The Miracle

"What finally happened that night?" asked Yos. He could no longer contain his excitement. "What did you do when the Japanese finally attacked?"

Karno stared at the two men for what had to be a full minute. "Nothing," he finally said.

"Huh? What do you mean, nothing?" Yos demanded.

"Nothing," the old man repeated. "We did not do anything because the attack never came."

"Never came!" exclaimed Yos. His priest let out an audible sigh.

"All night long we were on guard, alert. We did not even do shifts because noone slept. At all. When dawn broke, we could hardly believe it. Then, at about six, reinforcement arrived. There were thirty of them, who told us that another thirty were behind them. They also could not believe what they saw -- the Amba villange, intact. The men I sent earlier were among them. They told me they had expected a horrific scene. Later I learned they had come so late because the truck had broken down and they had had to go on foot for many kilometers before finally finding a lift in the form of a horse cart. Our station commander had sent thirty men right away. Another batallion had been expected to arrive at the station at dawn, and another thirty would then have been dispatched.

"With the additional thirty armed men, we could afford to relax a bit, but we kept our guard up. Only after the next batch of thirty had arrived hours later, did we draw a plan to move into the jungle. If not to confront the renegades, we could at least retrieve our friends' bodies from the day before.

"A captain, who had arrived with the reinforcement, led us into the jungle. We reached the spot where we had been ambushed. No Japanese were in sight. Some of us naturally wanted to have revenge, but most of us were relieved. We did find the bodies of our brave comrades we had had to leave behind." Karno stopped for a moment and looked at Father Bouten before continuing, "Thirteen of them."

The priest caught it and asked, "How many were missing?"

Karno shook his head. "None, we had left thirteen the day before." And he stopped again before proceeding, "Only we had found another body before, just a few hundred meters into the jungle."

Yos raised his eyebrows. "Japanese?"

Again Karno shook his head. "The body had been so badly smashed beyond recognition. It had been horribly mutilated, too. One of the arms was missing." This time the old man had to stop for a while longer. The horror had to be so real in his eyes right now, thought Yos. Images from gory war and horror movies flashed in his own head.

When he finally spoke again, Karno nearly could not bring his voice up. "We knew it wasn't one of the Japanese because of the clothes. Amid the dried blood and torn flesh we could see clothes similar to those worn by the people of Amba. And... And... And the around the wrist, the only one left, there was a simple bracelet with a crucifix..." Karno looked deep into Father Bouten's eyes. "A small wooden crucifix with one of the horizontal arms broken."

Yos had never seen his priest so shocked. The ever tough Father Bouten brought his head into his hands and said nothing. Yos looked at Karno, who in turn looked outside. No doubt trying to get rid of the awful image.

Finally the priest lifted up his head and asked, "So who was this man? One of the villagers, of course?"

"No," Karno replied quickly, glad to focus on something else. "We brought all the bodies back to the village, cleaned them, and prepared the proper funeral. We identified all the bodies except for that one. None of the villagers recognized the distinctive crucifix. Not even Father Jaan, who had blessed all religious articles in the village. The face had been so badly destroyed and cleaned it as we had, we could not do anything but leave it covered all the time. Except for those who had died in the ambush, no family members were missing. What a mystery."

"Yes," said Father Bouten. "A mystery indeed. But what do you think he was doing in that jungle? And what happened to the Japanese?"

Karno made a gesture with his hands. "Nobody knew. Our guess was that he did finally go into the jungle to meet the Japanese. Who he was, what he was doing, God knows. But apparently, whatever he did or said, the Japanese renegades decided to torture and killed him. Then mysteriously they decided against attacking Amba and instead went away. Oh, some of them surrendered about a week later and we managed to disarm the rest. But noone said anything about what had happened that night."

"That Christmas Eve," said the priest meaningfully. "How many died in the end? I mean, other than those thirteen. Or fourteen."

"Would you believe me if I told you none?"

"None?"

Karno nodded positively. "None. With our next-to-nothing medical supplies, not a single one of those wounded men died that night, that day. Not even the worst of them! Some of them did lose their lives later, but in other battles. As far as Amba was concerned, only thirteen -- fourteen -- were killed. And those were from the day before. Now, if that's not a miracle, I don't know what is!"

