Again he reached the ruined lighthouse and then the view of the town far ahead.  It was really a discreditable, little place.  He wondered why it had been allowed to exist at all, why the people hadn’t been shipped off to a regular city long ago.  Such puny towns didn’t have the manpower or the energy to expand like cities.  They could barely keep up a pretense of religion and maintained themselves in a dull and drowsy fashion that never changed.  He even wondered if they’d received their allotment of white paint last winter.  The place seemed a bit gray from the distance.

          "There's been no talk or work upon white margins here," he thought, "no banging hammers, no roads being built."  The dusty hills behind the town were by far the more dominant presence and seemed poised and ready to nudge the tiny thing into the sea, without a noise or a trace left behind.

          "What were they waiting for?" he thought. "Were the hills even more sleepy than the town?  Was the whole region under some spell?  Something needed a violent waking up."

          As before, Jonathan entered the town pretty much unnoticed.  There were more people in the streets than the last time and he guessed that they were coming home from work, to wash up before evening service.  He did get a few furtive glances here and there as he’d hoped, somewhat vainly, and that the people remembered him from his brief visit a few months earlier.

          All this time he was walking, unconsciously, straight towards the temple.  But when he realized this, and the fact that he had no distinct business there, he stopped dead in the middle of the street, and paused to think a minute.

          He was only a few blocks from the square.  The thought crossed his mind that he had already been noticed by some official or other, reporting back right now to their superiors.  But he would deal with that foolish crew later, he decided.  Right now he wanted action, not talk.

          From the corner of his eye he saw someone about to slip into a door a little behind him and only a step away.  He moved quickly and before the door could be shut he poked the butt of his staff in the aperture, jamming it.  He knocked loudly and the door immediately began to open, though slowly, revealing the pretty face of a very young woman.  She was hooded and trying to hold up her veil to cover most of her face.  Her other hand still pressed the door softly against Jonathan's arm.

          Her eyes were large and watery and showed fear, though she looked straight up at Jonathan.  He stood there a moment gazing at her and thought he could discern the very slightest hint of green in her iris.  Obviously, in these backwards parts they weren’t even administering the drops that whitened and protected their eyes.  Or perhaps the treatment was no longer crucial, and the practice fading, like the cloud cover that sometimes thinned these days, enough to reveal faint streaks of blue in the sky.

          "Clearly the world is verging on a change," Jonathan thought.  "There is promise in these eyes."

          He gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and pushed the door open to let himself in.  He told her not to worry and be of good cheer, for her household was about to be the first set free of a very great imposition.

          "What I am about to take," he explained to her in a gentle voice, "is nothing compared to what I hope to return to you and many others in a very short time."

          He was glancing about the dim room as he spoke.  In a moment he spotted the wall shrine and was walking towards it.  He lifted the thing off its hook, opened its door, and carefully pried apart the back of the frame with his pocketknife, drawing out its spotless prize; a blank sheet of fine, linen paper, as fair as any writer could desire to pollute.  He held it up in the air a minute, like a connoisseur, to examine its texture, then rather hastily folded it and stuffed it in his satchel, at the same time putting back the slightly cracked shrine upon its nail.  As the backing was also white, it hardly looked any different than before.

          The girl was standing motionless a few feet behind him, astounded at what was going on.  As he turned to leave he gave her one more glance, and then grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her out the door and into the street.  He told her not to worry and that he wouldn’t hurt her.  She only had to help him get more sheets.  He led her to the neighbor's door and told her to knock.

          He repeated the same process in the next house and the next, without explanations, using the girl to gain him admittance and to excuse him as best she could to the baffled residents, while he went about his quick business.  In the first few houses she stammered nothing intelligible to them, but by the third and fourth visits she got a better knack.  While Jonathan would burst in behind her meek "hello", and proceed straight to robbing the shrine, she would step in the room and neatly curtsy to the folks, explaining, "it's for a holy purpose."  Then she would rush out ahead of Jonathan to the next door and smooth his way.

          All the houses on the one side of the block had their shrines in the very same corner of the front room.  "How unimaginative," Jonathan thought, "these people are like sheep." No one was offering him or his new assistant the least resistance.

          He was working his way back down the other side of the street, and had fifteen sheets in his possession, when he noticed the old, gape toothed priest slowly limping towards him, with a large entourage of brothers hurrying him up from behind.  There was an even greater crowd pressing behind them, as if the whole town were turning out for a show.

          When he saw this procession coming, he paused in front of the house he’d just left.  The girl was still standing beside him, but he grabbed her arm anyway to make sure that she didn’t run off.

          "Hail, great voyager, hail," spoke the priest as he came up.  "What great, good fortune blows you back to our humble shores again?"

          "A fine strong breeze that will sweep the earth of its cobwebs," replied Jonathan, not to be outdone, "and which promises a happy return of Spring to us all."

          "Then come with us and honor our service with your presence," replied the old man joyfully.  "Then we will have a feast and you can tell us your business."

          At this point the old priest was distracted by several of his staff, standing behind him.  Two of them whispered in his ear, but loudly, as if the priest were deaf.  Jonathan caught their drift from paces away.  They motioned to the pieces of paper that were still visible in Jonathan's open satchel.

          The old priest's face looked grave for a moment as he nodded up and down in agreement with them.  Then he looked at Jonathan again, cleared his throat and spoke up:  "Pray tell us, O great one, if there is some business you are about in the houses of our citizens, if it is proper for us to inquire?"

          "I will tell you everything," Jonathan replied, "when we are in the temple.  For it is a long and serious matter that I have to relate, and for you to consider."

          Jonathan's mind was not racing with schemes, or even worry at this point.  He had no idea of what he was going to say, but he was taking it all in stride, and with all the nonchalance of a true prophet.  He’d already decided that he wasn’t going to bicker with these fools, and certainly not bow.  He was going to lord it over them this time with the inflated, vague rhetoric which the Church itself used, and which he’d learned long ago, was a double-edged sword.

          So he approached the ancient priest and handsomely presented him his staff-bearing arm.  The old priest took it and the whole crowd parted before them as they slowly made their way back towards the temple.  In his other hand he kept a tight grip on the girl's wrist forcing her to march with them, before all the priests and the eyes of her people.  She was reluctant to go and no doubt frightened.  Such an honor for a young girl was unheard of.  But none knew any more than she what was going on.

          While they proceeded through the crowded streets Jonathan kept up his mock gallantry and asked the old man about his health, his church and news of the town, in tones of both respect and the most intimate friendship.

          The old priest was greatly flattered by this kind attention.  It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the company of another of his own rank.  He’d been a priest all his adult life, first in the old Church, serving in a large city, and then with the reformed Church, as the head of this tiny but faithful flock.

          It was a somewhat lonely life at this outpost.  He missed the old days when he talked freely with his brother priests.  He was a very conscientious man and took his duty so seriously that he would pray and agonize many hours over even the smallest decisions that affected the welfare of his flock.  And he took this burden solely upon himself, to spare his assistants such pangs of conscience.  But it left him comfortless and lonely.

          Out of an honest insecurity, and a solid grasp of the complexities of life, he loved to look up to authority.  He wanted all the guidance he could get.  But that was very far away.  On the one hand he belabored his staff with endless correspondence, to guide his decisions.  Then he took every suggestion and letter and order from his superiors on the territorial council as if it were the word of God.

          It was not without personal misgivings that he had long ago accepted the new order.  But one of his mentors, a very fine old priest, told him he should adopt it if he wanted to continue to serve God and help people.  Once he joined the new priesthood, he never questioned it more.  He kept to his post, and served it as well as the best of them, but in the old way, out of love.

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