violently shoved Roberto away. Roberto lost his balance and fell to the floor.

“Let’s go! Help move this!”

Hiraga and the Hidden Christians burst into the room, and Shirou rushes after the priests who are getting away with the treasure chest. Naturally, THIS is when Roberto loses his chill and yells, “Watch out for the knife! They have knives!”

I give up on this man.

Hiraga knelt down next to Roberto and started cutting his ropes with a Swiss Army knife.

“I’m glad you’re alright… I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time.”

“More importantly - Hiraga, Miss Yuuko is still a captive,” Roberto said hurriedly.

Hiraga shot a glance at him.

“She’s alright. She is with her lover right now, and is going to Mr. Yoshioka.”

“That’s a relief, then.”

Hiraga explains how Dr. Singh tracked down Roberto’s cellphone location, so they managed to find Yuuko; she was being guarded by Roberto’s former friend Andou, but he answered their questions honestly and vowed to turn himself in to the police. Then Shirou gathered the villagers and led them all to this hideout on Kamishima.

“I see… Hiraga, thank you for coming to save me,” Roberto said seriously.

“It wasn’t me - everyone came to save you. Please learn from this experience and stop being reckless, and give thanks to God for your rescue.”

Hiraga, speaking in a slightly angry tone, jerked the knife.

CALL HIM OUT, HIRAGA

Shirou returns and gloomily announces that the priests got away with the treasure. Hiraga casually explains that their cloaks must have been made with Vantablack, because VME will never miss the chance for a meme.  

Roberto wants to apologise for letting the bad guys get away with the treasure (TWO BOOKS IN A ROW, SERIOUSLY). Shirou explains that the chest was very important to the Hidden Christians - it held a seemingly-empty pot that was supposedly a sacred relic. Roberto guesses that the pot contained the residue of something like dried fruit peels or burnt charcoal, and Shirou confirms this.

“It’s good you didn’t touch them. That was smallpox.”

Specifically, they were the scabs of people suffering from smallpox - these were historically used as a sort of immunisation.

“Father Gerard and the others might be disappointed when they see the contents of the chest,” Hiraga said mildly, and Roberto spontaneously burst out laughing.

“Right?”

Roberto talks about how colonialism has historically been furthered by introducing diseases to the indigenous populations, and that’s what happened in Amakusa. “Diseases don’t just cause mental and physical suffering. Societies ravaged by disease also experience religious turmoil - you could say it’s an ideal opportunity for religious conversion. Ordinarily, no one would set foot in a place where there was a smallpox outbreak, but the missionaries went ahead with their proselytising without hesitation.”

“But, Roberto - at the same time, surely there were also missionaries who devoted themselves wholeheartedly to serving people. The scabs of Saint Silvester here also saved many lives, didn’t they? I want to believe this. There must have been many people like Father Almeida, who were not simply driven by aggression and profit,” Hiraga said.

“That’s true,” Roberto replied, nodding deeply. "There are always villains, but there are also good people."

Hiraga looked Roberto straight in the eye, and said, smiling, "Yes."

As usual, this tender moment is interrupted by a weird discovery - looking closer at the altar now that the chest is gone, Shirou finds a strange mechanism that reminds him of a puzzle. Roberto tries out a bunch of codes.

As Roberto dexterously manipulated the dial, lining up one word after another, Shirou and the others watched wide-eyed, sighing with admiration.

(Don’t be fooled, folks. He’s still a moron.)

Naturally, Roberto solves the puzzle, and the altar cracks and slides open to reveal a pool of water, containing hundreds of huge, dazzling white pearls. Turns out that the Hidden Christians cultivated pearls, which is a surprise even to their descendants.

“So there was something like this lying under the altar… This must have been a worthy offering to God. From now on, we will abide by our ancestors’ beliefs, and reveal this secret to no one. And we will continue our steadfast prayers to God for the rest of our lives.”

Shirou and the Hidden Christians all kneel and pray. No one touches any of the pearls, despite how valuable they must be.

Roberto helpfully reminds us that church dodginess knows no limits, and the missionaries probably set out to convert the people of Amakusa specifically so they could get their hands on the pearls. Hiraga does not take this well.

“The main components of pearl are aragonite - crystallised calcium - and conchiolin, which is protein. It’s the same composition as shell. When something slips into the interior of a mollusc’s shell, the mantle, which secretes the components of the shell, undergoes cell division. This forms a layer of calcium and organic matter that encases the object. Pearls appear iridescent to the human eye simply because of the structure of these overlapping layers.

“It’s far too cruel to sacrifice human lives for something like this.”

“I know. Deceiving such pure people… I can’t stomach it either.”

Hiraga suddenly realises that hey, the book is ending and they still haven’t solved the miracle! Time to tie up all the loose ends at once! Also, Hiraga hasn’t given that much exposition so far; he needs to catch up.

A rundown, because this recap is so long by now that it probably needs its own recap:

Q: Why were there jute fibres in the cliff soil?

A: The Hidden Christians were harvesting soil from the top of the cliff, putting it in sacks, and dropping it off the top of the cliff.

Q: Who was the black-haired angel Robinson saw?

A: A tall, buff Hidden Christian dude wearing a black headscarf, who was collecting soil when he saw Robinson on the beach. The Hidden Christians didn’t want to be found on Kamishima, but they signalled for help with an emergency searchlight, so the fishing boat came by to pick up Robinson the next day. Roberto thinks this is pretty hilarious. “Robinson would be shocked to find out that his first love, the angel, is actually this big man.”

Q: What was the figure of Christ that Robinson saw?

A: This cave on Kamishima contains an underground chapel with a massive relief of Christ, covered with luminous moss. Because of ~science~ and the way moss grows into cracks, the image of Christ also became visible on the other side of the rock face, and glowed brightly in the typhoon. It vanished soon after because the moss couldn’t survive the storm.   

Q: What was the cross that appeared in the sky above Kamishima?

A: The Hidden Christians were working on the island that day as well, and when the dense fog formed, the lamps they were holding were refracted by the fog, creating a mirage that looked like a cross.

Q: Okay, but why did the fog form?

A: [shrug emoji]

Shirou invites our heroes to the Hidden Christians’ church service the next day, and naturally they go. It’s very lovely and moving. They also get to check in with Sara, and they talk theology a bit.

Sara: I was born as a Hidden Christian, and when I studied Christianity later on, I found something puzzling. Christianity holds that humans have original sin, but I wasn’t taught anything of the sort. According to our doctrine, Adam and Eve ate the fruit of wisdom that God had forbidden, but they sincerely repented, and so God forgave them. We are also taught that if you worship Mother Mary, you will be blessed with a child as wise and virtuous as Christ, and if you worship Christ, you can be a good person yourself. Our teachings are simple - they’re too naive, aren’t they?

Roberto: There is no original sin…?

After the service, Hiraga weighs in on this.

“Roberto, perhaps the people of Amakusa truly are without original sin,” Hiraga said earnestly.

“Miss Sara said that their ancestors Adam and Eve ate the fruit of wisdom but were forgiven. I think that doctrine is not necessarily mistaken.

“After all, if humans are solely descended from the single couple of Adam and Eve, in biological terms, it would be difficult for humanity to thrive the way it does now. In other words, don’t you think it makes more sense if there were other couples besides Adam and Eve? It may be irreverent to say such a thing, but the Bible is set down by humans, after all - perhaps some parts were omitted in the writing.”

