2045

"That makes him your incubus", says Erik. "My what?"  Ethan seems right now very alone, very vulnerable.  Childlike. Francois replies, "An incubus is a kind of demon that tries to inhabit you at night and have sex with you."  Then, very uncharacteristically, he puts his hand on Ethan's shoulder and adds, "That isn't it, either, is it." Ethan now is really struggling and his voice is cracked and tremulous as though he is trying to dam into oblivion many centuries of unwept tears. "Who are you, really, Ethan?"  interjects Carl, a tremor of impatience edging his voice.  "Or are you Adrian?  Tron.  Look, like the others here I also saw you as Tron, otherwise I would be keying 911 on my phone at this very minute." Ethan right now is staring into space, then his voice begins taking a deeper, more authoritative resonance as he says, "It was those nails, those great hideous iron spikes that were driven each one into my hands, and one through both my feet and I knew I was being bestowed an honour I had done nothing to earn.  And unlike our first bishop Peter, it was too late to implore them that they crucify me upside down, because I was not worthy to die for my Lord as He died for me."  And now the light seems to have passed from Ethan's face, and now he is seated there, just and only Ethan.  A visible shudder passes through his body.  He looks up at us, takes a slow sip of coffee, exhales deeply, then says in a low murmur, "He's gone." "Who is gone?" I ask. "Adrian", he whispers.  Francois' hand is still resting on his shoulder.  "He is gone.  He has left me..."

2044

"I remember that night so very well", says Kenny.  "I was seated on the other side of Mom.  I had just been baptized and received into the Roman Catholic Church  myself exactly one year before you were, Ethan.  I could tell it was a profound and hugely impactful experience for you, but you never told me anything further, but strangely, that night I had a dream of you and that boy with the golden hair and green eyes.  Of course, now I realize we were all in the Refuge, and that we have at times been virtually living there, but please, it is not for me to tell your tale, friend."   Now, all eyes are on Ethan, we have all forgotten our coffee which stands idly in our almost untouched mugs as we wait for him to continue speaking. "I at first thought I was having a dream.  The young Jesus was seated on my bed, for I had just woken up from a bad dream, and he sat there in front of me, smiling in my face.  And yes, Kenny, you were also there, with Kim and Tim, but they looked different and were dressed different, in the loose fitting robes and tunics of ancient Rome, and Tim suddenly seemed very young, and that was when Adrian approached me.  He came and stood right between Jesus and me, his eyes fixed upon me, warm, stern and loving eyes.  And then I realized I was seeing myself, but in a different form. He was a bit older, perhaps my age now with light pouring from his face and eyes, and was dressed resplendently in gold and emerald green robes.  He came closer to me, touched my shoulder with one hand, then took my hand in his, and suddenly..." Here, Ethan seems unable to continue, appears to be almost gasping for air.  He quickly reaches for his coffee, and takes a long, quick draught.   "May I continue, for you?" says Kenny. "Yes.  Please." "This is what I saw.  Tron absorbed Ethan into himself, and the two became one, one being, indivisible..."

2043

"But for me, this is all real, and for me this always stays real.   I cannot get away from it.  Unlike the rest of you, who all seem programmed to forget the Refuge. to forget Christ in his youthful resurrected form, to forget the glory and beauty of that sacred place. "But we still remember from time to time", say I, "and like you I have a schizotypal diagnosis, for what it is worth, which ain't a lot." "But we are not sick." "Of course we're not.  And we all have and share with you the lived experience of the Refuge, which now we have in writing, and soon to be posted on my own fridge door." "Our fridge door", retorts Carl. "Don't quibble", says Francois. His tone of voice betraying clandestine irritation. "When did you first realize your...your alternative identity", says Carl. "My true identity", says Ethan.  "Not long after I came to live with Kim, I began to attend church with her, and soon was baptised and confirmed.  I must have been fifteen by then.  Just when the priest placed in my hand the host on my first communion, suddenly I saw not him, but a strange and very beautiful boy, sixteen perhaps, dark golden hair, piercing green eyes and the kindest and most loving smile I have ever seen.  I didn't know it was Jesus.  He said to me almost in a sweet whisper, tonight, I will come to see you and then I will reveal all.  I returned to my pew, unsure of what the priest might have been thinking when he saw me standing there, remaining behind the others, slack jawed and wide eyed.  I sat down, flanked by both Kim, and your mom, Kenny, both laying their hands on my shoulders, because they could see I was crying..."

