The God Virus

By J E Murphy

A virus from billions of years in the past has emerged from ancient salt beds with devastating results. As the virus turns evolution on its head, people are changed into monsters, animals begin to demand their rights, and civilization is brought to its knees. The few remaining humans seek safety in the quarantine of walled cities such as the Vatican. They desperately seek a cure, but the only one they find may have results too horrible to contemplate

Judeus and Miranda, recent converts to the phylum Porifera, set out with a were-wolfish priest, a planeload of mutating pilgrims, and a sabre-tooth shape-shifting cat on their own journey from Miami to the Vatican. One wants to teach the Pope how to pray in this strange new world. The other wants to stop the cure being developed by the remaining humans. And they both want to get the Pope's final answer on whether non-humans should marry.

With their plane shot down over Africa, they learn that strange events are not limited just to the civilized parts of the world.

Is the virus God's punishment on the world? Or is there no god but the virus? Or is the virus going to create a new god? Can three sponge-monsters straighten this mess out?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J E Murphy
• Release date: Mar 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458028808

J E Murphy

J E Murphy, author, poet, philosopher, credologist, student of natural history, anthropology, sociology, genetics, and politics. Novels include A VIEW FROM A HEIGHT, THE GOD VIRUS, and THE NEXT BUDDHA.A credologist is a person who studies belief systems. I cannot say I have studied all belief systems, because I am sure there are some I have never heard of, but I have studied most of them. What I can say I have learned from this is that the world is a mystery and nobody knows enough about it to even head off in the direction of an answer. Yet still we demand that everyone else stop and look at our own broken compass.I have been around the world and have seen how people live and worship in many different countries. I have been to Tibet, China, Nepal, India, half of the countries in Europe, a few in Africa, the Solomon Islands, the Galapagos Islands and parts of South and Central America. What I have learned from these travels is that, at heart, we are all the same; we are all cousins; we all want the same things out of life. As children, our souls are as free as angels, but we grow into the molds that our cultures have shaped for us.I have always enjoyed most the books that expanded my horizons and showed me new ways to look at the world, a way to discard a broken compass, a way to break the mold of culture and belief. I hope that someday, people will say my books did that for them.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I was there when Santa Miranda Garcia Hermone was eaten alive by the multitudes and the walls of civilization fell.

Maybe you have read your histories. You know some of the story—how the Pope made his edicts while the scientists worked on their dark secrets. Still you do not know everything; not yet. But you have asked me, so I will tell you everything. I will tell you about the pirates who no longer lust for gold, and how the lion empire came to be. I will tell you of the poet Horace and how he gave the gift of song to the baboon nation. I will tell you of the Hindu tree god who can heal the bad mutations, and of the war between the demons and the humans. I was there at the beginning, and I was there at the end. My name is Judeus Rodriguez Hermone, and Santa Miranda was my wife. You see, before she became known as Santa Miranda, she was Miranda Marquesa Garcia Hermone, and before that, just Miranda Marquesa Garcia. And before that, she had no name at all.

I was the second human being ever to become infected with the Miranda virus. Miranda was, of course, the first. You could say that the sea gave Miranda to us as a gift—that is if you want to leave God out of it. God loves us. He likes to play with us and give us gifts that make us grow, whether we want to or not. He has His laughs. Yes, I still believe in God. I am not like some who say our only god is a virus.

I found Miranda along a stretch of beach very much like this one. It might have even been this one. It is difficult to tell with the buildings gone. These days it would be difficult to run up and down this beach without tripping over vines and big piles of seaweed. But when I ran along the beach that day, there were no vines, only trash that people had left and ruined things that had washed up from the sea.

Miranda was floating in the shallows near the beach and was tangled up with weeds and rubbish. As I approached, I did not see at first that there was a body in the middle of all this plastic and vegetation, and pieces of wood. I saw some seaweed that looked like black hair spread out on the water. Then I saw a piece of burned wood that looked like a human arm, or so I thought. How interesting that the end of it resembled a human hand. But wait, it was a hand! As soon as I saw that this was a person, I jumped back for fright. I looked around and saw two people standing in a parking lot near the road. Amigos, I yelled. Help! Come quickly! There is a body. I pointed at the water.