“So there were people who ate the same fruit of wisdom, but some were forgiven and others were punished?”

“Yes, that’s right. Perhaps God looked upon the people who had sinned and saw the state of their souls. He pardoned those who honestly apologised, and punished those who laid the blame on the serpent. If so, then I don’t think it’s strange that people without original sin exist.”

“Hmm…”

Roberto thought of the people he had met in Amakusa, and the history of the Christians who had held fast to their faith amidst persecution.

The tossing waves of history had brought many twists of fate to this small Asian island, and sometimes, the people here had been randomly afflicted by unreasonable violence.

But throughout this, there were those who continued to love God with pure hearts. There were those who set aside their self-interest to generously help others.

The apostles without original sin - they were raised in the furthest East.

The people who had tended to the sick, harbouring faith in God. The people who had gathered pearls. Shirou and the others, who had chosen to protect the pearls rather than seizing them. The nameless boy who had fallen in battle at the foot of Amakusa Shirou’s banner. The unnamed youth who had rescued Robinson. Each of them was undoubtedly such a person.

Roberto thought that he wanted to believe Hiraga’s words.

“Apostles without original sin, huh… That’s right. That’s certainly what they are.”

But now it’s time to return to the wretched hive of scum and villainy, aka the Vatican! One week later, Dr. Singh messages them to come see him.

Roberto took a step into the room and was shocked. Previously, the room had been devoid of any unnecessary objects, but now it was decorated with several potted plants with brightly-coloured flowers. This brought a trace of warmth into the dreary space.

Dr. Singh drops a load of exposition on why the atmosphere over Kamishima cooled so rapidly that day. Basically, a military aircraft experienced an equipment malfunction due to solar flares, and accidentally jettisoned its cargo, which was a large amount of dry ice and cloud-seeding materials.

“But Dr. Singh, how were you able to get this information?” Roberto asked. Dr. Singh cleared his throat loudly.

“Please do not misunderstand. I did not employ any illegal methods. Several days ago, I took a vacation and returned briefly to my hometown; while I was there, I got clearance from a relative in the Indian government and obtained this information. It was all completely legal.”

In other words, he’d pulled some strings.

Roberto is surprised at the level of clout Dr. Singh’s family has, but he also knows that even with familial connections, it’s tough work getting your hands on classified military intel.

Why would the doctor go to these lengths when he supposedly had no interest in the investigation…? Roberto tilted his head thoughtfully.

Next to him, Hiraga bobbed his head in a bow.

“Thank you for going out of your way to investigate. But the results of this miracle examination will not be officially published. I apologise for having put you to all that trouble researching.”

They explain that with the Vatican in its current state of upheaval, revealing the evil priests and how they got away would make for bad press, and the higher-ups don’t want that. Also, the Japanese government wants to hush up the secret of the Kamishima cave shrine.

Dr. Singh listened to this, but his expression did not alter in the slightest.

“Political considerations and the like mean nothing to me. I became curious about an unsolvable mystery, and so I wanted to know the solution on my own account - that’s all. I do not act to impress the Vatican higher-ups.”

Then he shows them a 3D simulation he made of the miracle at Kamishima, which renders the fog and the light in loving detail. He’s very proud of it. Hiraga thinks it’s super cool too.

“It’s truly wonderful. May I show this video and these materials to Archbishop Saul?” Hiraga asked, leaning forward, his eyes alight.

“Yes, that’s fine, but please dispose of the materials in the shredder after looking at them.”

Roberto abruptly remembers that he also owes Dr. Singh for saving his dumb ass.

“Dr. Singh, I’m sorry for the belated thanks. I heard from Hiraga that you had to trace my location from my broken cellphone. I’m truly grateful for what you did then.”

Roberto bowed deeply, and Dr. Singh’s expression softened.

“No, I should be the one to apologise for not thanking you properly. I’m deeply grateful for all the effort you put into bringing the dogs to the Vatican. For a long time, I had no wish to visit my hometown, but it is thanks to those dogs and you that I decided to return to my country.”

Dr. Singh dipped a graceful bow, and then cleared his throat.

“But there is one thing I would like to clarify with you. If you think that I carried out any illegal activity to determine Father Roberto’s location, you are mistaken. All the procedures I undertook were thoroughly legal. Do not misunderstand.”

He took out a document from his desk drawer and showed it to Hiraga and Roberto. It was an official notice from an Italian court, ordering the phone company to release its GPS information to the police.

“But that’s strange,” Hiraga said, gazing keenly at the date written on the document.

“Father Roberto’s abduction was on the 30th of July, but the date on the document is 2nd August. So, Doctor, you did…”

Roberto cleared his throat loudly, cutting Hiraga off mid-sentence.

Dr. Singh’s face flushed bright red. He whisked the document away from Hiraga, and quickly turned his back to the two of them.

“Y-you must be mistaken about that, Father Hiraga. Now, I am very busy with my work - please take your leave.”

Dr. Singh is the best tsundere, I will accept no substitutes

They go talk to Saul, who plans to speak to the Pope about the Hidden Christians and get him to recognise their existence and the strength of their faith. And also, hey, he has good news! Roberto and Hiraga get to go on a date! I mean, the Vatican is bringing a Japanese orchestra to perform Hidden Christian music in St. Peter’s Basilica, that’s cool.

The day before the performance, Hiraga emails Roberto, inviting him to attend the rehearsal together.

“It’s rare for you to make invitations like this,” Roberto said on the way to Stadio Olimpico.

“Actually, I received an email from a person who wanted to meet with us. And I also have a message for you from someone else - it’s in Japanese, so I’ll translate.”

Dammit. And here I was proud that Hiraga was capable of TAKING HINTS

Anyway, the Japanese message is from Shirou, who’s been busy restoring Kamishima, and hopes our heroes will drop by again sometime. Yuuko and Sara’s brother Shinichi have gotten married, as have Robinson and his fan Haruko.

Finally, it turns out the person who wants to meet them is Father Nishimaru, i.e. the one Jesuit priest who wasn’t evil, just very confused. He’s here for the music performance, and also to look at Vatican art. Roberto obligingly drops a bunch of exposition on architecture and fancy ceilings.

Hiraga blinked at Roberto’s words.

“Is that so? I didn’t know that this dome was decorated with pearl oysters, despite having passed under it so many times,” he said.

“Well, when you look at artwork, you aren’t moved the way he is. So you don’t ask me anything,” Roberto replied.

Nishimaru sees the original version of the painting that Andou was crying over in the Amakusa museum, and he cries too. Apparently it was their shared dream to go to the Vatican and see this painting in person someday. Hiraga pats him on the shoulder like “uhh, sorry about all your friends turning out to be evil and/or in jail, dude.”

Roberto is feeling bad again about all the colonialism that went into building and decorating the Vatican so lavishly, but Hiraga makes a long and heartfelt speech about how they can learn from the mistakes of the past, ending with:

“In our day and age, even people with different religions and ideologies have reached the point where dialogue can take place. Don’t you think so, Roberto?

“It’s alright. I’m sure that the tragedy of conflict will vanish from the world someday - it may be far, far off in the future, but the world is headed in a better direction. That’s how I feel.”

