The City's True Name 9; A Miracle

            A Miracle

            The great and holy miracle was simply this:

            The weed garden’s thistles swayed in the breeze. A few flies buzzed around. A small white moth fluttered over to a dandelion flower. A crow cawed.

            The earth did not shake. The air did not blast. The sky did not fry; nor did it blaze with the light of a thousand suns. It was only as bright and warm as a single sun.

            Sogwa inhaled, exhaled. The air was fresh and cool. It smelled of dirt, water and thistle blossoms. The dirt she sat on was damp, but Sogwa didn’t mind; water was better than fire. She sat cross-legged and got comfortable.

            Meanwhile, interesting things were happening on Channel One. When Gop slapped the big red button on the bandolier over his chest, the hell-bomb did nothing. It only made an electronic noise, a hollow sound, like tapping a vase. It went:

            Toonk!

            And it made the same sound every time Gop slapped that button:

            Toonk!

            Toonk! Toonk!

            Toonk-toonk-toonk!

            ... pause...

             Toonk!

            The expression on Gop’s face was priceless. You had to see it to believe it.

            That’s when two policemen barged in; a good cop and a bad cop.  The Bad Cop tackled Gop, threw him down, twisted his arms behind his back, and slapped on the handcuffs.

            Then the Good Cop read Gop his Rites. The Good Cop said unto Gop the Image, “You have the Rite of remaining silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the Rite of speaking to an attorney, and of having an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, then one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand these Rites?”

            But Gop did not answer. Wordless, he wept.

            Sogwa turned off her far-vision, in pity.

            For that was not the real miracle. In the weed garden, a spider sat at the center of her web. A mouse gathered seeds, then scurried away. A millipede crawled right past Sogwa’s foot, for Sogwa, too, was remaining silent. The millipede’s back gleamed purple and green.

            Sogwa looked up. The sky blazed blue and white. She looked around at that abandoned weed-garden. How odd, that something so plain and ugly could be so wild and beautiful.

            The great and holy miracle was that there was no miracle. No miracle was necessary. There was only life as usual.

            Blessed be Life!