They jumped over the low seawall and ran down to where I stood staring at the body. They were two males, a big one and a little one. The big one seemed to be about my age; I was perhaps in my twenties at that time—just a baby. It was so long ago I cannot believe how old I am now. The other, smaller one seemed younger, but also smarter in some ways.

You stay here, the smaller one said. I’ll go call the police.

Not so fast, the big one said. They’ll see we are all Cubans and there will be trouble.

Keep in mind that these were both humans. Back then everyone was human. If you were not human, then you were one of the unfortunate ones who were at the mercy of humans. Size was often an indicator of age, and sometimes rank. A Cuban was a human from the island of Cuba—not someone who was built like a cube or lived in a box. Cuba was not far from Miami, in case you have no maps available where you are.

But some of the police are Cubans too, the small one said.

It doesn’t matter, the big one said. The cops hold all the cards. That is why you should never invite them to your game.

The older one nervously lit a cigarette and took a few puffs, but then he threw it on the sand. I was afraid it might set the trash on fire, but he stepped on it and put it out. Cigarettes had in them a drug that was legal because all of the people who made laws were also addicted to this drug, and had been for many years. But if there was a drug that they were not addicted to, then they made it against the law for anyone to use it. This helped keep the police employed, I think, and was maybe why the big one did not want to follow the younger one’s suggestion.

While they were arguing about whether or not to call the police, I waded out and grabbed the body by the arm and began to pull it ashore. I was surprised to feel that the arm was covered in a black rubbery fabric. I had thought it was uncovered because the material was the exact color of the hand, which I could plainly see.

Can you perhaps quit talking for a moment, amigos, and help me pull her out before the tide takes her? I asked. She is very heavy. I think she has some kind of tank on her back, and she is wrapped up in the seaweed.

She?

What kind of tank? An air tank? the smaller one asked.

Is she pretty?

What difference does that make, my friend? I asked. She is dead.

Maybe she has been breathing off of the air tank.

I had not thought of that. She had been floating face down, so I had given her little hope of being alive, but, with the help of the smaller boy, I rolled her onto her back to make sure. Her mouth did not hold the mouthpiece for breathing underwater. What did they call it? A regulator?

Ugh, the smaller one said. Look at her eyes.

What about them? I asked. They are shut.

No, they’re open. Look closer.

I did look closer, and through the clear lens of the mask on her face, I saw with disgust that her eyes had rotted away. But no, that was not it. Her eyeballs were still there, but they were like two big solid black marbles—as black as her skin. While my poor brain tried to understand what I was seeing, she blinked.

Holy Jesus, I yelled, nearly dropping her back in the water.

The smaller boy crossed himself.

She is alive. Help me get her on the beach.

Her regulator must have just now fallen from her mouth, the boy said.

The bigger one jumped in then, and the three of us dragged her onto the sand and took her mask off so she could breathe better. Then we fumbled around with the equipment she had strapped to her and got the tank and her vest off so that she could lie flat.

She’s not breathing, the older one said. Her breasts are not going up and down. I should give her artificial resuscitation.

I immediately took a dislike to this individual and told him to stay back. My instincts told me that he knew nothing about reviving people.

I also had never revived a drowned person myself, but I had read books and knew something about it. Anyway, I did my best. I always try to do my best; this is how I was brought up.

When I breathed air into Miranda’s lungs, I got a mouthful of liquid in return. That is how I got the virus. And also, if you can believe it, how I fell in love with this strange woman from the sea.

I spewed the nasty black liquid all over the two boys, who were kneeling there watching.

Jesus, man!

Yuck!

They tried to wipe the stuff off with their hands, and this is how they got the virus.