I don’t know about that, Hiraga, but here’s a nice musical number to end the book! In Latin!

[pamphletstoinspire]

MAKING THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE: PART 17 MINI-COURSE ON PRAYER BY DAVID TORKINGTON   ​

In the prayer that leads from meditation to contemplation, the deep human desire for love that has always been there is gradually transformed. It is set alight by reflecting and ruminating on love – God's love. This love is made visible to us as we see it embodied in Jesus Christ, and as it is expressed in all that he said and did in his life, death, and Resurrection. Gradually, as meditation deepens, the same Holy Spirit who gave birth to Jesus and inspired and animated all that he was, and all that he did, begins to suffuse and surcharge our weak human love. At first sparks of love are generated that gradually become a single flame that reaches out to the love that burns in Christ until the flashpoint comes when his love and our love become as one. This, the high point of meditation, is called ‘Acquired Contemplation'. It is experienced in the mind, the heart, and the body, as our whole person is deeply enthralled by love.

For this whole process to take place in what St Angela of Foligno called the School of Divine Love, time must be found for meditation or nothing will happen. All that I have been describing will have been no more than a fantasy. But if time is given regularly, then in time we will receive the love that I have been describing. It will so suffuse and surcharge our love that we will be able to behave more and more like Christ, not only enabling us to love God in and through him but to love others too as Jesus loved others, for now he is able to love them through us. That is what St Paul meant when  he  said, “I live now, not with my own life, but with the life of Christ who lives in me.”  (Galatians 2:20).

I have often been asked how long it takes to arrive at ‘Acquired Contemplation'. It simply depends on the time we are able to give for the sort of meditation that I have been describing. With daily regularity one or two years at the most, but few of us are able to do this when family life is at its most demanding. In perfect conditions, and with help, it can take much less. Before the heresy of Quietism undermined mystical theology (1687)  the novitiate was seen as the place where young religious would be taught the meditation that would lead them to ‘Acquired Contemplation'. This was seen as the ideal, because ‘Acquired Contemplation' does not last for long before the pray-er is suddenly led into Mystical Contemplation, and for this sudden new departure, help, explanations and the support of a competent novice master or novice mistress is needed.

Making The Impossible Possible

The spiritual life seems to have become so complicated that you feel you need a couple of degrees in theology just to understand it before you can attempt to live it. Yet it is essentially simple, so simple that you need the simplicity of a little child to see it. There is only one thing that is necessary, and that is love. Not our love of God, but his love of us. In other words, Christianity is firstly a mysticism, not a moralism. It is not primarily concerned with detailing the perfect moral behaviour that we see embodied in Christ's life and then trying to copy it, virtue by virtue in our lives. That is stoicism, not Christianity, and it is doomed to failure.  Christianity is primarily concerned with teaching us how to turn and open ourselves to receive the same Holy Spirit who filled Jesus. The more we are filled with his love then the easier it is to return it in kind, as the divine suffuses and then surcharges human love so that it can reach up to God and out to others. Then, and only then are we able to love God with our whole hearts and minds and with our whole beings and to love our neighbour as Christ loves us.

Reading the Lives of the Saints Forward – Not Backward!

The trouble is we make the same mistake with Christ as we do with the saints. We read their lives backward. We read about their rigorous way of life, their superhuman sacrifices, and their heroic virtues, and believe that the only way we can be like them is to do likewise. If we only read their lives forward instead of backward then we would see that they were only capable of doing the seemingly impossible because they first received the power to do it in prayer. If we try to be and do what they did without first receiving what they received in prayer, then our brave attempts will inevitably end in disaster.

True imitation of Christ or any of his saints means firstly copying the way they did all in their power to receive in prayer the Holy Spirit who inspired and strengthened them with his love, to do what is impossible without it. That is essentially all we have to do. That is why the spiritual life is so simple if only we have the simplicity of a little child to see it.

Asceticism Made Simple

Although it is true that you cannot have a mystical life without an ascetical life,  asceticism for a beginner is quite simple. Do not give up anything you like or enjoy except when it prevents you from giving quality space and time to God in prayer each day. If you think it is too easy then try it and stick to it and you will soon find it is not quite as easy as you thought. Do not let first enthusiasm fool you into heroics that you will never sustain. When you have persevered for long enough you will gradually begin to receive and then experience the love that will enable you to do what is quite impossible without it.

When we fall in love and begin to experience being loved, then there is nothing we would not do, nor any sacrifice we would not make for the person we love. We positively look for things to do, the harder and the more exacting the better, to enable us to show the real quality of our love. What was impossible to a self-centered egotist only a short time before becomes not only easier but also our greatest pleasure. It is exactly the same in the spiritual life. The exemplary behaviour, the extraordinary self-discipline and the heroic sacrifices made by those who begin to experience the love of God are not the results of arrogant stoics trying to make themselves perfect. They are the actions of someone desperate to express their love in behaviour that could not be maintained for long without the love that sustains then from within. All the little pleasures and pastimes that were thought indispensable before, suddenly become dispensable, and with the greatest of ease.

When the love of God strikes a human heart it strikes it as a simple ray of light strikes a prism. Just as that light is then diffused and transformed into all the colours of the rainbow, so the love of God is diffused and transformed into all the virtues and supernatural gifts that are needed. All this happens simultaneously, as the love of God suffuses our own imperfect love, making it possible for us to love God in return and the neighbour in need, in all that we say and do. In short, first seek God and his Kingdom which is love, and everything else you want or desire will be given to you.

These ideas are developed further in my two major works on prayer – Wisdom from the Western Isles and Wisdom from the Christian Mystics, and Wisdom from Franciscan Italy that show how deep contemplative prayer grows to perfection.​

[yasbxxgie]

8 years ago, famed science fiction author Octavia Butler died suddenly of a stroke, leaving her latest trilogy unfinished and her fans bereft. But now, scholars are sifting through the archives she bequeathed to the Huntington Library — and one has discovered plans for the books she never finished.

Gerry Canavan, a literary scholar at Marquette University, was the first person to open the boxes of Butler's notes, journals and drafts at the Huntington. He discovered a treasure trove that revealed a lot about where Butler's work was going, and what her writing process was like.

He found that Butler often wrote many versions of her novels, with many false starts. Interestingly, the work she discarded tended to be a lot darker and more pessimistic than what made its way into final drafts.

In the Los Angeles Review of Books, Canavan writes about Butler's multi-year struggle to write further books in the Parable series, which are about a woman who founds a new, space-focused religion after a government collapse in the near-future United States:

Nearly all of the texts focus on a character named Imara — who has been named the Guardian of Lauren Olamina's ashes, who is often said to be her distant relative, and who is plainly imagined as the St. Paul to Olamina's Christ (her story sometimes begins as a journalist who has gone undercover with the Earthseed "cult" to expose Olamina as a fraud, and winds up getting roped in). Imara awakens from cryonic suspension on an alien world where she and most of her fellow Earthseed colonists are saddened to discover they wish they'd never left Earth in the first place. The world — called "Bow" — is gray and dank, and utterly miserable; it takes its name from the only splash of color the planet has to offer, its rare, naturally occurring rainbows. They have no way to return to Earth, or to even to contact it; all they have is what little they've brought with them, which for most (but not all) of them is a strong belief in the wisdom of the teachings of Earthseed. Some are terrified; many are bored; nearly all are deeply unhappy. Her personal notes frame this in biological terms. From her notes to herself: "Think of our homesickness as a phantom-limb pain — a somehow neurologically incomplete amputation. Think of problems with the new world as graft-versus-host disease — a mutual attempt at rejection."

