Enigma Man

Enigma Man

Jon Marc remembered everything. His eager mind switched on at birth, recording the way his father’s hands felt when they picked him up off the threadbare carpet in their living room; the bristle of his father’s five-o’clock beard; and most of all, the enormous struggle to hoist himself up to walk.

When he mastered walking, hours were spent looking through the glass storm door in anticipation of the return of his father. His mother virtually ran their small share-farm in South Dakota all by herself while his Dad worked a job at a mine.

Lucian, his older brother by five years had been the apple of his parent’s eye. To say that he resented Jon Marc is an enormous understatement. If one so young can hate, then Lucian hated his brother. Lucian climbed into the attic, removed his father’s 12 gauge shotgun from the gun cupboard, and used a chest of drawers to reach the shells. After carefully loading both barrels right above Lucian waved at his father through the window when he climbed down from his Model-A Ford and went directly to the barn to help his wife with milking their fifteen cows.

Lucian went back to the attic, positioned himself directly above Jon Marc’s crib and Bam! Both barrels discharged through the floor boards. The lath and plaster of the ceiling rained down directly on Jon Marc’s crib. The recoil pushed Lucian back to the wall in a heap.

Earlier Jon Marc heard the Model-A pull up outside “Daddy was home,” he did what he normally did; he feigned sleep hoping Daddy would come to get him up. When that failed he pulled himself up. Standing on tiptoes in the corner of his crib he tried to see Daddy through the window.

The ceiling above his bed disintegrated, the #2 shot riddled the mattress where Jon Marc had been sleeping. Nothing, other than dust, plaster, dead pellets and wood shavings, hit baby Jon Marc, his Angel was working overtime.

Lucian’s mandatory trip to the woodshed, “the way things were dealt with in those days,” only reduced the fires of hatred inside Lucian to a bed of red hot smoldering coals, which would burst into roaring flames when any opportunity presented itself.

In later years Jon Marc would firmly come to believe that he had the protection of an angel that kept him alive. Certainly it kept him from dying, but it did not spare him pain and scars, as Lucian came up with more ingeniously planned accidents for Jon Marc.

When Jon Marc was two, Lucian pleaded with his mother to let him take Jon Marc for a pony ride. Lucian rode briskly around the yard then under the antenna wire which Daddy had strung from the house to the barn to facilitate receiving news of “The War” now raging in Europe and in the Pacific. One small loop of the wire hung low enough that Lucian could duck forward against the pony’s neck and leave Jon Marc hanging, literally.

His third birthday was memorable as it was part of seven days spent in the hospital on the brink of death. Jon Marc suffered from serious asthma. Strange how the day after Lucian was given the task of emptying the vacuum cleaner bag, his little brother was stricken. His clothing was removed at the hospital in preparation for a gown which allowed better access to veins and air passages. A coating of fine dust in his hair, over his skin and in his nasal passages was revealed. After two days he was improved enough to have visitors. Lucian was left alone with him for a couple minutes. Jon Marc crashed and nearly died again. The doctor who was working on him said, “What is this gray dust everywhere? Look it is on the floor too. Move this Baby to a clean room and get housekeeping in here.”

After a bath, breathing oxygen, and adrenalin shots Jon Marc stabilized. The doctor asked his mother, “Who was with him when he had this attack?”

“Only his brother Lucian was here, why?”

“I think he had dirt on his clothing that precipitated this episode. Was he playing anywhere he would have picked up this?” He held a small glass vial of the dirt from the floor by Jon Marc’s bed.

When mother looked at it she just said, “OH My God! It looks like vacuum cleaner dust. I wonder where he dumped it that he would have it on his clothes.”

Daddy took Lucian to the woodshed to talk about being careful with vacuum dirt so as to keep from exposing Jon Marc. Lucian was not going to get a whipping until his daddy caught a glimpse of the satisfied evil smile on his face. The impact of what had happened hit Daddy square in the face. “What the Hell is wrong with you boy?” That time Lucian received fifteen whacks with an old razor strap that Daddy kept there for occasions like this.