But how did Miranda get the virus? She must have gone to the very deepest depths of the world to bring us a virus such as this.

***

Chapter 2

I kept breathing air into Miranda’s lungs and finally she began to breathe on her own again.

Is that your car up there on the parking lot? I asked. We need to get her to a hospital.

No, man. I can’t be caught with an unconscious woman in my car. Where’s your car?

I began to think that he might have some of those drugs that our law makers had not yet become addicted to.

It is down the beach. Take her to the parking lot and I will go and get it.

You know about cars, sort of. They are almost the same as today, except now, the donkeys have taken all the engines out and they pull them around for money, and back then they ran by themselves without donkeys. All the streets—the short ones inside the cities and the long ones that connected the cities — were all filled with cars in those days. The cars could go very fast, but there were so many they got in each other’s way and often went no faster than the donkeys now.

When I came to the parking lot in my car, the boys had already put Miranda into their own car.

I thought you said you did not want to take her, my friends, I said.

I have changed my mind, the big one said. I think she needs my protection.

I have my car now, I said. I will take her to the hospital. I will protect her.

She is very beautiful. What if the doctors try to take advantage of her condition?

I think perhaps it is you who would like to take advantage.

In Cuba, those would be fighting words, amigo, he said with anger in his face.

No, no, amigo, I said. They are fighting words right here in America as well. I punched him very hard in the nose.

You may think this was the virus working on us, but it was not so. I know this is how the virus always starts, making the men fight over the women, but it was too early for the virus to affect us this way; we were fighting over a woman because this is what Cubans did in those days. But there is a little more to it, as my friend Carmina explained to me later, Miranda had the power to cloud men’s minds. She used the special magic that a woman has, but in Miranda’s case, it was turned up all the way to eleven.

While the bigger one staggered back, holding his nose, the younger one grabbed me around my waist from behind.

This was not clever on his part. I got one arm around his head, and with my other hand, began twisting his nose in a very serious way.

Ow, ow, ow, he yelled. Leh may goh!

I thought you had more sense than your big friend, I said.

Buh I hab to helb im becaw he i may fren.

I suppose that is true. But if the police find an unconscious woman in his car, maybe it will be your fault. What kind of friend is that?

The bleeding Cuban recovered his dignity and charged me, but I swung the other one around into his legs so that they both fell into a pile. I then ran to open the door of their car and lift Miranda out. The big one began to crawl across the pavement toward me, with the little one clinging to his legs. Go, the younger and smarter one said. You are right.

I gently laid Miranda into the back seat of my car, and as I drove away, I saw in my rear-view mirror, that the two Cubans were still fighting.

As I drove in the direction of the hospital, I realized I could not do this. I had nearly lost Miranda once. Now, if I took her to the hospital, they would take her inside and I might never see her again. I was not her husband—not even her boyfriend. Well, maybe I was her boyfriend, but she did not know that yet, So when she woke up, she would not recognized her true friend and protector, no matter how much I might talk about finding her and saving her and fighting two strong men for her. There could be no hospital, and no police either. The larger boy was right about the police; you did not want to play with them; even if you won, you lost. No, no. I had to take her home. You see, I was totally enchanted by her magic—first by the magic the virus gave her, and then later by her own magic..

Back then, before people began living in trees and caves and burrows and piles of logs, people lived in the big structures that they built with their hands on top of the land. Many still do, but they are different now. In the old days, the windows had glass that kept out the hot sun and the cold rain and the insects that bite. The insides were full of soft furniture and fancy entertainments. Perhaps some of you have read about them and seen the photographs, but perhaps some of you have never seen such a thing even in pictures. Some people still build the small structures. And some big ones have survived as well, but most are gone now. We built the structures out of stones or trees or sometimes metal. They were very tall like big square mountains. Think of them as being like very large seashells that you could walk around inside of. The one I lived in had many compartments in it so that several people could live in it and have their own space. We called the compartments apartments because they kept people apart.