From here the possible plots begin to multiply beyond all reason. In some of the texts, the colonists are in total denial about the fact that they are all slowly going blind; in others the blindness is sudden, striking randomly and irreversibly; in others they all begin to go insane, or suffer seizures, or mad rages, or fall into long comas; in still others they begin to hurt and kill each other for no other reason than the basic inevitable frailty of human nature (the same, alas, on any world). In one of the versions of the novel the colonists develop a telepathic capacity that soon turns nightmarish when they are unable to resist it or shut it off; in one twist on this idea it's only the women who are so empowered, with the men organizing a secret conspiracy to figure out how they might regain control.

There's a version where the blindness and the telepathy are linked; Imara becomes able to see out of others' eyes as she loses the ability to see out of her own. In some Imara finds she needs to solve a murder, the first murder on the new world; in still others Imara herself is murdered, but discovers that on this strange alien world she is somehow able to haunt another colonists' body as a ghost, replicating Doro's power from the Patternist books and thereby linking even the Parables to the speculative universe she first developed as a teenager. Sometimes Imara is an Earthseed skeptic; other times she is a true believer; sometimes she is, like Olamina, a hyperempath; still other times the cure for "sharing" has been discovered in the form of an easy, noninvasive pill. Sometimes Bow is inhabited by small animals, other times by dinosaur-like giant sauropods, and still other times by just moss and lichens; sometimes the colonists seem to encounter intelligent aliens who might be real, but might just be tokens of their escalating collective madness; and on and on and on.

One version of the blindness narrative is abandoned with no small grumbling after José Saramago wins the Nobel Prize for Blindness in 1998; another is put aside after she determines it's just too similar to Kim Stanley Robinson's famous Red Mars; still another is abandoned shortly after Butler frustratedly, self-loathingly declares Imara to have "a personality more like mine" against Olamina's "super me — the me I wish I was." Sometimes Earthseed seems more like a self-help philosophy; sometimes it becomes a genuinely mystical, transcendent religion; sometimes we see it begin to shift from the first toward the second; sometimes it suffers schisms, heresies, and purges. Sometimes Imara is a former cop; sometimes she is a trained psychologist; sometimes she's a doctor; sometimes she's that undercover journalist; still other times she was the victim of a horrific series of rapes as a child, saved by one of Olamina's orphanages when no other entity or institution would bother. When Butler begins writing the book, Newt Gingrich is named as the model for the central antagonist; in the versions from the 2000s, it's George W. Bush; sometimes in between it's other science fiction writers with whom Butler didn't especially get along.

I corresponded with Canavan, and asked if he'd found any hints about where she would have gone with the trilogy she began shortly before her death. The trilogy began with her last published novel, Fledgling, a fascinating take on the vampire mythos. Canavan said that she had some notes about the books that would have followed. He explained via email:

She didn't write all that much of the Fledgling sequel but there's the start of something. As was pretty typical of her she was juggling a couple different possibilities for the book simultaneously.

One of them would have had ASYLUM/FLIGHT be the second part of a trilogy: it would have had Shorri wandering around the country with her harem looking for a place she felt safe, living with vampires for a bit, living in Seattle and finding out she couldn't take all the many sensations there, and then finally building a house with Wright and the rest in the woods to start her own colony. Over the course of this she would have also adopted a sister and done some investigation into her own past. Then the third book would have seen Shorri coming into her own as a vampire as she got ready to mate.

Another version of the book (which may or may not have overlapped with the first version) has some of the Silk sons escape the punishment of renaming/exile and kidnap/imprison Shorri in an effort to force her to pair-bond with them (and thereby somehow force a situation where their family-line can continue). This seemed as though it would potentially have been an extremely disturbing thriller and Shorri's efforts to escape imprisonment during the day while being drugged and mistreated at night, as well as her internal debate about whether she should murder the Silk boys rather than risk getting stuck with them as mates. It seems like in the end of this version of the book she would have murdered them, and gotten exiled from vampire society for a year as punishment (thereby setting up the third book to be about her wanderings with her harem, I guess).

A third version of the book has the Silk boys replaced with a Dracula-like figure who is some kind of Super-Ina (but who also seems like his primary agenda would be to imprison and torture Shorri in pursuit of creating his own race of super-vampires).

So it seems as though they would have been pretty disturbing, bordering on torture-porn.

There was a plot running through with a Russian woman who had been sold into human trafficking by a father or a boyfriend as a girl, who would have joined Shorri's harem (and who Shorri would have tried to help get over her nightmares with her power of thrall). This would have been an interesting way to explore some of the more disturbing aspects of the Ina/human symbiotic relationship, I think. There was also some more attention to what it would be like for symbionts to get together and be in a relationship, both with and without the participation of the Ina.

And then there were a few tantalizing hints of a novel set a generation or two later, when many more of the vampires can go out in the sun like Shorri, and what they might do when they had no weaknesses and there was nothing stopping them from taking over the world. This is the one that I'm most interested in because it suggest Shorri as a somewhat darker figure than we might have thought — she really is disturbing a delicate ecological balance with her power to walk in the sun, which could cause a lot of problems down the road when played out to its logical conclusion...

For those of us who sorely miss Butler's writing, it's incredible to get this glimpse of where her thoughts were going with these unfinished works.

Read more about Canavan's research in the Los Angeles Review of Books

[enchantingtigerbarbarian-blog]

Chapter 12 - REPEAL AND REPLACE

REPEAL AND REPLACE

Afew days after the election, Steve Bannon told the president-elect—in what Katie Walsh would characterize with a raised eyebrow as more “Breitbart shenanigans”—that they had the votes to replace Paul Ryan as Speaker of the House with Mark Meadows, the head of the Tea Party-inspired Freedom Caucus and an early Trump supporter. (Meadows’s wife had a particular place of regard in the Trump camp for continuing a campaign swing across the Bible Belt over Billy Bush weekend.)

Nearly as much as winning the presidency itself, removing Ryan—indeed, humiliating him—was an ultimate expression of what Bannon sought to accomplish and of the mind-meld of Bannonism and Trumpism. From the beginning, the Breitbart campaign against Paul Ryan was a central part of its campaign for Donald Trump. Its embrace of Trump, and Bannon’s personal enlistment in the campaign fourteen months after it began, was in part because Trump, throwing political sense to the wind, was willing to lead the charge against Ryan and the GOP godfathers. Still, there was a difference between the way Breitbart viewed Ryan and the way Trump viewed him.

For Breitbart, the House rebellion and transformation that had driven the former Speaker, John Boehner, from office, and which, plausibly, was set to remake the House into the center of the new radical Republicanism had been halted by Ryan’s election as Speaker. Mitt Romney’s running mate, and a figure who had merged a conservative fiscal wonkishness—he had been the chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee and, as well, chairman of the House Budget Committee—with an old-fashioned idea of unassailable Republican rectitude, Ryan was the official last, best hope of the Republican Party. (Bannon, typically, had turned this trope into an official Trumpist talking point: “Ryan was created in a petri dish at the Heritage Foundation.”) If the Republican Party had been moved further right by the Tea Party rebellion, Ryan was part of the ballast that would prevent it from moving further, or at least at a vastly slower pace. In this he represented an adult, older-brother steadiness in contrast to the Tea Party’s ADD-hyper immaturity—and a stoic, almost martyrlike resistance to the Trump movement.