When Jon Marc was three and a half, their lives changed drastically. Daddy went to work in a shipyard in Seattle Washington. That move from rural South Dakota had many long term effects on the family, and especially on Jon Marc, who was used to spending most of his time alone. The boys went to daycare for the first time in their lives.

After just three weeks Jon Marc caught a fever, which after being diagnosed as contagious, resulted in his quarantine. The fever raged for two weeks. When it finally broke he had lost one half of his body weight. He was on medicine four times a day for three months. At the doctor’s orders Mother pushed enormous amounts of water through him. When he healed enough to try to walk, he promptly fell, and fell and fell again. He had no coordination and difficulty even eating without help.

Lucian lost no time in resuming his mistreatment of Jon Marc. “Retard,” was Lucian’s favorite word when parents were out of earshot. He was consumed with rage when Daddy and Uncle Paul took turns in the evening walking his skinny little brother up and down the hill they lived on. Learning to walk again was a slow and painful process. His eyesight was affected too and to this day he still is unable to catch a ball. He sees close and can read which he does voraciously.

Mother did not go back to work. She spent hours and hours reading aloud to him from huge illustrated Lives of the Saints printed in 1906. It had been given to the family when they converted to Catholicism. Every few minutes she forced Jon Marc to drink more water. Sometimes he thought he would burst like a water balloon.

Monsignor O’Brien was quite taken by little Jon Marc. The pictures in the book, and the fact that he could remember things, resulted in an unbelievable ability to read. Uncle Paul brought him a set of five Yatzee dice. He learned, with his uncle’s careful tutelage, to add, subtract, multiply, and divide, using those dice and later on dice he constructed in his imagination. By the time he was five he learned how to walk again even if it was a little jerky.

With The Lives of the Saints as his first reader, there was nothing he wanted more than to become a saint. He spent hours shut in his room, praying on his knees, reading the book, and doing math with the dice in his mind.

As the time for school registration grew near Mother’s stomach protruded more and more.

Lucian was drafted to take Jon Marc to St Jerome’s School. Both boys now had scholarships thanks to Monsignor O’Brien, the Priest who had given Mother The lives of the Saints. On one of his visits to check on the family; Mother had Jon Marc read from the book to Monsignor, who was amazed. He was even more amazed when Jon Marc fished in his pocket, rolled the dice twice and gave the sum, difference and the product of the two numbers from the dice rolls.

Since Jon Marc was just five years old, the plan was for him to enter kindergarten. Monsignor had warned Mother Superior about Jon Marc. They were wondering what to do with him as the Catholic Schools in Seattle had no real means for dealing with unusual children, in those days they had to wing it, and did the best that they could.

The last morning of registration Lucian was drafted to take Jon Marc to school because in her condition Mother could barely walk around the house, much less down the steep hills to the school.

On the way Lucian beat Jon Marc till the little boy could hardly walk. “Look you little Holy Joe, I’ll make you wish you were dead if you go showing off at school.” Lucian did not know his times tables and stumbled frequently while reading Dick and Jane at fourth grade level. He was so jealous that it was impossible for him to be around his brother without inflicting pain upon Jon Marc.

In the office the clerk sent Jon Marc to see Mother Superior. When he came in to her office he was so frightened that he tripped over his untied shoelace and fell down. “Sit here young man,” she said gesturing toward a child’s chair in front of her desk as she helped him up. She looked at the dirt on his clothes and the fresh bruises on his arms and face, and then lifted his shirt back exposing more fresh bruises. “What happened, Jon Marc?”

“I fell down,” he said looking at the floor his cheeks flushed red.

She handed him a first grade Dick and Jane book. He stammered and stumbled over every word.

“Monsignor O’Brien told me you are good at reading, and math.”

“N-n not really,” said Jon Marc.

