Page 54

“There was none. They examined the X-rays, the medical documentation, and there was no logical explanation for the recession or the healing.”

“Wow.” That was all I could think of to say. “What was her second miracle?”

“Using that same relic, she cured a child of blindness. Completely. The child can now see perfectly...even though she had no transplant and has no cornea in either eye.”

“Get out! That’s not possible.”

“Exactly. Thus the miracle.”

Slash pulled off a chunk of the bread and paired it with a piece of yellow cheese. “Sister Ana-Paula passed away in 1987. There were reportedly other miracles, although they were not investigated since the required two were already verified.”

I nibbled on a delicious fig, wondering about the scientific viability of the miracles. “Did the other guy up for sainthood do healing miracles, too?”

Slash shook his head. “No. Cristian Descantes is a saint of another sort. Popularly known as the Savior of Salerno, he singlehandedly saved nineteen children and their driver when their school bus plunged into the Mediterranean Sea.”

“Whoa. Not to denigrate that amazing feat, but it seems more heroic than miraculous.”

“Except that the bus driver and the children reported that Cristian lifted, bent and snapped pieces of the wreckage with his bare hands to free them.” Slash sipped his wine and speared a piece of melon. “This was later confirmed when the bus was retrieved.”

“Isn’t it more plausible to presume the structural integrity of the bus was weakened by the crash to permit him to break things?” I suggested.

“The wreckage was intensely scrutinized. There were several breaks that could not be explained away by the accident trajectory. However, of a more miraculous nature, the bus driver and three of the children were underwater for more than fifteen minutes. There was no air trapped in the bus, as the bus split upon impact, yet all the passengers survived, with not a single one of them suffering any lasting damage from the accident.”

“Okay, now that’s impossible.”

“Except the timing was confirmed by the rescue crew, who arrived exactly twelve minutes after the accident. Three minutes after that, they witnessed Cristian surfacing with the last three children from the bus wreckage. He then went down one last time and saved the bus driver, who also fully recovered after being underwater for fifteen minutes. And there you have it.” Slash pulled off a piece of the bread and ate it, watching my reaction.

I was floored. “Wow. What was his second miracle?”

Slash refilled our wineglasses and handed me mine. “The second one is much more tragic, and not a miracle, really. Once again, it involved children. In 1979, an anti-Semitic group calling themselves theCombattenti Della Libertà Ariana,which roughly translated means the Aryan Freedom Fighters, occupied a Jewish day school in a small town near Milan.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

“Cristian had become profoundly affected by his experience saving the children and the bus driver. Like the others, he believed he’d been chosen by God to perform a miracle and perhaps spread the word. As a result, he joined the priesthood. He was widely beloved in Italy. He offered himself in exchange for the children. This group hated the Catholics almost as much as they hated Jews. Since Cristian was a popular and much revered figure in Italy, they agreed. They released all the children and most teachers, except for the headmaster and two rabbis who were connected to the school.”

“I’m afraid to ask what happened next,” I said.

“They blew up the school, killing themselves and everyone inside. Cristian saved seventy-four children and sixteen adults that day but lost his own life in the process.”

I looked down at my wine. “Okay, that counts as a miracle in my book.”

“I agree. Since the pope, at his discretion, can waive the requirement of a second miracle, people are hoping that’s what he’ll do in this case.”

“I hope he does, too.”

The waiter brought the cod and took away the now-empty plate that once held the bread and cheese, as well as our emptyaperitivoglasses.

I took a bite of the fish. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste. “I don’t know how the Italians make the most exquisite food, but I could die happy after every meal.”

“You’d better not die anytime soon,” Slash warned.

“Trust me. I’m not planning on it. I’m hoping for a long life so I can eat my way through Italy for years to come.”

He grinned and we finished our dinner, sitting back in our chairs completely satiated.

“Best dinner ever,” I said.

“You say that about every meal in Italy,” Slash pointed out.