Where the Republican establishment had promoted Ryan into this figure of not only maturity but sagaciousness, the Tea Party-Bannon-Breitbart wing mounted an ad hominem campaign pushing an image of Ryan as uncommitted to the cause, an inept strategist and incompetent leader. He was the Tea Party-Bannon-Breitbart punch line: the ultimate empty suit, a hee-haw sort of joke and an embarrassment.

Trump’s distaste for Ryan was significantly less structural. He had no views about Ryan’s political abilities, and had paid no real attention to Ryan’s actual positions. His view was personal. Ryan had insulted him—again and again. Ryan had kept betting against him. Ryan had become the effective symbol of the Republican establishment’s horror and disbelief about Trump. Adding insult to injury, Ryan had even achieved some moral stature by dissing Trump (and, as usual, he considered anybody’s gain at his expense a double insult). By the spring of 2016, Ryan was still, and by then the only, alternative to Trump as the nominee. Say the word, many Republicans felt, and the convention would stampede to Ryan. But Ryan’s seemingly smarter calculation was to let Trump win the nomination, and then to emerge as the obvious figure to lead the party after Trump’s historic defeat and the inevitable purge of the Tea Party-Trump-Breitbart wing.

Instead, the election destroyed Paul Ryan, at least in Steve Bannon’s eyes. Trump had not only saved the Republican Party but had given it a powerful majority. The entire Bannon dream had been realized. The Tea Party movement, with Trump as its remarkable face and voice, had come to power—something like total power. It owned the Republican Party. Publicly breaking Paul Ryan was the obvious and necessary step.

But a great deal could fall into the chasm between Bannon’s structural contempt for Ryan and Trump’s personal resentment. If Bannon saw Ryan as being unwilling and unable to carry out the new Bannon-Trump agenda, Trump saw a chastened Ryan as suddenly and satisfyingly abject, submissive, and useful. Bannon wanted to get rid of the entire Republican establishment; Trump was wholly satisfied that it now seemed to bend to him.

“He’s quite a smart guy,” Trump said after his first postelection conversation with the Speaker. “A very serious man. Everybody respects him.”

Ryan, “rising to a movie-version level of flattery and sucking-up painful to witness,” according to one senior Trump aide, was able to delay his execution. As Bannon pressed his case for Meadows—who was significantly less yielding than Ryan—Trump dithered and then finally decided that not only was he not going to push for Ryan’s ouster, but Ryan was going to be his man, his partner. In an example of the odd and unpredictable effects of personal chemistry on Trump—of how easy it can be to sell the salesman—Trump would now eagerly back Ryan’s agenda instead of the other way around.

“I don’t think that we quite calculated that the president would give him carte blanche,” reflected Katie Walsh. “The president and Paul went from such a bad place during the campaign to such a romance afterward that the president was happy to go along with whatever he wanted.”

It didn’t exactly surprise Bannon when Trump flipped; Bannon understood how easy it was to bullshit a bullshitter. Bannon also recognized that the Ryan rapprochement spoke to Trump’s new appreciation of where he found himself. It was not just that Ryan had been willing to bow to Trump, but that Trump was willing to bow to his own fears about how little he actually knew about being president. If Ryan could be counted on to handle Congress, thought the president, well, phew, that takes care of that.

* * *

Trump had little or no interest in the central Republican goal of repealing Obamacare. An overweight seventy-year-old man with various physical phobias (for instance, he lied about his height to keep from having a body mass index that would label him as obese), he personally found health care and medical treatments of all kinds a distasteful subject. The details of the contested legislation were, to him, particularly boring; his attention would begin wandering from the first words of a policy discussion. He would have been able to enumerate few of the particulars of Obamacare—other than expressing glee about the silly Obama pledge that everyone could keep his or her doctor—and he certainly could not make any kind of meaningful distinction, positive or negative, between the health care system before Obamacare and the one after.

Prior to his presidency, he had likely never had a meaningful discussion in his life about health insurance. “No one in the country, or on earth, has given less thought to health insurance than Donald,” said Roger Ailes. Pressed in a campaign interview about the importance of Obamacare repeal and reform, Trump was, to say the least, quite unsure of its place on the agenda: “This is an important subject but there are a lot of important subjects. Maybe it is in the top ten. Probably is. But there is heavy competition. So you can’t be certain. Could be twelve. Or could be fifteen. Definitely top twenty for sure.”

It was another one of his counterintuitive connections to many voters: Obama and Hillary Clinton seemed actually to want to talk about health care plans, whereas Trump, like most everybody else, absolutely did not.

All things considered, he probably preferred the notion of more people having health insurance than fewer people having it. He was even, when push came to shove, rather more for Obamacare than for repealing Obamacare. As well, he had made a set of rash Obama-like promises, going so far as to say that under a forthcoming Trumpcare plan (he had to be strongly discouraged from using this kind of rebranding—political wise men told him that this was one instance where he might not want to claim ownership with his name), no one would lose their health insurance, and that preexisting conditions would continue to be covered. In fact, he probably favored government-funded health care more than any other Republican. “Why can’t Medicare simply cover everybody?” he had impatiently wondered aloud during one discussion with aides, all of whom were careful not to react to this heresy.

It was Bannon who held the line, insisting, sternly, that Obamacare was a litmus Republican issue, and that, holding a majority in Congress, they could not face Republican voters without having made good on the by now Republican catechism of repeal. Repeal, in Bannon’s view, was the pledge, and repeal would be the most satisfying, even cathartic, result. It would also be the easiest one to achieve, since virtually every Republican was already publicly committed to voting for repeal. But Bannon, seeing health care as a weak link in Bannonism-Trumpism’s appeal to the workingman, was careful to take a back seat in the debate. Later, he hardly even made an effort to rationalize how he’d washed his hands of the mess, saying just, “I hung back on health care because it’s not my thing.”

It was Ryan who, with “repeal and replace,” obfuscated the issue and won over Trump. Repeal would satisfy the Republican bottom line, while replace would satisfy the otherwise off-the-cuff pledges that Trump had made on his own. (Pay no attention to the likelihood that what the president construed as repeal and replace might be very different from what Ryan construed as repeal and replace.) “Repeal and replace” was a useful slogan, too, in that it came to have meaning without having any actual or specific meaning.

The week after the election, Ryan, bringing Tom Price—the Georgia congressman and orthopedist who had become Ryan��s resident heath care expert—traveled to Trump’s Bedminster, New Jersey, estate for a repeal and replace briefing. The two men summed up for Trump—who kept wandering off topic and trying to turn the conversation to golf—seven years of Republican legislative thinking about Obamacare and the Republican alternatives. Here was a perfect example of an essential Trump paradigm: he acceded to anyone who seemed to know more about any issue he didn’t care about, or simply one whose details he couldn’t bring himself to focus on closely. Great! he would say, punctuating every statement with a similar exclamation and regularly making an effort to jump from his chair. On the spot, Trump eagerly agreed to let Ryan run the health care bill and to make Price the Health and Human Services secretary.