“Please wait here, Jon Marc. I’ll only be a minute,” she said, stepping across the hall to Monsignor’s office.

When she returned Monsignor O‘Brien was with her.

“Jon Marc, Sister Mary Kathleen tells me you are having trouble reading this.” He held the book in one hand and placed the other gently on his little shoulder. “What’s wrong, son?”

“I-I-I can’t tell you,” sobbed the boy.

“Did Lucian have something to do with your bruises? Did he tell you that he would hurt you if you did well?”

Jon Marc just sobbed and didn’t answer.

Monsignor stepped to the intercom to the office. “Send Lucian M.to my office, he is in Sister Mary Agnes’ fourth grade class.” “Jon Marc, I have seen what you can do. Trying to cover it up just won’t work. Sister Mary Kathleen will give you a little test. Then we will see what to do with you. Son, you are very special, you know.”

When Monsignor left, she sat beside him on another child’s chair and put her arm around the sobbing boy. When he finally spoke he said between sobs, “Lucian will kill me, really Sister, maybe I’ll be better off dead, and at least he won’t be able to hurt me anymore.”

Monsignor was on the telephone immediately in his office. “I’m really sorry to have to call you Mr. M. There is a serious situation with Lucian. We need to deal with it right away. I know you are at work, let me talk to Mr. Kelley and I’ll explain that we need you here as soon as possible. I’m sure he will be ok with giving you a little time to work this out.” Jon Marc’s dad obviously handed the phone to his boss, Mr. Kelley. Monsignor talked in a somewhat lower voice and shut the door to his office across the hall from Mother Superior. But Jon Marc caught the last words, “candidate for reform school.”

Sister walked Jon Marc down a flight of stairs and through a connecting passage to the all-girls school next door. The Nurse’s Office was first on the right. They went right in as if they were expected, and the physical exam began.

Jon Marc was covered with old and new bruises, the Nurse was amazed that his mother either had not seen them or didn’t care. “My mother is going to have a new baby very soon,” he explained in her defense.

He did not see Daddy or Lucian until Supper time. Monsignor drove him home knowing the little guy would be exhausted after taking tests all day. Monsignor sent Jon Marc out of the room and talked in low tones to his mother. Jon Marc heard the words, “Rare Geniu and then candidate for reform school for the second time that day as he left to seek the solace of prayers in his room, with his personal angel.

That night Lucian had nothing to say to him, as he stood up to eat his supper. Jon Marc could tell from the look of sheer hatred that this was not over. He shivered with fear and choked on his food.

He stayed as far away from Lucian as possible which was difficult as they shared a double bed now that Jon Marc’s former room was now the Nursery. Frequently he slept on a rag rug on the floor to keep Lucian from pushing him out of bed with his feet or anything worse. Yet and still Jon Marc frequently felt skillfully placed blows through a pillow which would take a long time to surface.

That night there was a noise in the hall. Mommy was going to the hospital and Uncle Paul was there to stay with the boys.

Before the sun rose Daddy came into the room where Jon Marc lay sleeping on the floor. He lifted him up and tucked him in assuming that he had fallen out of bed naturally. When both boys were awake enough to understand he explained. “You have a new little sister. Her name is Catherine Marie. She weighs seven pounds and this afternoon we can go see her.”

The first time he saw her, Jon Marc fell in love. He felt it was his God given duty to protect her from Lucien. It was a job which was bound for failure no matter how hard he tried.

Jon Marc hovered close to her crib. When Lucian checked her diaper it was only a thinly disguised excuse for him to grope the baby girl. Jon Marc attacked. His lucky kick caught Lucian in the balls. Their war escalated violently. Jon Marc slept with no blanket in the bath tub.

The War in the pacific ended soon thereafter. Daddy got a job in a fabrication shop one hundred and sixty miles inland, in a place called Yakima. His pay alone would not provide for Catholic school tuition and unfortunately Monsignor’s influence did not reach all the way to Yakima.

