So Miro positioned his legs far apart and bent down over his brother. His younger brother, who now was nearly three decades his senior, and older still in wisdom and compassion. Miro reached out his hand. Quim gripped it, and with Miro's help rose up from the ground. The effort was exhausting for Miro; he hadn't the strength for this, and Quim wasn't faking it, he was relying on Miro to lift him. They ended up facing each other, shoulder to shoulder, hands still together.
"You're a good priest," said Miro.
"Yeah," said Quim. "And if I ever need a sparring partner, you'll get a call."
"Will God answer your prayer?"
"Of course. God answers all prayers."
It took only a moment for Miro to realize what Quim meant. "I mean, will he say yes."
"Ah. That's the part I'm never sure about. Tell me later if he did."
Quim walked--rather stiffly, limping--to the tree. He bent over and picked up a couple of talking sticks from the ground.
"What are you talking to Rooter about?"
"He sent word that I need to talk to him. There's some kind of heresy in one of the forests a long way from here."
"You convert them and then they go crazy, huh?" said Miro.
"No, actually," said Quim. "This is a group that I never preached to. The fathertrees all talk to each other, so the ideas of Christianity are already everywhere in the world. As usual, heresy seems to spread faster than truth. And Rooter's feeling guilty because it's based on a speculation of his."
"I guess that's a serious business for you," said Miro.
Quim winced. "Not just for me."
"I'm sorry. I meant, for the church. For believers."
"Nothing so parochial as that, Miro. These pequeninos have come up with a really interesting heresy. Once, not long ago, Rooter speculated that, just as Christ came to human beings, the Holy Ghost might someday come to the pequeninos. It's a gross misinterpretation of the Holy Trinity, but this one forest took it quite seriously."
"Sounds pretty parochial to me."
"Me too. Till Rooter told me the specifics. You see, they're convinced that the descolada virus is the incarnation of the Holy Ghost. It makes a perverse kind of sense--since the Holy Ghost has always dwelt everywhere, in all God's creations, it's appropriate for its incarnation to be the descolada virus, which also penetrates into every part of every living thing."
"They worship the virus?"
"Oh, yes. After all, didn't you scientists discover that the pequeninos were created, as sentient beings, by the descolada virus? So the virus is imbued with the creative power, which means it has a divine nature."
"I guess there's as much literal evidence for that as for the incarnation of God in Christ."
"No, there's a lot more. But if that were all, Miro, I'd regard it as a church matter. Complicated, difficult, but--as you said--parochial."
"So what is it?"
"The descolada is the second baptism. By fire. Only the pequeninos can endure that baptism, and it carries them into the third life. They are clearly closer to God than humans, who have been denied the third life."
"The mythology of superiority. We could expect that, I guess," said Miro. "Most communities attempting to survive under irresistible pressure from a dominant culture develop a myth that allows them to believe they are somehow a special people. Chosen. Favored by the gods. Gypsies, Jews--plenty of historical precedents."
"Try this one, Senhor Zenador. Since the pequeninos are the ones chosen by the Holy Ghost, it's their mission to spread this second baptism to every tongue and every people."
"Spread the descolada?"
"To every world. Sort of a portable judgment day. They arrive, the descolada spreads, adapts, kills--and everybody goes to meet their Maker."
"God help us."
"So we hope."