I lived with my friend, Carmina. She greeted me at the door when I came in carrying a strange black woman in my arms. I think she disapproved at first, and was perhaps a little jealous, but she may have just been hungry.

Meeroaul, she said, trying to trip me so that I would fall on the floor with my new girlfriend.

Miaowruul!

Please, Carmina, I said. Just a minute, This was before she had learned to speak human languages, but I knew enough of hers to know she was now demanding to be fed.

I put Miranda on my bed, and stood and gazed with wonder at my prize from the sea. She was the most beautiful woman who had ever been seen on a beach of Miami. The towers of Troy would have burned for her. Arthur would have gone to war against Lancelot for her. However, Carmina would not wait on her supper for her.

Niahuuul, Carmina insisted, which I took to mean that she wanted the tuna/shrimp feast. I could not ignore my small friend in need, especially as she had stuck a sharp little claw into my leg to punctuate her demand.

As I opened a can of cat food for Carmina, I wondered what the neighbors thought about me carrying a woman into my apartment. But in my neighborhood, people did not make very many inquiries into such matters.

I took care of Miranda for several days before she woke. I took off her rubber suit, which made my heart beat very fast because she was very beautiful and I was afraid I would see too much of her beauty all at once. I try not to be an adulterer, even in my heart, but I am not always successful, as you will soon see. But fortunately, she had on some swimming clothes underneath, because back then, people wore clothes all the time, even when they went swimming.

Miranda was solid black all over, and she was all the same shade of black. She was as black as the inside of the deepest cave at midnight. She was so black it was as if she was not even there. It was as if she absorbed light. She was blacker than I am now, because at first she had no real skin. The only part of her that was not deep black was her teeth. They were very white, like she took very good care of them. At that time, the blackness of her surface was not reflective like my skin. However, she soon grew a skin because of what I did. I thought there was some extra black substance on her that was making her sick in some way and keeping her from waking up. So I got some rubbing alcohol and tried to rub some of the blackness off of her arm. It did not come off. Instead her flesh developed a sort of sheen where the alcohol touched it. Then the sheen spread to areas where the alcohol had not touched. Eventually, her whole body turned a shiny black instead of the flat black it had been. Later, I learned that her body had developed a protective skin to keep alcohol out. But now she really looked more normal, I thought, with her shiny new skin.

She was very attractive—the most attractive woman I have ever seen, black or white or any color. Just to look at her made me feel crazy in the head. But I did not touch her in any love-making way. I only wanted to take care of her. I am a good Catholic—pretty good—not perfect.

I sat her up in bed and fed her soup. I would put the soup in her mouth and she would just hold it without seeming to swallow. But I supposed it was dribbling down her throat to her stomach, because it was going somewhere. She seemed to get stronger from the soup, but still she would not wake up. For several days I took care of her. I fed her, and cleaned up after her when she made a mess in the bed. Luckily, I had put a plastic sheet under her because I thought the black would come off on the bed. Plastic was something we used to have that was cheap and did not let water or air pass through it. You sometimes still see some tangled in a tree or floating in the sea. It takes a really long time for plastic to go away. I never understood why people took some food that they were going to eat in a few hours and wrapped it in a piece of plastic that was made to last hundreds of years. That is why you still see plastic washed up on beaches, and making its own islands in the mountain streams. But anyway, it was good for keeping a mattress dry.

I worked out of my apartment, that is, my compartment. I did not have to leave it for very long at a time, so I was able to watch her closely. The apartments had many things to make life more comfortable. Even though some people still build some structures to live in and keep books and such, they do not have the things that we had then. We had fresh water that would come into the compartment in special basins whenever we wanted. And we had special ways of keeping food fresh for a long time. Because of this, I could stay in my compartment for days, if I needed to do so. I could even bathe there. We had lights like a hundred candles in one spot so that even when the sun went down, we could have bright light in the places where we lived.

During this time, I also tried to find out who this black woman was. I used every source of information I could think of, but there were no reports of missing black women on my computer or in the newspapers.