The family moved into a house which was large enough that Jon Marc could have his own room. The house next door was elevated four feet from the grade having no basement. The space under that house was used to hide terrible secrets and to do despicable things in the dark. Jon Marc could feel the evil that lurked there and never was enticed into the “play house.”

Twins the same age as Lucien lived there with their addict stepmother Della, and alcoholic, police officer father, big Ray. Trey and Ray looked the same, curly red hair, blue eyes and freckle faces, and were large for their age. Trey was born last and had been deprived of oxygen during his long and difficult birth. He functioned like a child of two. He shuffled as he walked and frequently drooled down his chin onto his shirt.

Ray introduced Lucian to another whole realm of depravity. Trey was obliging when Ray told him to drop his pants. Before long, there was a line of boys, some as old as seventeen, who visited the “playhouse” for fifty cents each, paid to Ray of course, Trey would lie still while he was being invaded. As things progressed Trey was made to use his mouth to satisfy the customers for a dollar, or trade goods, usually stolen from homes in the neighborhood. Several young boys and girls were coaxed to play with Ray, Lucian, and paying customers thus adding revenue to the secret business from which Ray and Lucian both profited.

Jon Marc knew something very secret was going on under the house next door. Thankfully he did not know exactly what, until one night when Lucian woke him up by putting a pillow over his face. He struggled but he could not breathe and finally went limp. When he regained consciousness Lucian was smiling as he buttoned up his pants. “I finally found something you are good for, a fuck.”

Jon Marc opened his mouth to speak, Lucian interrupted, “I’ll put my dick in there too when I am ready.” The pillow was suddenly over his face again. He struggled with Herculean effort. Then the pillow rose. “Lots of kids die in their sleep I could kill you now and no one would ever know.”

As he stood there laughing he delivered a killing blow to Jon Marc’s ‘not so secret’ desire to become a saint. “You will never be a saint, now, Holy Joe. You are not so holy now are you, my little whore? You have just committed the unpardonable sin. You are going to Hell, no matter how good you try to be.” Laughing the cruelest laugh anyone could ever imagine, Lucian left the room without further ado.

Jon Mark never told anyone about his ‘unpardonable sin’. He cried himself to sleep. He felt like his angel had abandoned him because now he belonged to the devil. He looked in the mirror and he couldn’t see anything different but he knew beyond a doubt that God could see that he had become a monster.

He did his best to protect Catherine Marie, but Lucian sneaked peeks into her diapers and touched her when no one was looking except Jon Marc. It was like Lucian was purposely testing him, and continuing to reinforce his power. “If you speak a word you are dead, Holy Joe.” That was always followed by laughter which could have been the devil’s own.

Just before school opened, all hell broke loose. Ray came to get Lucian. “Trey had three dollars I gave him to get cokes and comics. My dad was at the store. He started asking Trey where he got the money, he just started crying. If he talks at all we are in trouble.” They went off whispering. Jon Mark was scared for Trey knowing he was in terrible danger. That night Ray left with his uncle Bob to go fishing overnight. Jon Marc heard Lucian leaving the house in the middle of the night. He watched out his window as Lucian climbed the trellis and entered Trey’s room.

The next morning there was a frantic pounding on the door. Della was crying and began screaming in stale whisky smelling clouds. “Something is wrong with Trey. He won’t get up.”

Jon Marc knew Lucian smothered Trey in his sleep to keep him from talking and he also knew the same thing would happen to him if he breathed a word. Ray would return the favor and rid the world of Jon Marc if he was a danger to their secrets. All his life he had known that Lucian was capable of murder. Now there was no doubt. Jon Marc was filled with guilt, even knowing if he talked it would be he who was dead.

Things unraveled rapidly as a five-year-old girl, Carrie who lived down the street was taken to the hospital for vaginal bleeding. When she had finished telling her story to the doctor, the police were involved. The house next door was crawling with police before Trey’s body was removed. The space under the house was examined and photographed. By the time Ray came back from his fishing trip the police had a list if seventeen children who had been abused in the play house. Each child added names to the list of customers who had paid for their services under the house.

