The Adam Enigma (23 page)

April 2, 2016
Rio Chama, New Mexico

T
his time Ramsey strode through the high-arched entrance to the shrine with purpose and energy. He was determined to find Adam. Straightaway, he was aware there were more people than the last time. A tour bus had unloaded around fifty seniors. Most had climbed the long set of steps to the cottonwood tree. He thought to himself
if they only knew.
Yet even he was drawn there, strangely.

As he mounted the steps, he scanned the site for Father Michael. He'd only met him once and wasn't sure he would recognize him. After seeing no one that might fit the bill, he continued up the long flight of stairs.

Half way up the steep climb he ran into a chubby woman with rouged cheeks. She was in her fifties. Silver hair hung in rings around her head, forming a halo that gleamed in the bright daylight. A small shrine nametag attached to her jacket said “Ichthys.”

Greek for fish
, Ramsey told himself. Then he noticed it was spelled in ancient Koine Greek letters. They were laid out according to the early Christian design that featured two intersecting arcs that made the shape of a fish. It was like a clue pointing him where to go. He addressed her in a gentle tone. “I'm looking for Father Michael. Have you seen him?”

Piercing gray eyes stared hard at him. The woman pulled out her phone, scrolled down and touched a number and waited. She suddenly bellowed, “You'll find what you need at the Christ Chapel.”

Ramsey winced. “Got it, thank you so much.”

“It's across from the cottonwood!” she yelled.

Her scream seemed to catapult him up the remaining stairs. He quickly threaded through the tourists and crossed the hundred yards separating the building from the cottonwood.

The chapel was the one place Ramsey had not visited earlier. It was known as the Christ Chapel because of the impressive crucifix inside. The crucifix had come all the way from the Holy Land. It was a donation from a billionaire tech mogul whose wife had been healed at the shrine.

The door was slightly ajar and Ramsey slipped in. With only a single small stained glass window, it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the low light level. He jerked in surprise at the room's strange architecture. Visitors entered the apse first. Its domed ceiling soared above a small wooden altar. The nave spread out from there, with room to hold maybe thirty worshippers. Beyond the last pew was the crucifix mounted on the far wall so that everyone had to look up at it. Colored light from the stain glass window fell upon cross. The Christ figure was not typical of the golden-haired, light-skinned Jesus found in many Christian churches. Ebony curls fell upon shoulders so dark they were almost black. He was not nailed to the wood, but his arms were upraised and his hands cupped as if receiving a blessing. He wore no loincloth and was naked like Michelangelo's “David.”

Ramsey swallowed his unease and called out softly, “Father Michael.” Silence followed and then he felt the presence of someone behind. Turning, he was confused by the glowing man-shaped aura he saw. “Who are you”?

The voice was familiar. “Who do you think I am?”

“Are you Adam?”

“He who drinks from my mouth will become like me, and I will become like him, and the hidden things will be revealed to him.”

The words seemed to appear in his mind as much as he heard them. Ramsey was so stunned he stupidly found himself asking, “Like what?”

“Jesus was always up to something new. He was a creative force like none other. Figure it out.”

Then out of the corner of his eye Ramsey caught a slight movement in the shadows beneath the cross. A young woman was sitting on the floor, her knees up against her chest. For a moment he thought it was Paige. She looked up. Her eyes were luminous. She said, “I am praying and listening, please continue.”

Ramsey turned back around, the Adam apparition was gone. He searched the room but there were no others except the woman.

Time ticked by in slow heartbeats. He realized he was staring straight at the eyes of Jesus on the cross. They were onyx and seemed to follow Ramsey as he was drawn forward. The Christ figure's full lips parted and he spoke directly to him: “I see you and love you.” For the first time in his life Ramsey knew he was truly loved. It was a love Ramsey experienced as pure as the love a newborn receives from its mother, and at some deep level he understood how Jesus had taken all the evil in the world into his heart and returned it as love.

The experience freed Ramsey of all thought. He slid to the floor and tears of joy ran down his cheeks. He was only aware of air going in and out of his lungs as one with the breath of God.

Ramsey did not know how long he waited there, only that a rustle of movement entered his thoughts. He was sitting on the stone floor. He looked around and saw the strange woman had left. The sun must have passed midday because the stain glass window now sprayed light on the opposite side of the room. But the chamber's enchanting dreamlike appearance continued as though the sun's brilliance burnished everything in the room. He felt blessed.

