The Boy in the Picture

                                        

By William M. Balsamo

 

   We had gathered all three of us in the blue Volkswagen in torrential rain. It was the third time we had made an appointment and this time was could not cancel.

     Peggy was the first to speak. “I have a bad feeling about this but I think we have got to go through with it.E#060;o:p>

    “But, it’s an hour’s drive and look at the weatherEI said not entirely convinced that it was worth all the effort.

    “But, Judy went a month ago and she swore that she had seen a face.E#060;o:p>

    “It may have only been her imagination.EI said with skeptical cynicism. “It was all in her mind.E#060;span style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  

    “Maybe so, but I want to see for myself.E#060;o:p>

 

    There wasn’t much traffic that night. Strange for a weekend. But the weather had predicted bad storms with heavy rains and possible flooding.

    When we arrived in the area where the woman lived we had a hard time finding the address. It was one of those suburb neighborhoods where most homes look the same and addresses were poorly marked. The rain beat against the pane of the windshield and the wipers worked at high speed to make things visible. Finally we found the house. It was rather small compared to the others in the area.

     There was a light on in the kitchen. The rest of the house was in total darkness. A small light on the porch was lit to welcome our arrival.

    After we rang the bell we waited a few minutes for an answer. A young woman with a pale white face opened the door and stared at us with a blank look. Her eyes shed no light and her hair was straight, uncombed and lifeless coming down to her shoulders.

   “Yes,Eshe said. “You must be the people who called this morning.E#060;o:p>

   “Yes, we came as we promised. EPeggy said eager to get out of the rain. “May we come in?E#060;o:p>

    “Yes, of course. Get out of the weather and make yourselves dry.E#060;o:p>

     She opened the door wide now and let us into the foyer of her home. The house was dark and the atmosphere was gothic as though the windows had not been opened for months and the curtains had never been drawn. One expected to find cobwebs in the corners and bats hanging from the ceiling.

    “Please come in. I have been waiting for you. I have prepared coffee for you.E#060;o:p>

    Even though this was our first meeting she treated us with a familiarity as if we were frequent guests.

     As she led us down a dark corridor lit only by a dim lamp she continued, “I thought you would cancel your appointment with this terrible weather. The roads must be flooded and the forecast predicts it will worsen. But these are the best conditions for seeing his face.E#060;o:p>

     Peggy, Judy and I passed nervous glances at each other as we were led into a small kitchen which was neatly kept and simply furnished. There was more light here and the feeling was cozy if a bit Spartan. Judy, in an attempt to be a welcomed guest said, “This is a nice home you have here, Mrs. Canelli.E#060;o:p>

     “You can call me Maria. Would you prefer tea or coffeeEmEour name?E#060;o:p>

     “Judy. I’m Judy and this is Peggy and that’s Mark.E

     Maria prepared instant coffee and tea and gave them their option to choose. She also set out a dish of cookies and slices of pound cake.

    “So, how did you learn about Spero?Eshe asked with solemn curiosity.

     Judy who had come six months ago spoke up.

     “Do you remember? I was her six months ago?E#060;br>      “But, so many people come nowadays that I forget faces. I can only see one face.EWith that she nodded her head towards the bedroom.

    “You know, “Maria continued, “People come almost every night. The Bishop has given me a strong warning that I cannot encourage large crowds of people to come or there would be busloads of pilgrims. But he cannot stop me from having a few guests come into my home. So this is why I only take three or four a night and I serve them some coffee and cake. So you must understand that you are here as guests and not as pilgrims.E#060;o:p>

    “Yes, of course,Ewe all nodded in agreement and this settled the matter.

     “There was a time,EMaria confessed, “when people would come in mini-vans and chartered buses and camp on my lawn but the bishops got angry and ordered me to stop but I have never gained one cent from their visits. She was becoming angry and animated unlike the stoic figure that had greeted us at the door in the rain.

     Peggy prepared the coffee and tea and the atmosphere became more relaxed.  