Ray cried like a little baby and insisted Lucian was responsible for everything especially Trey’s murder.

The police came and took Ray and Lucian away in separate cars. Arrests and questioning of the customers followed for several days. Police headquarters was a beehive of activity.

Jon Marc was questioned and answered with the truth. ”I have never been in there,” he said. His burden of guilt was monstrous. He was afraid to tell what he knew not knowing who else from their club would be willing to kill him as a favor to Lucian. He was also terrified that people would learn of his unpardonable sin. Ray became guest of Washington State Penal System. Trey was remanded to the “State home for the feeble minded.” Della stayed stoned. Ray stayed drunk, “off duty of course.”

Lucian did not return home, his name was never mentioned again in the household, where Jon Marc could hear.

Public School was much different than Catholic School had been; there just wasn’t tuition money for Jon Marc and later his beloved sister Catherine Marie. No one gave a damn how smart Jon Marc was. The school was overcrowded, lacked resources and had no trained personnel to deal with him. All the children were taught the same things whether they already knew them or not. Jon Marc was bored to distraction. He was in constant trouble for not listening to the repetitious braying of people who knew less about the subject they were teaching than Jon Marc had known on his first day of school.

Each day he would play with his sister until supper time. She loved to build with blocks and Lincoln logs and then knock their constructions down with a ball. After supper the last thing before bed time he would hold her little hand through the bars and sing and pray her to sleep. He hoped that his efforts would wipe away any memories of Lucian.

Fortunately for Jon Marc his house was two blocks from a Carnegie Library. He made daily visits to replenish his supply of brain food; taking his little sister whenever possible. He read everything he could get his hands on. He researched the unpardonable sin, finding without surprise that Lucian had lied to him. But try as he might he could not find his angel friend again. He felt filthy, forgotten, doomed, and disgusting.

Geography, history, science, mathematics, and reading were his main interests. By the time he left eighth grade he had studied many college level textbooks in chemistry, math, and physics. He read the complete collection of the classics. Plato, Socrates, Pythagoras, Homer and anything ancient or controversial was his cup of tea. He read anything written in English. The tome, The Count Of Monte Christo kept him up for nights and a weekend. He grabbed catnaps listening to the droning in class. War and peace was a challenge but he managed to finish it. Translations of Russian epics were a break from his normal routine. He was enthralled by the great poets. Shakespeare and Canterbury Tales offered him a good deal of amusement.

In 1955 at the age of almost thirteen he was noticed by the Superintendent of his high school. The first day of school he was called to his office. Jon Marc’s Permanent Record was on his desk.

“Sit down Jon Marc.”

The boy was no stranger to trips to the office. Most of his teachers were furious that he would cat nap and not pay attention, and wind up with perfect test scores. He was accused of cheating many times. His reply to that was shaking his head no and saying nothing.

The Superintendent was rather thick through the body and losing his hair. He had a friendly caring air about him that disarmed almost everyone with whom he dealt. Jon Marc was no exception.

“I can see that this is a pile of misunderstanding on top of misunderstanding.” He ruffled the stack of pages full of complaints about Jon Marc. “It appears to me that you are far ahead of the other students in almost everything. If you would like to get out of at least some classes that you find boring, I think we can make that happen.”

Not one to mince words, Jon Marc asked “And how could we do that?”

Mr. Semple smiled and asked “Have you ever heard of SAT Tests?’

“Yes, but aren’t they for graduating seniors.”

“Not exclusively, in cases like yours appears to be, we can use a little help to figure what to do with you; you are rather special you know.”

“Monsignor O’Brien at St Jerome’s in Seattle told me that too. That has been a long time ago and a lot has happened since then. I may have lost that.”