One morning, I went in to check on her and found her staring at the ceiling. At least I thought she was looking at the ceiling; it was difficult to tell with those solid black eyes.

Hello, I said.

She turned her head and looked at me, but it was still several more days before she spoke.

Where am I? she said one afternoon, giving me a fright because I was so used to her not talking.

You are in my apartment. I have been taking care of you.

How did I get here?

I found you on the beach. I took you to the hospital, and then I brought you here. I do not normally tell a lie, but I did not want her to worry that I was someone who would not take her to a hospital for fear he might not get her back, which is of course, exactly who I had become.

She shut her eyes and fell back to sleep.

It was along that time when Miranda was getting better that I began to notice some changes in myself. I had never been athletic, but had always tried to stay in shape by doing the occasional push-up, or by jogging on the beach. Now I found I could easily do thirty push-ups, where before I could only do ten or fifteen at most. I amazed myself. When I got out of my chair, I practically sprang out of it. I could jog forever, nearly, without getting tired or needing to stop. The apartment house had a swimming pool. This was an enclosure of water in the ground where people could swim without worrying about sharks. I found that I could swim the length of the pool twice underwater while holding my breath. Something that was never before possible for me. I could not believe what was happening. I thought it was the new vitamins my mother had given me.

My arms and legs were now so strong that I felt I could do things other people could not. One morning, when no one was around, I jumped up from the ground to see if I could touch the bottom of my second floor balcony. Instead, I went so high that I grabbed the railing around the top of the balcony. In case you do not know about this, a second floor apartment, or compartment, was so high that it had another compartment under it. I pulled myself up with ease. Perhaps you are not impressed by this, but believe me, I was very impressed with myself. I wanted to call my good friend, Skitch, and tell him, but I was afraid I might tell him about Miranda as well, and for some reason, I did not want people to know about her until she had woken up. I found out later, the virus was affecting the way I thought. It made me want to own her.

I came back from a ten-mile jog one day to find Miranda sitting up at the table and looking across the roofs below to the ocean a few blocks away.

Who are you? she asked as I came in.

My name is Judeus, I replied.

Even though I am more fluent in Spanish than Portuguese, I pronounce my name with a J sound or like the G in the word beige. This is in the Portuguese way, not the Spanish way, in which the J sounds like an H.

My name means Jew in Portuguese. My grandfather, a German Jew living in Brazil, had not approved of his son marrying a Catholic woman, and when I had come along, he had insisted I be named ‘Judeus’ so I would not forget who I was.

Is this my house? Miranda asked me.

No this is my apartment. I brought you here.

I thought it might be my house because there is this thing here that looks familiar. She pointed at my computer.

That is my computer. I use it to sell things on the Internet. That is how I make my living.

Computers were wonderful things. A computer was a box that had the power to do mathematics like an abacus, only a zillion times faster. It also could show pictures and words just like a book. When it was hooked up to the Internet, it was like a meerkat, and could communicate with other computers anywhere in the world. The Internet was like telepathy for computers.

You have an animal, she said.

Oh, you mean Carmina. I hope you are not allergic to cats.

Cat. Cat and dog. Kitty. Are these the words?

She is pure cat—no dog in her ancestry. I named her Carmina because she sings so prettily, unlike some cats. I got her at the animal shelter.

Animal shelter, she repeated thoughtfully.

Where they keep lost animals until somebody comes for them or they get too many. I work there as a volunteer.

And now I was running a shelter for strange women.

Judeus, do you know what has happened to my skin? Why has it turned black?

I do not know. What color was it before? Are you not a black person?

I do not remember being black. I think my skin was like yours—brown, isn’t it. The black won’t come off. What is it? And my eyes too. Your eyes have white; mine looked all black in the. . .in the. . .

Mirror?

Yes. Mirror.

At that time, my skin was not black, but was close to the color of the sand on this beach.

I don’t know, I answered her. Something that happened to you while you were underwater has changed. . .

