The God Virus
Hey now a riddle
The cat’s in the middle
And the wolf fell back in a swoon
The old gods laughed to see such sport
And the Church turned its face to the moon
~21st century nursery rhyme,
attributed to the poet Horace ~
Chapter 1
I was there when Santa Miranda Garcia Hermone was eaten alive by the multitudes and the walls of civilization fell.
You have read your histories. You know the story—how the Pope made his edicts while the scientists worked on their dark secrets. But you do not know everything; not yet. But you have asked me, so I will tell you the whole story. 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 Garcia Hermone, and before that, just Miranda 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. In those days, one tripped over garbage instead.
Miranda had washed up into the shallows near the beach and was tangled up with seaweed and rubbish. I did not see at first that there was a body in the middle of all this plastic and seaweed. 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. 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 human being, 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, and 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 will go call the police.”
“Not so fast,” the big one said. “They will see we are all Cubans and there will be trouble.”
“But some of the police are Cubans too,” the small one said.
“It does not 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. 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.
“Can you help me, amigos?” I asked. “She is very heavy and has an air-tank on her back.”
“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?
“Oh, gross,” the smaller one said. “Look at her eyes.”
“What about them?” I asked. “They are shut.”
“No, they are 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 smaller boy said.
The bigger boy 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 is 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.
When I breathed air into Miranda’s lungs, I got a mouthful of liquid in return. This is how I got the virus. 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 in the first place? It was from salt. Imagine: four-billion year old salt, and in it a virus such as this.