“I doubt that, Jon Marc. Take these papers home, get your mother or father to sign them giving us permission to give you the tests. This yellow paper allows us to pay for the tests out of our special funds account. Do you have any questions, Jon Marc?”

“How long will the tests take?”

“Pretty much all day, eat a good supper and a better breakfast and get plenty of sleep.”

“Ah, I work after school at the “Bean Bag Market, as a carry out boy till 9:00 PM. I get papers from the Bus at 4:50 AM. I deliver one hundred and seventy papers before I leave to come to school. Most days I do not eat breakfast, sir. There just isn’t time.”

“I’ll take you home tonight. We’ll eat at my house after I talk to the manager of the Bean Bag Market. I will pay you what you usually earn.”

“I work for tips, Sir.”

“How much do you get on a good day?”

“I get six to ten dollars a night depending on traffic.”

“Is there anyone you could get to deliver your papers in the morning?”

“I have a good customer list; I could get my friend Jerry to cover for me if I talk to him right after school. I get two cents for each paper that I deliver. I’ll have to pay him $3.40 to sub.”

“What do you do with your earnings, son?”

“I buy my clothes and my little sister’s too, and I bank the rest for College.”

Mr. Semple smiled at the young man before him. He wondered how many years ago he stopped being a child.

The Principle made calls to Mr. Janacek at the “Bean Bag” and to Jon Marc’s mother, explaining that he needed to spend some time with Jon Marc before a full day of testing tomorrow. Mr. Semple brought Jon Marc home to meet his mother. Kenny stopped by to get the list and $3.40 in cash. Jon Marc brought pajamas and a change of clothes in preparation to spending the evening and night with Mr. and Mrs. Semple.

There was Roast beef with brown gravy, mixed vegetables, a green salad and little red potatoes for dinner. Maggie Semple had baked fresh bread and a pineapple upside down cake for dessert. Usually Jon Marc had a sandwich and a small glass of milk for supper. He had no idea where he put all the food but he had plenty of room left for dessert and a second large glass of milk.

The next morning after the best night’s sleep that he could remember, they had a breakfast of a slice of cantaloupe, patty sausage, hotcakes and two over easy eggs with two glasses of milk. Jon Marc could never remember eating a breakfast like that. His usual fare was two pieces of toast with a slice of cheese between, eaten on the run.

The testing started right after they arrived at school. There was a short break to walk around, go to the bathroom and get a drink of water. Then the tests resumed. Mr. Semple was giving him the tests in his office so the whole battery of tests was administered before Jon Marc left school.

He went directly to work at “The Bean Bag.”

A couple weeks later a smiling Mr. Semple stopped Jon Marc on the way into school. “Jon Marc, we need to talk son, I need to talk to your parents too.”

“Was it that bad, Sir?”

“Not bad, son, GOOD, I can’t believe your scores.”

“2308 is impossibly high. We will be arranging a special scholarship for you.”

***************

The years passed all too quickly, Jon Marc never found anything to which he wished to devote his life. He prayed for hours each night and yet was unable to reestablish contact with his Angel. “What am I to do?” His beloved little sister Catherine Marie visited him frequently. She was the only person who understood that degrees were just pieces of paper signifying areas of knowing. “You will find your way Jon Marc.” They went for walks through the park when Catherine Marie smiled at him Jon Marc suddenly realized that his special Angel had never left him. In fact she stood right beside him encouraging him with her smile. His eyes filled with tears, at last, at last.

They went to the Basilica of St. Jude and prayed before the significant candle that tells people “Jesus is here in the person of the Eucharist.”

As they left the church walking slowly toward home she told him, “I am going to join a convent; will you please support my decision?”

“How could I not support you? If not for you I have no idea what would have happened to me.”

They walked sixteen blocks before turning up the street that led to the hill where Jon Marc lived in a walk up apartment. They walked silently each thankful for the presence of the other.

A huge aluminum box truck halted their progress. There, emblazoned on its side, was the final answer to Jon Marc’s quest; what am I to do?