Underwater. Yes. I remember. Underwater. What was I doing under water? I couldn’t breathe. Then later I could breathe the water.

After some little time, when your memory gets better, you will remember what happened. People cannot breathe water. You had some stuff with you for breathing under water. That is how you breathed, I think. Do you remember anything else? Like your name, or where you are from?

All I can remember is that I could not get enough air. Everything got darker and colder and then I was here.

What about your name?

I can’t seem to remember.

Do you know when you were in the water—what the date was? Was there a boat? Did it have a name? Anything?

No. But I remember a boat. Do boats have names?

Some do. I have been trying to find out who you are, but I do not know anything about you except that you were in the water when I found you and you had on some underwater breathing things.

I suppose all this means we are not married.

This is true.

I thought maybe we were. You have been taking care of me as if we were married, haven’t you?

I have tried to take good care of you, if that is what you mean.

Do you love me?

This was such an unexpected question that I nearly fell over in my chair. I stuttered and stammered until her face began to go sad. We should see how things go, I said. I think I could love you, but we should wait and find out who you are. Maybe somebody else is looking for you. We should not rush into things like this. That is what I said. But the virus was making me want to marry her very badly.

Whoever, I am today, she said, I do not think I was this person before. Maybe I will not be this person tomorrow. Maybe today is all we have.

You are very wise, I said, a very smart person. But maybe God will give us more than one day together.

I bought Miranda some clothes and she began to go out with me. I also quickly bought her some sunglasses. With them, she could pass for an African woman; without them, she could barely pass for human, because of the strangeness of her eyes.

People were attracted to her—especially men. People stopped and stared at her when we went out, and some even followed us. It made me very angry so that I wanted to chase them down and teach them some manners. This also made me confused, because I was not normally an angry person.

Miranda was extremely shapely and athletic-looking. And her athletic ability went far past her looks. On the beach, she could out-run anybody, out-swim anybody, out-volleyball anybody, and she would not even break a sweat. Crowds would gather on the beach and ask her who she was and if she was going to the summer Olympics. The Olympics were athletic events that people used to have to see which countries had the healthiest and most superior humans.

A local news crew showed up one day. Back then, people had devices that they could use to send pictures and sound to anyone who had the right kind of box to see and hear it. People all over the world could see the pictures and hear the people talking. These people had heard about Miranda and wanted to know more about her.

What’s your name? they asked her.

Where have you been hiding?

Why are you in Miami?

Is this man your trainer?

What’s your favorite sport?

But she just looked at me because she did not know the answers to any of those questions. I blurted out the truth, that I had found her washed up on the beach and had been taking care of her. Too late, I realized I should have lied, but they thought I was lying anyway and that it was all great, mysterious fun. They laughed at my joke. They wanted to see some of her athletic ability, so, being just like a child, she dove into the surf, and then, about five minutes later, popped up well out at sea, waving her arms. Then she dove again, and we didn’t see her for several minutes until she climbed up out of the surf once more.

The news people were flabbergasted. This will go national, I heard them say.

One of them came over and whispered to me, Ten thousand right now for an exclusive interview. I’ll write you a check for a handshake on the deal. What do you say?

I looked at him in horror. No, you have all made a big mistake. She is not an athlete.

OK, twenty thousand.

I grabbed Miranda’s arm and we took off running down the beach. I realized that it was not those men who had made a mistake; it was I who had not thought ahead and had let Miranda show off her talents. I was supposed to be taking care of her but I had already let her down.

All of this attention worried me. Miranda was just as childlike and innocent as a five-year old girl. If people began trying to commercialize her, they would likely eat her alive. How prophetic that thought was, I did not realize.

***

Chapter 3

I made a decision to become Miranda’s guardian. Whatever had happened to her had affected her memory and judgment. If I did not take care of her, I did not know who would.