Kushner, largely staying silent during the health care debate, publicly seemed to accept the fact that a Republican administration had to address Obamacare, but he privately suggested that he was personally against both repeal alone and repeal and replace. He and his wife took a conventional Democratic view on Obamacare (it was better than the alternatives; its problems could be fixed in the future) and strategically believed it was best for the new administration to get some easier victories under its belt before entering a hard-to-win or no-win fight. (What’s more, Kushner’s brother Josh ran a health insurance company that depended on Obamacare.)

Not for the last time, then, the White House would be divided along the political spectrum, Bannon taking an absolutist base position, Priebus aligned with Ryan in support of the Republican leadership, and Kushner maintaining, and seeing no contradiction in, a moderate Democratic view. As for Trump himself, here was a man who was simply trying to get out from under something he didn’t especially care about.

Ryan and Priebus’s salesmanship promised to get the president out from under other issues as well. Health care reform, according to the Ryan plan, was something of a magic bullet. The reform the Speaker would push through Congress would fund the tax cuts Trump had guaranteed, which, in turn, would make all that Trump-promised infrastructure investment possible.

On this basis—this domino theory that was meant to triumphantly carry the Trump administration through to the August recess and mark it as one of the most transformational presidencies in modern times—Ryan kept his job as Speaker, rising from hated campaign symbol to the administration’s man on the Hill. In effect, the president, quite aware of his and his staff’s inexperience in drafting legislation (in fact, nobody on his senior staff had any experience at all), decided to outsource his agenda—and to a heretofore archenemy.

Watching Ryan steal the legislative initiative during the transition, Bannon faced an early realpolitik moment. If the president was willing to cede major initiatives, Bannon would need to run a counteroperation and be ready with more Breitbart shenanigans. Kushner, for his part, developed a certain Zen—you just had to go with the president’s whims. As for the president, it was quite clear that deciding between contradictory policy approaches was not his style of leadership. He simply hoped that difficult decisions would make themselves.

* * *

Bannon was not merely contemptuous of Ryan’s ideology; he had no respect, either, for his craft. In Bannon’s view, what the new Republican majority needed was a man like John McCormick, the Democratic Speaker of the House who had served during Bannon’s teenage years and had shepherded Johnson’s Great Society legislation. McCormick and other Democrats from the 1960s were Bannon’s political heroes—put Tip O’Neill in that pantheon, too. An Irish Catholic working-class man was philosophically separate from aristocrats and gentry—and without aspirations to be either. Bannon venerated old-fashioned pols. He looked like one himself: liver spots, jowls, edema. And he hated modern politicians; they lacked, in addition to political talents, authenticity and soul. Ryan was an Irish Catholic altar boy who had stayed an altar boy. He had not grown up to be a thug, cop, or priest—or a true politician.

Ryan certainly wasn’t a vote counter. He was a benighted figure who had no ability to see around corners. His heart was in tax reform, but as far as he could tell the only path to tax reform was through health care. But he cared so little about the issue that—just as the White House had outsourced health care to him—he outsourced the writing of the bill to insurance companies and K Street lobbyists.

In fact, Ryan had tried to act like McCormick or O’Neill, offering absolute assurances of his hold on the legislation. It was, he told the president during his several daily calls, a “done deal.” Trump’s trust in Ryan rose still higher, and it seemed to become in his own mind proof that he had achieved a kind of mastery over the Hill. If the president had been worried, he was worried no more. Done deal. The White House, having had to sweat hardly at all, was about to get a big victory, bragged Kushner, embracing the expected win over his dislike of the bill.

The sudden concern that the outcome might be otherwise began in early March. Katie Walsh, who Kushner now described as “demanding and petulant,” began to sound the alarm. But her efforts to personally involve the president in vote collecting were blocked by Kushner in a set of increasingly tense face-offs. The unraveling had begun.

* * *

Trump still dismissively called it “the Russian thing—a whole lot of nothing.” But on March 20, FBI director James Comey appeared before the House Intelligence Committee and tied the story up in a neat package:

I have been authorized by the Department of Justice to confirm that the FBI, as part of our counterintelligence mission, is investigating the Russian government’s efforts to interfere in the 2016 presidential election, and that includes investigating the nature of any links between individuals associated with the Trump campaign and the Russian government and whether there was any coordination between the campaign and Russia’s efforts. As with any counter intelligence investigation, this will also include an assessment of whether any crimes were committed. Because it is an open, ongoing investigation and is classified I cannot say more about what we are doing and whose conduct we are examining.

He had, however, said quite enough. Comey converted rumor, leaks, theory, innuendo, and pundit hot air—and until this moment that was all there was, at best the hope of a scandal—into a formal pursuit of the White House. Efforts to pooh-pooh the narrative—the fake news label, the president’s germaphobe defense against the golden shower accusations, the haughty dismissal of minor associates and hopeless hangers-on, the plaintive, if real, insistence that no crime had even been alleged, and the president’s charge that he was the victim of an Obama wiretap—had failed. Comey himself dismissed the wiretap allegation. By the evening of Comey’s appearance, it was evident to everyone that the Russia plot line, far from petering out, had a mighty and bloody life to come.

Kushner, ever mindful of his father’s collision with the Justice Department, was especially agitated by Comey’s increasing focus on the White House. Doing something about Comey became a Kushner theme. What can we do about him? was a constant question. And it was one he kept raising with the president.

Yet this was also—as Bannon, without too much internal success, tried to explain—a structural issue. It was an opposition move. You could express surprise at how fierce, creative, and diabolical the moves turned out to be, but you shouldn’t be surprised that your enemies would try to hurt you. This was check, but far from checkmate, and you had to continue to play the game, knowing that it would be a very long one. The only way to win the game, Bannon argued, was with a disciplined strategy.

But the president, prodded here by his family, was an obsessive and not a strategist. In his mind, this was not a problem to address, this was a person to focus on: Comey. Trump eschewed abstractions and, ad hominem, zeroed in on his opponent. Comey had been a difficult puzzle for Trump: Comey had declined to have the FBI pursue charges against Clinton for her email dodge. Then, in October, Comey had single-handedly boosted Trump’s fortunes with the letter reopening the Clinton email investigation.

In their personal interactions, Trump had found Comey to be a stiff—he had no banter, no game. But Trump, who invariably thought people found him irresistible, believed that Comey admired his banter and game. When pressed, by Bannon and others, to fire Comey as one of his early acts—an idea opposed by Kushner, and thus another bullet on Bannon’s list of bad recommendations by Kushner—the president said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got him.” That is, he had no doubt that he could woo and flatter the FBI director into positive feeling for him, if not outright submission.

Some seducers are preternaturally sensitive to the signals of those they try to seduce; others indiscriminately attempt to seduce, and, by the law of averages, often succeed (this latter group of men might now be regarded as harassers). That was Trump’s approach to women—pleased when he scored, unconcerned when he didn’t (and, often, despite the evidence, believing that he had). And so it was with Director Comey.

In their several meetings since he took office—when Comey received a presidential hug on January 22; at their dinner on January 27, during which Comey was asked to stay on as FBI director; at their Valentine’s Day chat after emptying the office of everybody else, including Sessions, Comey’s titular boss—Trump was confident that he had laid on the moves. The president was all but certain that Comey, understanding that he, Trump, had his back (i.e., had let him keep his job), would have Trump’s back, too.