"Praise the Lord," said Father Bouten. "Wow! I mean simply, wow! That was some experience. Some miracle." He looked at the older man, emotions clearly washing over his Caucasian face. "You have no idea how grateful I am, Pak Karno."

"Grateful?" Karno looked from the priest to Yos, who shrugged. "I know it's a good, touching story, but I have never... Well, I'm glad I have brought something good to someone today." The old man smiled.

"Let's just say that your touching story has just saved me. Indeed it has." Father Bouten was so full of spirit now. "I'm so sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I have to get ready for the Christmas Eve service. But you're welcome to stay here for as long as you wish. Do you have any plan?"

"Uh, actually I do," replied the old man, somewhat sheepishly. "You must be wondering what a non-Catholic like me was doing in your church compound. Well, the truth is, I was hoping for some, uh, charity."

Yos rolled his eyes. Now we're talking. Surprise, surprise. The Catholic priest next to him showed no change of facial expression.

Karno shifted uneasily in his chair. "I live alone with my only granddaughter and as you can see, we are very poor. I have been jobless for so long, noone wants to employ a poor, old man who doesn't know how much longer he would live. She's in her early twenties and she used to work in an office. A smart girl she is." Now he looked sad. "But she fell ill about a year ago and it has only worsened since. She had to quit her job and we by now have spent practically all her saving."

"So you want us to give you some money, eh?" said Yos with a raised voice. "Now I'm not sure we could believe all that you have just told us. Nice story there, old man."

Karno looked with pain at the younger man. "It really happened. I did not think of sharing it. I learned that your pastor here was Dutch and this was a Catholic church and the story came back to mind. I happened to pass by your church and having heard that some churches hold charity events during Christmas period, I thought of trying my luck." He eyed his clean shirt. "Look, I know I'm asking too much after all you've done. I'd better leave. I am sorry." The old man started to stand, wincing slightly when he tried his left foot.

Father Bouten stopped him. "There's no need for such haste. We have just heard a truly inspiring story, why ruin the moment?" He glanced at his assistant, who avoided his eyes. "The Lord wants us to help others. To give. And no better time to give than Christmas."

To Karno the priest said, "As a matter of fact, I do have something for you, my friend. Excuse me for a minute." With that he stood up and went into his small bedroom. A while later he came back carrying a folded envelope.

He gave the envelope to Karno, who showed mixed feelings. After a brief moment of hesitation, the old man took it. "I know it's not much," said the priest. "We priests are not allowed to hold on to a lot of money, just enough for our daily expenses. But I have saved enough through the years. It's only fitting to put it to a good use."

"Pastor, you really shouldn't..." Karno's voice trailed.

"Yes, Romo, you shouldn't!" Yos objected strongly. "At least we should check if his granddaughter is really ill. Or if she even exists at all!"

"We'll talk later, Yos," said the priest firmly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really have to prepare myself. The invitation is still open, Pak Karno, should you decide to stay around for a while longer. Noone is rushing you."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I will leave now. I want to be with my granddaughter as soon as I can." Karno took a step toward the door.

"Very well. Yos, if you'll be kind enough to show our guest the way? Pak Karno, once again, I thank you. Your story really shows us that miracles do exist. All the best for your granddaughter." Father Bouten shook hands with his guest. "Be welcome anytime you need any more help."

Karno was as uncomfortable as ever. "Thank you so much, Pastor. Sorry for all the trouble." To Yos he said, "It's all right, young man, I can find my way."

Yos simply said, "I insist." His look at his priest said, I will make sure this old man really leaves and will not bother us again. The priest sighed and moved his hands. Up to you, Yos.

So the two of them left and the priest closed the door behind them. Yos walked closely behind the old man as he stepped onto the small road outside the church gate. Karno turned and was about to say something but for Yos' dismissive gesture, indicating he had to start walking. The old man shrugged.

To access the main road, where one could catch any form of public transportation, one had to walk almost 500 meters down the small road. They were roughly halfway when Yos spoke.

"How much did he give you?"

Karno stopped. Slowly, he took out the folded envelope of his pocket, unfolded it, and showed its content to Yos. The younger man took a peek and whistled.

"Not bad, old man! You really got him there, didn't you?"

The old man grinned. "With your help. I was afraid the story would be over the top. In the end it worked, so..."

"I have to give it to you. You were very convincing back there. Your acting will put those sinetron actors to shame."