I left our compartment early one morning to visit a lawyer and have some promises written on paper. This was something we used to do sometimes. The lawyers were people who understood how to make people keep promises, as well as how to break them sometimes. This would be two promises. One would be for me to promise that I would take steps to do what was right for Miranda, and the other was for Miranda to promise that this would be OK with her. The lawyer said that if the other person was able to sign papers, then that other person needed to come back with me, and we both needed our birth certificates.

I returned to our compartment and received a shock when I opened the door. Miranda was lying on her back on the couch. A couch was like a chair that was also wide enough to lie down on. She had nothing on but her underpants and her sunglasses, and a strange man, who was also only wearing underpants, had his face buried in her belly, and was making sounds as if he was trying to blow bubbles. Miranda was laughing hysterically at this, and Carmina was lying on the back of the couch intently watching the show.

Miranda waved at me when I came in, and said, Hello, Jude. You should be next. Roberto can really make you laugh.

Roberto, whose back was to me, turned and looked at me in wide-eyed fear.

Man, I am sorry he stammered. She said she was not married.

I am not her husband, I said coldly.

Um, she said she also did not have a boyfriend.

I am not her boyfriend, either.

Whew, man, you scared me for a second. Who are you then . . .

Suddenly, I was over him and grabbing him by his hair. I am her protector!

My sudden movements startled Carmina, who clawed my hand, yelled watch out, and jumped off the back of the couch. In my rage, I paid no attention to this but began dragging the poor man to the balcony. Somehow, I found myself holding him over my head and about to toss him over the railing.

He was yelling and screaming hysterically. I’m sorry, man! I’m sorry. I don’t do stuff like this. I lost my head. Just put me down, man. I’ll go away and never come back. Be careful, man! You’re going to drop me! Watch out! Please, God, I don’t want to die!

That was when it struck me that the cat had spoken. In those days, only human animals spoke, and maybe some birds. Carmina was the first non-human mammal I had ever heard say anything.

I realized then what I had been about to do. I put Roberto down, and told him to get his clothes and get out, which he did with great haste. I walked back to the couch where Miranda was looking at me with horror. She was half off of the couch as if to bolt for the door.

I am sorry, I said, lamely. I do not know what came over me. I did not want him to touch you. I don’t know why.

She just stared at me as if I might do something else crazy, and she needed to be ready to run away.

I tried to change the subject.

Um, ha ha. I thought I heard the cat talk. Did you hear the sound she made? It sounded like ‘watch out’.

Yes. You need to have a discussion with her. She has been talking to me all morning. Miranda had settled back on the couch now that she knew I was not going to attack her.

She has? I thought nothing of this. Some people say things like that about their pets.

Yes. She doesn’t like the dry cat food you buy for her. She can smell the ocean and she wants fish.

Ah, Miranda was making a joke with me.

So she wants fish, does she?

Yes.

I went and found Carmina hiding behind the bedroom door. I picked her up like a baby and began stroking the top of her head the way she likes.

So, the strange lady says you want fish. I said this the way anybody might talk to a pet in those days—not really expecting an answer.

Yeaow, she said softly. Fisss.

Mierda! I yelled, and flung the cat onto the couch. The hair stood up on my neck. The gooseflesh came up on my arms. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Did you hear?

Yes. I told you.

It did sound almost like words. Ha ha; look how my hands are shaking. I cannot catch my breath.

What is wrong with you? She looked worried.

For a second I almost believed Carmina was talking. It is very funny, the way you made the joke, and then she sounded like she was talking. It really gave me a start.

But she was talking.

No, no. Cats do not talk.

Do they not?

No. Never in the history of the world has a cat ever talked.

Until now.

No. It is just sounds. Sometimes animals make funny sounds. That is all it is.

As I have said, Miranda was like a child then. Everything seemed new to her. Whether a cat could talk or not talk was just something that she had to learn, just like any child. I went into the kitchen to get a beer and steady my hands. Carmina, who had been watching me curiously from the couch, followed me into the kitchen.

Fress fiss, she seemed to say.