He clambered to his feet, thanking God for the grace he had just received. Bowing to the figure on the cross, he turned and left the chapel. As he stepped outside, he felt a solid object pressed into his back.

A low voice with a South African accent whispered in his ear, “That's a 9mm Beretta aimed at your left kidney. Don't make a fuss. We're going to have a little chat.”

The pistol propelled Ramsey toward the plain wooden benches circling the cottonwood tree. On the nearest one sat the man Ramsey saw with Pete two days ago—Pieter Haas.

He had taken only a few steps when to his surprise, his assailant let out a sharp gasp.. The gun fell away and made a soft plopping noise on the ground. Ramsey looked back. The gunman had fallen to his knees and a large black wasp perched on the man's neck. Before anything else could happen the young woman from the chapel grabbed Ramsey by the arm.

“Let's go. It's a spider wasp. Its sting is the most painful in the insect world. But its effect only lasts for four minutes. That's enough time.”

“Enough time for what?” asked a shaken Ramsey.

“To have some fun before the shit hits the fan as they say. Come on, let's move!”

Now in the daylight Ramsey saw the woman for the first time clearly. She was astonishingly beautiful, nubile, and clad in skintight clothes that left nothing to the imagination. She was, Ramsey realized, the embodiment of Aphrodite the Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation. She pushed him along like a gentle but insistent wave.

Ramsey asked, “Where are we going?”

The woman steered him in the direction of the older tourists leaving the cottonwood tree and heading down the stone steps. Soon they were surrounded by gray-haired seniors. Many of them walked briskly, belying their age.

“I feel great for the first time in years,” claimed a man holding a cane. He twirled it like Fred Astaire and even danced a few quick steps. “My arthritis is gone.”

As they picked up the pace Ramsey craned his neck to see Haas who had fallen in behind them at a distance. The man with the gun was back on his feet. Ramsey stumbled but the woman caught him before he fell.

“Who are you?” Ramsey asked.

With a twinkle in her eyes she answered, “My friends call me ‘Puck,' for obvious reasons.” She pulled blonde hair back to reveal slightly pointed ears. “You can call me Puck too—it'll be more fun that way.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Ignoring the question she said, “I have a plan to help you. If we can stay close to the seniors, I can get you down to your truck and on your way.”

Ramsey's mind was swimming with images and questions. He had no clue why Haas wanted him so badly that he would risk kidnapping him at gunpoint in a public place. Then there was this mysterious woman who was helping him escape. Another question popped into his head. “How did you know I came in a truck?”

“Isn't it obvious I've been watching you? Something happened when you looked at the crucifix. I like hearing about such things, making them happen, in fact.”

Ramsey thought about running and escaping this strange woman, but her hand on his arm held him with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“I know what happened,” she said. “I could see it. You felt the love of Jesus. He's been holding the door open for you to the other side your whole life. It's like your sacred places, the thin places to the transcendent that Thomas Merton talked about. That opening to the other side, that's what lingered after Jesus died. He's not alone you know. There have been many others through the centuries—Zoroaster, Moses, Buddha, Muhammad, Baha'ullah, Ueshiba, and many more, even Bill Clinton.” She grinned. “Just kidding about him. Made you look, though. It's very real and not as rare as people think. Each of those individuals have changed the planet's geological structure by bringing the other side very close like what happened here and many other places like this one.” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the whole shrine.

Ramsey was surprised at how confidently she provided an answer to his life-long question about sacred sites

“Who are you?” Ramsey insisted.

“I'm Puck . . . a friend . . . a guide. Right now I'm helping you get to the place you need to be. Come on, let's catch up with them,” she said pointing to the seniors.

The older tourists were now walking back to their bus.

Ramsey seemed to have no choice but to follow Puck. Like being in a lucid dream, Ramsey was becoming aware that he was once more caught up in some sort of altered state. It was similar when he took
LSD in high school. The drug ran the show until its potency wore off. Ramsey wondered if later he would be able to sort out reality from the illusion of what was happening to him. His back was still sore from where Haas' man had jabbed his gun into his kidney. That was surely real. And then there was Haas still watching every move. That was real too.

Puck said, “You're probably wondering if I saw Adam back in the chapel . . . or at least what you call Adam.”

Ramsey knew now that there was nothing to do but play along. “What do you think he meant by saying that Jesus is always up to something new?”