“Feed the hungry.” Jon Marc felt a jolt not unlike high voltage. His long search seemed to be drawing to a close, at least for now.

**************

Catherine Marie joined the Dominicans. She was radiant the day she took her vows. Jon Marc was able to be there, though it was a quick stop on his way to Africa.

******

“You have letters sister.” Mother Superior placed the letters into her hands.

Sister Catherine held the top letter in her shaking hands almost afraid to open it. It seemed to radiate electricity.

March 14, 2004

“To my beloved sister, I pray that you have found your calling. Perhaps I’m not so fortunate, there is never enough food to give the long lines of suffering humanity what they need to stay alive. I am in constant trouble with my superiors. They do not understand that I cannot eat when I know there are still children who might not live through the night because they are starving. Not tomorrow, but right before my eyes, NOW! I find once again I am lacking. I am unable to accomplish the mission our God has set out for me. My whole life’s work seems to be not quite good enough. Pray dear sister that somehow I can gain the strength to do his will.

Why is my best not good enough? Perhaps our Brother Lucian told the truth when he said there is no hope for me. I hear his laughter when I have nothing left to give. Pray that God will make up the difference.

Your Loving Brother

Jon Marc

***********************

July 29, 2004

My dearest sister,

I’m losing enough weight that I am constantly being reminded by everyone that I need to eat. Pray that the body of Christ will be enough to sustain me. There is never enough to feed everyone. If anyone is hungry it will be me.

“Catherine, you should see the children. Their eyes draw you in; they have their whole lives ahead of them if only they can survive.

My dreams are full of hungry eyes asking for that which I do not have enough, I’m not Jesus I have no way to multiply the loaves and the fisher no matter how hard I try or as much as I wish I

could.

There are supplies sitting on the docks which will never reach these people soon enough. Oh, God what can I do? Pray for us my dearest sister.

Your loving brother

Jon Marc

*********************

Sept 9, 2004

Dearest sister,

I am having someone else write this for me. I am in the infirmary. I think my days of suffering are drawing to a close. I am filled with a sense of joy I have never felt before.

You were here last night my sister angel and held my hand and sang and prayed me to sleep just like I used to do for you when you were a baby. Thank you.

Jon Marc

***********************

The fourth letter was from the bishop in charge of the refugee camp where her brother had been stationed.

************************

Sept 11, 2004

Dear Sister Catherine,

It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that Brother Jon Marc has left this valley of tears. No one should have ever been asked to do what he did. I discovered him in the chapel yesterday morning with a rosary in his hand and a peaceful smile on his face. He was a stubborn man Sister; he refused to eat if anyone was left hungry. Unfortunately the last few months there was rarely enough food to go around. He left specific instructions that if his call came, his remains were to remain here, and any monies which would have been for transport to the USA were to be used to get more food.

I knew he was thin but no one knew till he passed that he weighed only seventy six pounds.

He would have been overjoyed to know the largest caravan of supplies in over a year arrived right after he was laid to rest. No one knew it was coming.

During his time here I was frequently called upon to talk to him. Several times he told me that he wanted to be a saint. I wonder if he has not succeeded.

Peace be with you,

Bishop Leo Giovanni DOM

************************************

The place by the river where Jon Marc spent hours praying was chosen as his resting place. A before unknown yellow flower, began growing, and has now spread miles downriver from his grave site. Tea from its blossoms is said to calm the children and let them sleep.

The grave has become a shrine; people come from far away to visit this place. Some say inner peace comes to those who pray here.

Some desperately ill children have been brought there and showed immediate improvement.

Are these things Miracles? That doesn’t really matter as long as people get better, and feel better after being here. Does it?

The rains came early for the next five years, the whole of the savanna bloomed like it had not in more years than the oldest elder could remember.

Somewhere Jon Marc looks down and smiles. Food reaches that village regularly. There is now a school and there is a well with clean water. He did not live in vain.