2042

"That would have been fifteen years ago", says Kenny.  "I was already co-owner with your mom at the florist shop, and living with my mom in her condo.  Shall I add a little more here, before you proceed, I mean?" "Sure, go ahead", mumbles Ethan, whom I am beginning to see as just some introverted, inarticulate jock. "Tim, Kim's son, even though you associate him with Thaddai from the time of Diocletian, is really older than you, by quite a bit  Yet you identify them with each other and Thaddai would have been three or four years younger than you.  He was already around fifteen or so, when with his mom, he pulled ymefrom the beach to their boat to get me to hospital  in Victoria, which now makes him around forty.  You would have been but a little nappy pooper of two or three.  How can you explain the discrepancy.  And Kim, by the way, is soon to turn seventy" Ethan stammers, and mumbles a bit, then says, "I can't explain any of it." "Just as we cannot explain it either, given that everyone here has seen you in your glorified form, Adrian, martyred under Diocletian, and in the resurrected glory of Tron in the service of Christ. "It could be", says Francois" , that all of this is true, but you have had to make all sorts of assumptions in order to fill in the gaps." "That makes sense", says Carl. "But that is how I remember it", says Ethan, his eyes widening defensively. "And", adds Carl, "Anyone who has even just a little bit of wisdom knows just how reliable the human memory can be..."

2041

"My mother was a prostitute addicted to heroin in downtown Victoria.  She said my father was likely one of her regular clients, but could not or would not identify him.  Mom contracted AIDS, and when she passed away family services stepped in.  We actually had a decent apartment.  One of her regulars, possibly my father, was a man of means and made sure we were okay.  In fact, the interest he took in our wellbeing really suggests that he is my natural father, though I never saw him.  Mom was always very careful to keep me separate from her work.  School was a challenge because word got out that Mom was a hooker and dying from AIDS, and all this came out from a documentary on sex workers and AIDS she had participated in.  There was no mercy and they had to take me out of the school for my own safety.  Family Services had me in a few emergency overnights before Kim stepped in and became my foster mom. She was, and still is Catholic by the way, and soon I was attending church with her and her son Tim...

2040

"I would like to begin", says Kenny, stirring into his coffee the meticulously measured two teaspoons of sugar and huge dose of cream that I aways knew him to favour, and even on the cusp of sixty, he is stirring with musical tinkling vigour. Dad used to tease him that he was going to take a recording of him stirring his coffee then hand it over to the church organist so that he might use the tinkling melody for composing a new liturgical anthem, perhaps for the Feast of Pentecost. Of course he just might have said to Kenny that the relentless tinkle tinkle tinkle never failed to get on his nerves, but Dad was two kind for that as well as too timid and polite. But on occasion, we, father and son, would exchange in private our mildly amused and vaguely irritated glances, one or both of us would briefly chuckle or titter, nothing further said or done. "with telling everyone here about how you and I came to know each other. Are you okay with that, Ethan. I am not going to mention here your true history as an early church martyr, nor of your eternal identity and service to God, nor anything at all about the Refuge. The two dimensions have come together, things are beginning to get calm again, and we are stuck here now, right now, in the boring mundane here and now." "Proceed", is all he mutters, while testing an experimental sip of his black and bitter coffee. first of all", so that no one gets confused, Only in Ethan's eyes have Kim and Tim remained young. And Ethan himself was just a kid of thirteen when he came into foster care in their home. Would you like to continue from here, Ethan..."

2039

I am carrying the very full coffee pot in one hand and a porcelain jug full of cream in the other while Kenny handles the Japanese crane tray loaded with mugs, spoons and a bowl of sugar.  There is room for everything on the coffee table, and I am gratified to see that neither Francois nor Ethan have put their feet on the table, always forbidden while my father was alive and I am bound and determined to honour his memory by maintaining that tradition.  I am reminded of the one time I actually dared to rest my feet, wearing only socks, on that table.  I was twelve.  Dad came into the room with the deacon who was our dinner guest. He approached me calmly and silently, then stood over me with his arm raised in a karate chop that was about to punch down onto my ankles.  I never put my feet there again.  Not even while home alone, and never once since. "Ethan", says Kenny, sitting down next to him,  "It is time for us to talk, all of us present." "About...?" he asks numbly. "You." "And I am going to start.  Ready?" And now Ethan is nothing of Tron or Adrian, but a silent, nervous young man awaiting an anticipated and very unwelcome verdict.