Nicholas by Michael J. Scott

Author:Michael J. Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: church, saint, xmas, father, miracle, origin, north pole, sleigh, eve, bishop
Publisher: Michael J. Scott

***

“Wait,” I objected. “He stabbed you. Through the heart.”

“Yes.” The Abbot nodded and tapped his solar plexus. “Right here.”

“Naturally, it didn’t leave a mark.”

I mean, it couldn’t have. Because it never happened. I willfully suspended disbelief for the sake of the story. My question wasn’t meant to challenge him. I only wanted to confirm for myself how the story would unfold. This better be what Marshall was looking for. Either way, it was one hell of a story.

But the Abbot’s words stunned me. “Of course it did. I bear the scars to this day.”

“Scars.”

“Yes. The wounds do not cause me pain. Nor do they harm me in any way, but I do not leave this world unmarked—whenever it is that time should arrive.”

I frowned, not quite sure what to do with this.

“You don’t believe,” Oleg stated.

I shrugged. “In the absence of evidence.”

“Evidence?” He started coughing uncontrollably, and the Abbot bent over him, and then turned him to his side while he hacked and struggled to breathe. I opened my mouth to say something, but Nicholas waved me off.

“You’ve upset him,” he said brusquely.

“I didn’t mean—”

Oleg’s continued fit interrupted me. For a moment there, I feared he was dying before my very eyes. I stared as Nicholas closed his eyes, his lips moving in fervent prayer. At last, Oleg spat, a long line of drool hung suspended from his lower lip and fell to the floor. The Abbot wiped Oleg’s mouth with a tissue, and the old man collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“How?” Oleg asked.

“Sorry?”

“How can you say… absence of … evidence… when he is standing right in front of you?!” He straightened and almost shouted this last part at me. Then he fell back to the pillow, exhausted.

“Easy, friend,” Nicholas murmured. “Be gentle with the man.”

Oleg gripped the Abbot’s hand. “You… you must show him.”

The Abbot shook his head. “It is unseemly. You know I do not do this.”

“He is not a brother!”

“Show me what?”

“What difference does it make?” Nicholas persisted. “Belief is a matter of the will, not proof. For those who do not believe, no proof is sufficient. For those who do, none is needed.”

“Show him,” Oleg insisted. “Even Christ showed Thomas.”

“What is he talking about?” I asked again.

Nicholas sighed.

“Vær så snill!” Oleg insisted.

“Som du ønsker,” Nicholas muttered. He stood and undid the belt holding his cassock together, and began unbuttoning it from the top. Before I could object, he pulled the whole ensemble off and stood there with his back to me, wearing nothing but long under-breeches.

His back was a mass of heavy scars. In the center, puckered a bit around the spine, was the remnant of an ugly, star-shaped wound.

“Dear God,” I muttered.

He turned around, and there, in the middle of a hairy, somewhat burly chest, glowered the source of the wound in back.

I’ve seen puncture wounds before—both those that have healed and those that never would. Nothing looked quite like this.

“Satisfied?” Nicholas asked.

I raised my eyes to his face, but he’d already turned to glare at Oleg.

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