But now this testimony. It made no sense. What did make sense to Trump was that Comey wanted it to be about him. He was a media whore—this Trump understood. All right, then, he, too, could play it this way.

Indeed, health care, a no-fun issue—suddenly becoming much less fun, if, as seemed increasingly possible, Ryan couldn’t deliver—palled before the clarity of Comey, and the fury, enmity, and bitterness Trump, and Trump’s relatives, now bore him.

Comey was the larger-than-life problem. Taking Comey down was the obvious solution. Getting Comey became the mission.

In Keystone Cops fashion, the White House enlisted House Intelligence Committee chairman Devin Nunes in a farcical effort to discredit Comey and support the wiretap theory. The scheme shortly collapsed in universal ridicule.

Bannon, taking a public hands-off with respect to both health care and Comey, began to advise reporters that the important story wasn’t health care but Russia. This was cryptic advice: it was not clear whether he was trying to distract attention from the coming health care debacle, or couple it with this new dangerous variable, thus amping up the kind of chaos that he usually benefited from.

But Bannon was unequivocal about one thing. As the Russia story unfolds, he advised reporters, keep your eye on Kushner.

* * *

By mid-March, Gary Cohn had been drafted into the effort to salvage the faltering health care bill. This might have seemed like a form of hazing for Cohn, whose grasp of legislative matters was even more limited than that of most in the White House.

On Friday, March 24, the morning of the theoretical House vote for the Republican health care bill, Politico’s Playbook characterized the chances of a vote actually coming to the floor as a “toss-up.” In that morning’s senior staff meeting, Cohn was asked for an assessment of where things stood and promptly said, “I think it’s a toss-up.”

“Really?” thought Katie Walsh. “That’s what you think?”

Bannon, joining Walsh in a pitiless contempt for the White House effort, targeted Kushner, Cohn, Priebus, Price, and Ryan in a series of calls to reporters. Kushner and Cohn could, per Bannon, be counted on to run at the first sound of gunfire. (Kushner, in fact, had spent much of the week on a skiing holiday.) Priebus mouthed Ryan talking points and excuses. Price, supposedly the health care guru, was an oafish imposter; he would stand up in meetings and mumble nothing but nonsense.

These were the bad guys, setting up the administration to lose the House in 2018, thereby assuring the president’s impeachment. This was vintage Bannon analysis: a certain and immediate political apocalypse that sat side by side with the potential for a half century of Bannonism-Trumpism rule.

Convinced he knew the direction of success, keenly aware of his own age and finite opportunities, and—if for no clear reason—seeing himself as a talented political infighter, Bannon sought to draw the line between believers and sell-outs, being and nothingness. For him to succeed, he needed to isolate the Ryan, Cohn, and Kushner factions.

The Bannon faction held tight on forcing a vote on the health care bill—even knowing defeat was inevitable. “I want it as a report on Ryan’s job as Speaker,” said Bannon. That is, a devastating report, an epic fail.

The day of the vote, Pence was sent to the Hill to make one last pitch to Meadows’s Freedom Caucus. (Ryan’s people believed that Bannon was secretly urging Meadows to hold out, though earlier in the week Bannon had harshly ordered the Freedom Caucus to vote for the bill—“a silly Bannon show,” according to Walsh.) At three-thirty, Ryan called the president to say he was short fifteen to twenty votes and needed to pull the vote. Bannon, backed by Mulvaney, who had become the White House’s Hill operative, continued to urge an immediate vote. A defeat here would be a major defeat for the Republican leadership. That suited Bannon just fine: let them fail.

But the president backed down. Faced with this singular opportunity to make the Republican leadership the issue, and to name them as the problem, Trump wobbled, provoking in Bannon a not-so-silent rage. Ryan then leaked that it was the president who had asked him to cancel the vote.

Over the weekend, Bannon called a long list of reporters and told them—off the record, but hardly—“I don’t see Ryan hanging around a long time.”

* * *

After the bill had been pulled that Friday, Katie Walsh, feeling both angry and disgusted, told Kushner she wanted out. Outlining what she saw as the grim debacle of the Trump White House, she spoke with harsh candor about bitter rivalries joined to vast incompetence and an uncertain mission. Kushner, understanding that she needed to be discredited immediately, leaked that she had been leaking and hence had to be pushed out.

On Sunday evening, Walsh had dinner with Bannon in his Capitol Hill redoubt, the Breitbart Embassy, during which, to no avail, he implored her to stay. On Monday she sorted out the details with Priebus—she would leave to work part time for the RNC and part time for the Trump (c)(4), the outside campaign group. By Thursday she was gone.

Ten weeks into the new administration, the Trump White House had lost, after Michael Flynn, its second senior staff member—and the one whose job it was to actually get things done.

[storytelleratheart]

Dark Heresy Part One: Of Raids and a Maid

So imagine you’re Throne Agent Vincentus, you’re given the job to organise a raid on a Nobleman’s estate on the Imperial World of Scintilla, that’s easy enough, the Inquisition does this sort of thing all the time. You commandeer the local Armed Forces with a wave of your Inquisitorial Badge, you have aircraft, dozens and dozens of men at your fingertips, hundreds or thousands if you want them, tanks and artillery too if you think it’s absolutely necessary. That’s all well and good.

Noble Estates are basically lavish mini fortresses, they have private armies who are often individually better equipped than the local army, although they lack the might of your newly acquired aircraft and tanks, they do have some big walls and automated defences to hide behind.

It’s going to be bloody, but the outcome is inevitable, they don’t know you’re coming. No one expects the Inquisition.

But then there’s a strange twist of fate and your boss throws some untried Inquisitorial agents- acolytes in your lap and tells you they’re here to do the most important job of all, face down the nobleman and bring him to justice if he has anything heretical on his person or possession.

Now you have a problem. You were going to send in a couple of squads of veterans, inserted by the Imperial Navy’s finest and most ubiquitous VTOL craft called ‘Valkyries’. Now you have to send in an untested rabble, you don’t know what kind of training they’ve been given, they don’t know each other and they certainly don’t work as a team.

Although it could have been worse you suppose… Two of them in particular have some real combat experience, the Arbitrator Dwayne is a bit odd, but he’s built like he’s been carved out of chiselled stone, and Red was a guardswoman who performed well enough to get the Inquisitions attention.

But the other two, they’re savages. Jebediah makes no effort to hide his feral world ways, he wears only a loin cloth and an armoured poncho which constantly gets blown around by the wind to reveal… his loin cloth also being blown around giving you full view of something you’d wished you’d never seen. Also he makes no secret of the fact he uses this thing called ‘voodoo’ which must be heretical (and thereby illegal) in so many ways, carries around human knucklebones and most certainly EATS PEOPLE. What the fuck?! Where did they even find this guy? From what swamp was he dragged out of?

And that other girl, Malice? She’s not much better, sure this blonde is pretty in a waifish way, but that’s not exactly a useful trait in this line of work. She’s taken some effort to disguise the stink of a swamp dwelling feral worlder, using some kind of ‘handywoman/plumber’ disguise that isn’t all that believable… she still carries a spear and a fucking chainsword around after all.

But your boss is adamant, these guys are the tip of the spear. So you have to send them in.