"It's my tool of the trade. That crucifix was a nice touch."

Yos said smugly, "It was, wasn't it? Once, I almost asked Romo Bouten where he got that ugly crucifix with a broken arm. Good thing I didn't. He wouldn't think anyone knows about it."

"All right, now. Quick, grab your share. I really need to be out of here."

The Real Miracle

Yos was still patting himself on the back for pulling off such a successful scam when he entered the priest's quarters and to his surprise found Father Bouten sitting in the living room. "Romo? I thought you were getting ready for the mass?"

The priest indicated the chair in front of him. "Sit down, Yos. We need to talk."

Yos did, already going through the most dreadful scenario. Surely he can't know, can he?

Father Bouten looked at his assistant. "Unfortunately, I do know." He let a few moments pass before adding, "You are the only one who could've known about this special relic I keep." The priest opened his palm and they both stared at a wooden crucifix, one horizontal arm broken.

A few more silent moments passed. When the pastor finally spoke, it was curiously without a trace contempt. "You want to know how this crucifix came into my possession, Yos?"

With little else to do Yos nodded.

"A young soldier -- a dying young soldier -- gave it to me. I was at that time assigned to a mission in Sulawesi. I'm sure you and many others know about the time I spent as a missionary in this part of the world. What you and everyone else don't know is that I was very close to quitting the mission. Barely months into the priesthood, I had witnessed so many deaths, so much sorrow, endless grief. Almost too much for a young, inexperience priest.

"One day I was blessing this young Moluccan soldier. It was his first battle and soon to be his last. During the anointment he was barely conscious, but as I was finishing, suddenly he opened his eyes and spoke. His words were: thank you, Father, for you have saved a sinner like me. Then he smiled and passed me the crucifix. Shortly after, he was gone."

Yos shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Father Bouten clasped his precious artifact and sighed. "You know what it did to me, Yos? That moment I realized that this was my calling after all. This was what I was supposed to do. To a shepherd there would be no greater joy than being able to save your flocks. This crucifix serves to remind me."

Suddenly, the priest rose and put both hands on his assistant's shoulders. "What you and your friend did to me today was despicable. But God works in mysterious ways. I can't describe to you what I have gone through lately, but let me tell you this much: in trying to cheat me of some money, you and Pak Karno have in fact strenghtened my faith -- you have saved me. And for that I can never thank you enough."

Father Bouten squeezed Yos' shoulders lightly. "Thank you, Yos. Now, can I count on you not to repeat anything like this, ever?"

Yos was suddenly overcome with emotion. "Oh, Romo, please forgive me! Please ask God to forgive me. I have failed you. If you want me to leave, I will." He fumbled in his pocket. "Here's your money. Forgive me, Romo."

Father Bouten said, "You keep it, Yos. I'm sure there's something that's in urgent need of your attention financially if you made the decision to commit a crime. Like I said, I'm grateful. Let's leave it at that."

The younger man hesitated, then put the money on the table. "No, Romo. I'd rather you put it in the collection box."

"Very well. I really have to get ready now. Please excuse me, Yos."

As his assistant turned to the door, Father Bouten called after him. "By the way, your friend is an excellent storyteller, Yos. In fact, the story was so good I wonder if he based it on his real-life experience."

Yos shook his head. "I don't know, Romo. I only told him about you serving in small villages in Sulawesi and about the crucifix. He came up with the rest. And his name is Dede, not Karno." He opened the door and left.

Alone now, Father Bouten stared at the crucifix in his hand. Memories flooded back in. There had been no lake near Amba village. There had been no Japanese renegades and a mysterious young man, either. What had been there was a small Indonesian platoon, in refuge after being decimated by a 100-strong Dutch company in a one-sided battle nearby. Among the Indonesian casualties was a young Moluccan soldier who had carried a wooden crucifix with one arm broken.

The priest walked to his room with a spring in his step. At 67, Father Jaan Marcus Bouten, S.J. had been given the privilege of a second faith renewal. He was not going to waste it.

[Please excuse errors in spelling, grammar, and plot. I happened to dig the archives and find this unpublished -- and unfinished -- entry from a year ago (notice the previous entry's URL?). So I thought, oh, what the heck, might as well finish this. See if I can publish it by Christmas. Happy Christmas, everyone!]

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