Chaos Over Shroud Exhibition

Leo has entered the room. One way to stop a good party anytime is to have Leo enter the room.

“That’s not very nice,” Emily snaps. I jump. How’d she know what I was thinking?

“Guess,” she says in a tone I think is a little bit sarcastic. “You’re The Writer…aren’t you?” She looks at me and squints, as though she’d never really seen me from this perspective before.

“Yes, I am,” I say, a little chagrined. I’d hoped to keep a low profile back here behind the mirror. But I just get excited, and when I get that way the words just jump out of my mind before I can control them.

“What are you doing here!” This from my grandmother, Barbara Perkins. Her brows shoot up and I can tell she’s shocked, mixing things around this way.

Leo walks over, slowly. He’s gotten older. “How do you do,” he says. “I’ve missed you. You don’t often come behind the mirror when we’re around.”

“Yes. well. I try to give you privacy.”

“Try harder.” That from the Archbishop. I ignore him. Leo turns a blank face to the Archbishop and moves close to me.

“I have news!” I say. They’re all still lolling about after the launch party the other night. I really have to get back to writing again, before they grow bored. “I have some news,” I repeat, louder now.

“Listen up. The Writer wants to make an announcement!” That from TeeBo. I shoot him a grateful look.

“I know what you’re here to say,” Leo whispers, leaning his head to me. I meet his eyes and realize he probably does already know. Well then.

Margaret, from Moon in the Mango Tree, looks up and yawns. “You’ve woken me from a perfectly good dream, so you’d might as well spill it. What’s all the excitement?”

I laugh. I do love Margaret–she’s like a naughty cat. “The Shroud is out!” I say, unable to express my excitement.

“What shroud,” Margaret says indignantly. She pulls her shawl close around her shoulders. “Are you referring to me?!”

Barbara…ah…my grandmother…laughs. Margaret amuses her, too. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “The Writer’s speaking of the Shroud of Turin.”

Margaret sits up straight. “Well. That’s another thing altogether. What about the Shroud. What do you mean by saying that it’s ‘out’?”

“A rare public exhibition is what she means,” Leo says. His voice is soft. “The Shroud of Turin is the burial cloth of Christ.”

“From two thousand years ago?!” Margaret looks at Leo as if he’s just dropped in from another planet.

“Yes. That’s fairly well established now. It’s a linen cloth that draped over the body of a crucified man, and…” He shakes his head. “You really should read our book you know. Walk Back the Cat has all the latest information and I don’t have time to go into all of that right now.”

I’ve noticed the Archbishop’s face is turning red. It’s fascinating to watch. I’ve seen him angry like this before. But he really, really does not get along with Leo. Still…he’s quiet. Unusual for him.

“What The Writer is trying to say…” Jude, from Dancing On Glass looks around. “What she’s trying to say is that the Shroud of Turin 2010 Public Exhibition opens today.” He turns to me. “Right?”

“Right.” I give him a grateful look. This is BIG news. “It’s only been exhibited to the public five times before this, I do believe. This is a rare opportunity and Jimmy and I are going to see it.”

“Where?”

“Turin, Italy, of course. That’s where it’s kept.”

There’s a silence in the room as each character looks at the other. “That means…” TeeBo begins…

“That means we’ll all go too!” Emily finishes up.

A trip–everyone’s excited. A trip to sunny Italy to see the most intriguing artifact in the world.

“We’re all invited?” Miss Best, from Mango Tree, asks in her timid little brown voice.

“Of course,” I say. “Where I go, you go. We’re going to Italy and we will see the Shroud. Millions of pilgrims will be there. And we’ll be with Barrie Schwortz, one of the world’s great Shroud experts.”

“Well, then.” Margaret stands up. “In that case, I need to prepare. I’ll need a whole new wardrobe.”

I stare at her. “I don’t have time to write up a wardrobe for you any time soon, Margaret!”

She slants those cats eyes at me. “No need. I’ve taken care of that myself.”

“Where’s the Archbishop?” Emily asks, looking about. I follow her eyes and see the Archbishop slouching toward the door.

“Archbishop…sir!” I cry.

He turns. “Yes?”

“Did you hear? We’re all going to see the Exhibition of the Shroud in May. In Italy.”

“I’m not going.”

It takes a moment for these words to sink in. I stare at him, stunned. “What?!” All of the characters turn and look at him too.

“You MUST go!” Emily says. “Everyone goes where The Writer goes.”

“Not me,” says the Archbishop. “I’m not going to see any Shroud. I’ve told you quite clearly in Walk Back The Cat what I think about the Shroud of Turin.”

Emily gasps. “But what about our ending? The Writer wrote an ending. I thought that would change things.”

The Archbishop freezes at that. “What do you know of any ending, Emily? That’s my own business. You weren’t there! You weren’t there!” He almost chokes on the words. “Whatever happened at the end of Walk Back The Cat is my business and mine alone.” His words come to a screeching halt as reality sinks in. “Well,” he amends. “Mine and the readers, of course.” He turns, slips through the door and disappears. From somewhere far away we hear the faint traces of his voice. “What happens between the Shroud and me is private. I have to think about it for a while– maybe I’ll tell the readers how I feel, sometime. But I’m not talking about it to this motley crew, and I’m going to Turin this May, that’s for certain.”

There’s utter silence in the room. “Can he do that?” Teebo asks, at last, looking around. “I mean…we live in The Writer’s head. If she goes to Turin, can one of us stay behind?”

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Breeden says with a hint of malice. The Moon in the Mango Tree would have been better off without this one.

“That’s an interesting idea,” Margaret drawls. She looks past me at the wall. “Would that work, do you suppose? Can we go our own way, without The Writer?”

Anarchy. Utter anarchy has broken out. They’re all talking at once. False hope. I raise my hand. I’m The Writer here. I must assume control. But no one’s listening. Everyone’s got two cents to add to the mess. What’s going on?!

“Hush!” I shout. “If you don’t all hush right now, and get back in line, I’ll…” Hmmm. A reader named Anna Marie has given me an interesting idea.

Perhaps I’ll just rewrite every one of them.

I’d forgotten they’re in my head. Chaos broke out behind the mirror as everyone absorbs my thought! Chaos. I heave a sigh. And I thought we’d all go tripping off to see the Shroud in a glow of harmony.

Never happens easily with a writer and her characters though.

Never mind. I’m in charge here. “We’re all going to Turin in May to see the Shroud, and that’s that!” I say. “And more important, for our readers to know, the big news of April 10, 2010 is that this is the day millions of people will begin viewing the Shroud of Turin. I pretend like everything is quite contained, and give my characters a big bright smile. After all, they are mine, aren’t they.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Leo says. I slip my arms around the old man’s shoulders and feel him trembling. If you’re The Writer, you can really feel your character’s emotions when you’re  behind the mirror, when the readers are asleep. I love my characters, each and every one…well…perhaps not each and every one…I look around for Phillip Sharp, but thankfully, he’s not here.

“Do you think the image on the cloth is a picture of the resurrection of Christ?” Emily whispers in my ear.

This is a moment for truth. My heart fills. I nod.

“I do,” I say.