Hopefully the more useful looking ones survive and the others don’t.

So with a sigh you attach them to the mission and try not to look into the eyes of the officers you’ve requisitioned and mumble something about this mess up ‘coming down from the top’.

 So the mission starts off with a resounding series of explosions, aircraft strafe the compound, dodging ground fire and responding with much greater effect.

There are no parachutes on this planet, the locals use the more technologically advanced grav-chute, however no one thought to ask if the acolytes (particularly the feral worlders) knew how to use them or not.

So untrained, they leap from their transport as soon as they are given the green light.

Unsurprisingly they tumble and flail a little as they fall. Fortunately they manage to fall in the general direction of their target, the compounds chapel.

Malice manages to right herself and gracefully swan dives through an ancient stained glass window depicting the Emperor and his holy saints before landing like a cat in the middle of the chapel, which is closer in size to a modest cathedral.

The rest of them tumble ungracefully to the floor in a great heap.

Go team.

The chapel was guarded by a bunch of nondescript guys in the uniforms of the noble family’s personal guard. So naturally a fight breaks out and despite being the only one on her feet, Malice fails to accomplish anything with either her spear, chainsword or that rifle that no one ever seems to notice her carrying.

Red, after clambering to her feet manages to massacre most of the guards with her sword and pistol while everyone else looks on in bewilderment.

With the chapel in bloody ruin our heroes decide to press on to their objective. Problem is the only exit to the chapel leads to a corridor that, thanks to their air support’s successful bombing campaign is now thoroughly on fire.

Taking deep breaths and the odd prayer the group dive through the flames and eventually come out safely on the other side.

There they find a servant trying to drag a wardrobe out of the fire. Dwayne being the master interrogator he is, decides to inquire as to why the man is trying to save the wardrobe out of everything else that could potentially catch fire in the immediate area, and what was inside it.

The man responds ‘Sally.’

Dwayne found this answer unsatisfying, decided the man was impeding an investigation and using his status as an Arbitrator, donned his role of judge, jury and executioner, skipped the first two and executed the man on the spot with a shotgun blast to the face.

Heroic I know.

Upon opening the wardrobe the party discovers a young maid named Sally, who they promptly drag along with them for basically no reason. I mean why not? Dwayne gave her a gun, she’ll be fine, might even prove useful!

Another ragged bunch of Household guards try to bar their way as the party makes its way towards a large dome like structure in the compound, believed to be home to the nobleman’s private menagerie, and the last place he was sighted heading towards in all the confusion.

The Household guards barely last long enough to be worth mentioning and the party arrives at the menagerie dome. Inside the dome, nothing is on fire and it all looks like they have suddenly teleported to Jebediah’s home planet, thick jungle all around, filled with funky plants that look well and truly alien.

And not too far up on a small hill, the overweight nobleman they’re hunting down. It’s at this moment the whole party find undeniable proof that he’s a heretic. One of his arms has clearly been tainted by something… inhuman, it’s enormous and unlike the rest of his bloated body, it’s corded with thick bands of unnatural muscle, it also has this unnerving iridescent colour to it and looks strangely avian in appearance. The nobleman spots the party immediately, reaches out with this monstrosity of a hand and hurls a blast of unnatural fire towards them. That’s heresy!

So here’s where things stand according to standard procedure: at best, he’s a rogue mutant psyker and needs to be executed for heresy. Or he’s done something unthinkable, made a pact with a daemon. And he needs to be executed for heresy. Either way, the only alternative at this point to killing him is to retreat to orbit and ‘nuke the whole planet’. The Inquisition does not like half measures after all.

But this brave, foolhardy party who have no concept of what a daemon is (besides perhaps Jebediah, as daemons plague the realm which is also the source of his powers), so they engage the target with gusto.

Thanks to the advice of the feral worlders, the party avoid running straight into the jaws of any man eating plants in the menagerie, but still run afoul of two slavering beasts that look like a mad scientists somewhat successful attempt to cross a hyena with a crocodile.

Malice guns one of the beasts down and finally feels like she’s contributing to the party; Red, Dwayne and surprisingly Sally take down the other one as Jebediah exchanges volleys of psychic energies with the nobleman and his heretical arm.

With the two beasts down everyone turns around to gang up on the nobleman, who despite his magic arm turns out to just be a fat rich man with no real training, and wasn’t wearing any armour. He goes down surprisingly easy, although his magical fire does scald Jebediah’s flesh a little bit more than the witch doctor would like.

The team calls in to let Vincentus know the job is done, rather than be impressed, Vincentus is disappointed it took them this long to kill one fat man in a zoo. Vincentus gives them the task of sifting through the nobleman’s belongings while Vincentus himself takes a shuttle to the surface of the planet to recover the remains of the nobleman with the ‘heretical arm’ as Dwayne put it.

By now the Household guard have been dispatched, the legions of servants are being rounded up for questioning (bar Sally, who follows the party around like a puppy with a serious case of PTSD), so the party has free reign to go and pilfer the nobleman’s things for any clues as to where he got his horrifying arm.

In the noble’s personal stash they find a couple of very expensive things, like a gun no one knows how to use with one bullet, a suit of armour made from potentially heretical animal hides and a very nice sword.

Strangely the party only takes the sword as right this moment, Red decides she wants to fight with a blade in both hands and vows to learn the art of duel wielding swords. In all likelihood if they had taken everything they may have gotten in trouble with their boss, or Dwayne who insisted they should disturb the crime scene as little as possible as if a murder had taken place in the drawing room (perhaps it did, but there’s no law against noblemen killing people in the 41st millennium, unless it is a murder of heretical nature of course).

Instead the party takes some time to go through the nobleman’s journals in case he, like every NPC from a Bethesda game decided to write every nefarious thing he had ever done down in a journal literally anyone could have found.

Considering this is an RPG it’s not that surprising he did do just that. Although he may have been supposed to confess his crimes when the party faced him down… he ended up losing his head in quite a literal fashion instead of being restrained.

Malice, being unable to read, unsurprisingly found little more than the odd drawing in the journals. But only told her team mates she couldn’t read after they were done searching through the evidence, so who knows what heretical plots could have been prevented with the knowledge in the tomes she sifted through…

Regardless the party now had a new destination, the fat nobleman had stated in some of his more recent journals that he had visited this place called the Haematite Cathedral, on a nearby planet. So naturally the party brings this evidence in for Vincentus to look through and tell him all they’ve learned.

Vincentus, presumably unhappy that they all made it through the raid without anything more than a light scalding, organises for them to go to the planet upon which the Haematite Cathedral was built before even reading a single bit of evidence he was presented with. He’ll go over it later, when he’s not surrounded by the stink of Feral Worlder.

Looks like it’s time for a road trip!

 https://storytelleratheart.tumblr.com/post/158383891355/i-said-i-would-do-this-so-i-will (Dramatis Persona)

Part One: Of Raids and Maids (You are Here)

[lordcaptains]

#i love this little parallel #heinrix was resigned to such a horrific fate #either death at the hands of the enemies of humanity #or corruption by the forces of chaos #but then he meets the rogue trader #and suddenly that inevitable fall to heresy #can just be choosing his desire over his duty #as a psyker he might still succumb to the warp someday #but at least that future is no longer certain #he no longer serves the inquisition #he's already met his 'heretical' end

:(

:)