“That's what I call a statement of the ‘Jesus Principle.' It's made my work so much easier.” To Ramsey's surprise, the woman began dancing a little jig. “You tricked me. You could be good at this if you had only learned to pray. If you knew how to pray, Peru would have been a cakewalk. You won't be able to teach it if you can't do it yourself.”

“Stop that!” Ramsey grated.

Puck smiled and settled down.

Ramsey continued. “I am not a Christian because I choose not be controlled by some archaic notions that no longer apply in the modern world.”

The woman smiled indulgently like listening to a petulant child. “You'll change your tune about Jesus. There's a lot more to what He was up to than you can't possibly imagine now. But you'll figure it out.”

Puck urged Ramsey past the seniors as they filed into the bus. She pushed him toward his truck. “Good luck,” she called out. As she departed, she stopped and turned back to Ramsey. “Look up Matthew 18:20, it's a key that will open an important door for you.” With that Puck glided gracefully toward Haas and the man with the gun.

With Puck's departure Ramsey shifted back into a normal state of mind. Clearheaded, he looked one more time for the beautiful woman. She transformed into a wisp of light that passed harmlessly between Haas and the man with the gun. All the negative emotions associated with being a hunted man swelled up in Ramsey's chest.
What the hell does Haas want with me?
It didn't make sense. But he didn't wait around
to find out. He hurried toward Beecher's old truck, pulling out the keys as he ran. The door squealed open. A quick backward glance showed the two men were still fifty yards away. He slid the key into the ignition but nothing happened. Panic gripped him. He was about to lock the door when Haas swung it wide open. In his hand was a stun gun.

April 2, 2016
Rio Chama, New Mexico

M
yriam had arrived at the shrine a half hour before Ramsey and with a troubled mind. She could not remember a tougher time in her life. There had been the divorce and the trouble at the University of Oregon, but nothing like this. She was feeling sorry for herself when she sat down on one of the benches near the cottonwood tree. The climb had been slow and painful. Her right leg throbbed and she was exhausted. She had wanted to tell Hiram about the diagnosis but was afraid he would abandon her. So much of their life together had been the joyful exploration of the world through long walks.

Three months ago she had been told by her doctor that she had early-stage Parkinson's. No tremors yet, but a weakness in her leg made walking difficult and her balance uncertain. She had come to the shrine to pray, for what exactly she was uncertain.
If only the shrine was as it used to be. If only Adam were still here!

She sat for a long time with her eyes closed. When she finally opened them she began watching a large group of seniors as they crested the long set of stone steps and now milled about the cottonwood tree. Myriam studied them carefully. She had always feared becoming old and infirm. Now her greatest dread was coming true. She thought about telling them there was no hope for you here anymore. As two old men passed by, one of them exclaimed how his head pain had suddenly disappeared.
Power of positive thinking
, Myriam thought. She
watched them descend the long flight of steps to the shrine's parking lot and the bus waiting for them.

Myriam returned to the reason she had come to the Milagro Shrine. She knew she didn't know how to pray. She was open and hoping for answers, for anything. Then, for some inexplicable reason she said to herself, “Fuck it.” She let go; she let go of everything. Nothing mattered. She was amazed as she felt herself putting her fate in the hands of some great unknown.

Then she was brought back to reality by a loud female voice. “Myriam!”

Startled, she turned in the direction of the voice. A beautiful young woman stood in front of her. Her skimpy clothing ruffled in the light breeze. Myriam asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Robin, but you can call me Puck. Father Michael gave me a message for you. Your friend Jonathan Ramsey is in trouble. He needs your help.” Pointing toward the bus, the young woman continued, “See him down there?”

Myriam shaded her eyes and made out the familiar gait of her postdoc student, Jonathan Ramsey.

“Hurry, you need to reach him before he gets to the truck,” the young woman said with a dramatic flair.

“My leg . . . I can't, why not you?”

“It's not my business anymore. You're wasting time.” With that Puck winked at Myriam and bounded off in the direction of the Christ Chapel.

Myriam stood up and took a step, then another. No pain, her balance was good.
Adrenaline
, she thought. But even so, she couldn't stop the heart-felt joy coursing through her. She ran as fast as her 60-year-old legs would take her. Upon reaching the parking lot she stopped. There, unmistakably, was Haas and another large man putting what appeared to be an unconscious Jonathan into their SUV. She yelled, “What are you doing?”

Haas glared at her then turned away. Myriam watched helplessly as they drove off.