Maria refused coffee but began her solemn quiet monolog. “Before I show you the picture I must give you some background to my story. Spero was my first, only and last child. He was born five years ago. Hs birth was a miracle. I never thought I would live through the pregnancy but when he was born the doctors said he was a miracle and told me how everyone had prayed and hoped for him to be born. So, for this reason I called him Spero, which means hope.E#060;o:p>

     “He was a happy child even though he never saw his father. My husband had left me shortly after Spero was born and I was his only parent.E#060;o:p>

     She stopped to pause for a moment as though lost in thought and trying to hear for some sound coming from the next room. But all we could hear was the constant pounding of rain against the kitchen window.

     We observed the pause and did not say a word concentrating on our breathing and wondering what she would say next.

     “Then my son became sick,Eshe continued. “He ran a high fever and seemed to be delirious. He could not eat and screamed through the night. The doctors ran several tests on him to see if he had a tumor in his brain but all tests results were negative. His illness lasted for three months. Then he died.E#060;span style='mso-spacerun:yes'>   

     At this point Maria stood up and rushed to the window to turn her face away from our view. She wanted to hide her face from our gaze. Every day she relived the telling of his illness and of his subsequent death.

     It was an intensely difficult experience for her to go through he son’s final days and death. He had only been five years old. On the day he died she placed his sick body in her bed where she could keep better watch over him. Moments before he died he pointed to a picture of Christ which hung on the wall. His last words were, “Mamma, thereEEAnd then hi closed his eyes and succumbed. IN death his face wore a smile. There was no pain, only repose. Maria‘s grief was inconsolable Months passed without an incident. Mari did not emerge from her loss but sank deeper and deeper into a melancholic depression.

    Finally it was on a Saturday three months after Spero’s death that Maria noticed a change in herself. She felt that the pain had gone; the melancholic burden had lifted from her shoulders. It was when she walked into the bedroom to tidy up the furnishings that she noticed her son’s face in the picture looking over the shoulder of Jesus.

    “I mean it was as clear as you could ever imagine,Eshe said to here three guests when she described the apparition.

     “Did he say anything to you?EPeggy asked.

     “Did he look peaceful?EJudy continued.

     I remained silent.

     Maria continued. “He doesn’t speak when he appears. He only looks over Christ’s shoulder and smiles.E#060;o:p>

     “What did you do when you first saw his face in the picture?EPeggy asked almost in a whisper.

     “My first reaction was of great joy. ‘It was a miracleEI said to myself but after a few minutes it began to fade. When it faded the first time, I thought it had been only a figment of my imagination. But that evening as I lay in bed it appeared a second time.E#060;o:p>

    “The next morning I confided the apparition to my friend, Carmela. She came to see the picture and saw the image as clear as day.E#060;o:p>

    “This is a blessing from heaven, Carmela told me. Your son is a saint. He is trying to reach your from the others side of eternity. You must tell the bishop.E#060;o:p>

     As things would have it, Carmela told Annunziata who told Pasqualina who told Franca who told the whole neighborhood. Lines began to form at Maria’s door. Women who spent their mornings and afternoons watching soaps on TV suddenly became interested in looking at a picture of Christ.

     At first they were friends from the neighborhood, later they were strangers from out of town. At first they came on foot, then in cars and finally in mini-vans and chartered buses.

     Bishop Gonzales, a closet agnostic, had his suspicions. In public he urged his flock to believe in Fatima and Lourdes, but in his heart he never gave them much credibility.

     “It’s not important to believe in miracles, what really matters is to believe in one’s own faith.E

     The apparitions became a media-event and E#060;span class=SpellE>Skywatch TVEran a series on Maria and Spero and the “miracle boyEwho appeared in the picture of Christ.

     Finally, the bishop sent specialists to examine the picture and to question Maria. “We will conduct a thorough examination of these events and the experts will decide if what we have here is a true miracle or a hoax.E#060;o:p>

     Bishop Gonzales rather enjoyed the press publicity and relished watching himself on the evening news. He was invited to talk shows and subjected to interviews and insisted that the apparitions which occurred in Maria’s home were delusions, or illusions of the mind.

