Dearest Jean, Last night an odd dream. It was vivid. I had died and now a bright red light was confronting me. It was painful and I tried to turn away. I was aware that the light was completely responsible for the government of the universe. Two of its ministers had been put in charge of space and of seeing it was kept in good working order. But these creatures had failed, and space was like a badly fitting jigsaw puzzle. I wanted to extinguish this piercing red light that was trying to tell me that space was all awry when I suddenly realized with dismay that I had been chosen to put things aright, all the jarringly chaotic, inconsistent laws of nature. And some mysterious mission beyond. What could it mean? Now, something I’ve been hesitant to tell you. While my once-deadly “visitor” is healing, it would seem that someone other than he has tried to kill me. Several days ago, a Sunday, in the soft air of dawn, I made the puttering drive in my little Topolino to the Russian Church Tower, a spiraling column of Jerusalem stone jutting up from a hill above the Garden of Gethsemane.