This is really incredible, I said to Miranda through the door. We need to make a video and send it to the television people. It almost sounds like she is really saying ‘fresh fish’.

Yess. Iwoann fress fiss, this little furry-faced thing replied softly in a delicate trill.

Could it be she understood me? No. It was not possible. But dogs understood many words. Probably cats did too. But neither one of them could speak like a human. They did not have the right parts in their throats. Still, it was eerie all the same.

As an experiment, I opened a can of sardines and put it on the floor to see what kind of sounds she would make. The sardines had mustard sauce on them, and when Carmina sniffed them, she said, nassy, and turned away.

This is wonderful, I said. This will make a great video—a talking cat.

I opened a can of tuna fish and put it on the floor.

Werregooodd, she purred.

It is amazing, I thought, how the human brain can hear a sound an animal makes and in it see the patterns of speech.

Tomorrow, I will get you fresh fish, I laughed. And then we will make the funniest home video ever.

I did not make the video, however. The virus was getting into my head and making me do the things it wanted instead of the things I wanted. Perhaps I always had only done what my DNA wanted, but this new DNA was stronger than ever.

Miranda was still sitting, partially clothed, on the couch when I went back into the main room. I could not think about a talking cat, seeing her that way.

Why did you do that before? Why did you start to hurt the man who was here? He was a nice man.

How did he get in here?

I was standing on the balcony and I saw him below. He was very friendly. I asked him to come up.

You are lucky I came home when I did. Something bad might have happened.

Like what? What bad thing could happen?

I didn’t know how to say it. Well, he would probably try to give you a baby.

What if I want a baby?

You want a baby?

Yes. I want a baby. Why should you stop me from having a baby?

Well maybe I will give you a baby, then. My brain was not working right. I felt drunk, but I had only had one beer. She had a way of pushing all logic out of my head, especially sitting there with very little clothing on. The virus was in total control of her, and it was rapidly gaining control of me as well.

OK! She gave me a big smile. Give me a baby now! She lay back on the couch and held her arms up to me.

I shook my head. I felt dazed. I can’t. I am a Catholic.

She looked puzzled for a second, and then her face brightened. The religion? It is OK, then. I just remembered that I am Catholic too.

No. I mean we have to get married first.

You want to marry me?

Yes. We should get married. Then I can take care of you and the baby. Once again, I was not thinking things through. It was as if I had suddenly had three or four drinks of rum.

Oh, Jude. You love me! That is wonderful. She pulled my face down to hers and kissed me on the mouth.

Her breath was infinitely intoxicating. Her breath had the odor of a field of flowers. But there was another quality unique to her alone, and which I could not identify. I could not get enough of her breath, but wanted to inhale it into my own lungs. I grew dizzy, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor beside the couch. Miranda was again lying on the couch, looking down at me.

You are very healthy, she said, smiling at me.

Did I try to give you a baby? I asked, hoping I had not—hoping that I had fallen and hit my head instead, and had dreamed a wild and crazy dream.

Oh, yes. You tried, but I do not think it worked. I do not have a baby yet.

Sometimes it takes awhile. We will have to find a priest who will marry us.

Yes. I want to get married and have your baby. He will look just like you.

I will go and find the priest right now, I said, getting up and putting on my clothes as quickly as possible.

Oh, don’t go. We can try to make a baby again.

No. I must go. I need to see a priest about some things—and quickly.

***

Chapter 4

Father Lopez was not in the church, so I went around back to the house where he lived. I banged on the door.

Father Lopez, Father Lopez. Open up. It is an emergency!

I could hear feet running through the house, and then Father Lopez threw open the door. He was tying a knot in the cord around his robe as he looked at me with his eyes wide.

Judeus Rodriguez Hermone, what is the matter?

I have a confession to make.

Is that all? Well I hope it is because you killed somebody. No, no. I didn’t mean that. You have an emergency confession? I have never heard of that except for people who are dying. Are you dying?

"No, I am