It was enough.
  
  Besides, David had appeared. He had a copy already of the transcript we'd labored on, 
but this was not his concern. He approached us slowly, announcing his presence obviously 
to give us the chance to become silent, which we did.
  
  I turned to him, unable to restrain myself. "Did you know this was to happen? Did you 
know when it did?"
  
  "No, I did not," he said solemnly.
  
  "Thank you," I said.
  
  "They need you, your young ones," David said. "Marius may be the Maker but they are 
utterly yours."
  
  "I know," I said. "I'm going. I'll do what I'm bound to do."
  
  Marius put his hand out and touched my shoulder. I realized suddenly that he was truly 
on the verge of losing his self-control.
  
  When he spoke his voice was tremulous and lustrous with feeling.
  
  He hated the storm inside himself and he was overcome by my sorrow. I knew this plainly 
enough. It gave me no satisfaction at all.
  
  "You despise me now, and perhaps you're right. I knew you would weep, but in a very 
profound way, I misjudged you. I didn't realize something about you. Perhaps I never 
have."
  
  "What's that, Master," I said with acidic drama.
  
  "You loved them selflessly," he whispered. "For all their strange faults, and wild 
evil, they were not compromised for you. You loved them perhaps more respectfully than 
I... than I ever loved you."
  
  He seemed so amazed.
  
  I could only nod. I wasn't so sure he was right. My need for them had never been 
tested, but I didn't want to tell him so.
  
  "Armand," he said. "You know you can stay here as long as you like."
  
  "Good, because I just might," I said. "They love it, and I'm weary. So thank you very 
much for that."
  
  "But one thing more," he went on, "and I mean this with all my heart."
  
  "What is it, Master?" I said.
  
  David stood by, and I was happy for that, for it seemed to act as a certain curb upon 
my tears.
  
  "I honestly don't know the answer to this, and I ask you in humility," Marius said. 
"When you saw the Veil, what was it you really saw? Oh, I don't mean was it Christ, or 
was it God, or was it a miracle. What I mean is this. There was the face of a being, 
drenched in blood, who had given birth to a religion guilty of more wars and more cruelty 
than any creed the world has ever known. Don't be angry with me, please, just explain to 
me. What was it you saw? Was it only a magnificent reminder of the ikons you once 
painted? Or was it truly something drenched in love and not in blood? Tell me. If it was 
love and not blood, I would honestly like to know."
  
  "You ask an old and simple question," I said, "and from where I stand you don't really 
know a thing. You wonder how He could have been my Lord, given this world as you describe 
it, and knowing what you know of the Gospels and the Testaments printed in His name. You 
wonder how I could have believed all that because you don't believe it, isn't that so?"
  
  He nodded. "Yes, I do wonder. Because I know you. And I know that faith is something 
which you simply do not have."
  
  I was startled. But instantly I knew he was right.
  
  I smiled. I felt a sort of tragic thrilling happiness suddenly.
  
  "Well, I see what you mean," I said. "And I'll tell you my answer. I saw Christ. A kind 
of bloody light. A personality, a human, a presence that I felt I knew. And He wasn't the 
Lord God Father Almighty and He wasn't the maker of the universe and the whole world. And 
He wasn't the Savior or the Redeemer for sins inscribed on my soul before I was born. He 
wasn't the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, and He wasn't the Theologian expounding 
from the Holy Mount. He wasn't those things for me. Maybe for others, but not forme."
  
  "But who was He, then, Armand?" David asked. "I have your story, full of marvels and 
suffering, yet I don't know. What was the concept of the Lord when you spoke the word?"
  
  "Lord," I repeated it. "It doesn't mean what you think. It's spoken with too much 
intimacy and too much warmth. It's like a secret and sacred name. Lord." I paused, and 
then continued:
  
  "He is the Lord, yes, but only because He is the symbol of something infinitely more 
accessible, something infinitely more meaningful than a ruler or king or lord can ever 
be."
  
  Again, I hesitated, wanting to find the right words since they were so sincere.
  
  "He was . . . my brother" I said. "Yes. That is what He was, my brother, and the symbol 
of all brothers, and that is why He was the Lord, and that is why His core is simply 
love. You scorn it. You look askance at what I say. But you don't grasp the complexity of 
what He was. It's easy to feel, perhaps, but not so easy to really see. He was another 
man like me. And maybe for many of us, millions upon millions, that's all He's ever been!