     “Some see the boy’s face but just as many do not. Besides, he never speaks and has performed no miracles.E

 

     Interest in the “Boy in the pictureEbegan to dwindle with the passing of time. People were more interested in miracles than apparitions. They wanted to receive messages and prophesies, not visions which faded in and out at whim.

     The bishop made stern admonitions to his followers to cease their visits, and presented scientific evidence that it was a hoax. He further commanded Maria to stop the visits.

     

     Turning to her three guests she said, “Yes, I can no longer permit people to come as pilgrims but the bishop cannot stop me from inviting people to my home and he cannot stop me from showing them the picture.EAfter a pause she added, “Can he?E#060;o:p>

    “Of course not,Esaid Judy sympathetically and that’s why we are here. Would it be possible for us to see the picture and your son’s face.E#060;o:p>

    “Yes. I would be happy to show you. We must go into the next room.E#060;o:p>

    Maria got up from the table and led us into a room not far from her kitchen.  The cozy warmth of the kitchen gave way to a gothic feeling of darkness and shadows. 

    We entered her bedroom. It was dark and musty with large forest green drapes covering the windows. A thick grey rug cushioned the floor and Maria flicked on an overhead soft light which gave the room a funeral glow. Before us over the bed was a picture of Christ. It was much larger than I had expected, almost life-sized, and set in a rather large gilded frame. It was a painting of Jesus as the Good Shepherd. It showed him in immaculately white robes, permed, flowing curly hair and holding a lamp in his right hand. His left hand was on the latch of a closed door, and he had a peaceful smile on his face which cynics would designate as a sanctified smirk. His blue eyes shone upon his countenance and he bore no resemblance to a Mid-Eastern fisherman whose skin might have been tanned by a fierce sun which shone upon the waters of Galilee. Rather, his face seemed Nordic, almost Scandinavian. Yet somehow I had seen this face before. It was in this picture that little Spero’s face appeared.

     “This is the picture,EMaria said, “It was given to me as a present from a friend when my husband left me. Isn’t it beautiful?E#060;o:p>

     None of us dare to say it was kitsch or attempted to contradict here. This was not the purpose of our visit.

     “If you keep looking at the picture,EMaria instructed, “You will begin to see my son’s face. A little cloud will appear over JesusEright shoulder and then you will see Spero smiling.E#060;o:p>

     We waited for the face to appear. A minute passed, a minute filled with silence.

     “Do you see the cloud appearing?EMaria said in excitement.

     “Judy,EPeggy whispered, “Do you see anything?E#060;o:p>

     “Not a thing,Esaid Judy.

     “You have to concentrate,Esaid Maria. “If you concentrate it begins to appear.E#060;o:p>

     Judy turned to Mark. “Mark, how about you? Do you see anything?E#060;o:p>

     “Nothing at all.E#060;/span>

     “Keep focusing,Eexhorted Maria unable to contain herself. “He’s coming. He’s coming!E#060;o:p>

      At that moment Peggy let out a scream. “Yes, yes. I see him. He’s there. He’s smiling. Oh, he’s so cute!E#060;o:p>

     “Yes, I told you that you would see him if you only believed.E#060;o:p>

     Judy and I looked at each other dumbfounded.

     “Judy,EI said, “so you see anything?E#060;o:p>

     “Nothing at all.E#060;/span> She whispered.

     Peggy looked ecstatic, “Oh, this is special,Eshe cried. “It is just as you described it would be.E#060;o:p>

     We looked over to Maria. Her face was transfixed, transfigured and transparent. She stared at the picture and may have carried on a dialog with her son through his image which was still not visible to me.

 

     That evening on the way home the rain had dwindled down to a drizzle and the feared storm which had threatened to rip through the city decided to take another path.

     The three of us were silent most of the way back until curiosity forced us to speak.

     “Peggy,EJudy asked, “did you really see the boy’s face in the picture?E#060;o:p>

     Peggy who was driving the car looked over and smiled and waited for the light to change.