Following the final three commercials, Johnny did his usual wrap-up, first by announcing tomorrow night’s guests. Then the camera slowly panned from Reilly to Stewart to Theodore as their host thanked each guest, finally focusing on the empty chair I had occupied before my hasty exit. Johnny muttered something about freedom of speech and the right of every American to express his views, no matter how distasteful they may be to the rest of us, but when the audience began to hiss again, he smiled weakly and waved good night.

I had been concentrating so intently on the program that I hadn’t noticed how quiet it had become in the lounge. There was now a rather wide space around me, as if everyone had suddenly discovered that I had leprosy. I was reaching to sign the bar tab when I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and turned to look up into the bloodshot eyes of a square-jawed giant in a denim leisure suit with sleeves rolled back almost to his elbows. He swayed back and forth uncertainly, and his accent was pure Texas.

“Pardon me, suh, but was that you who just said all those there bad things about Jesus and allowed as how us Christians are all fools for believing in him?”

I’ve been in a few situations during my checkerboard life when I was able to slug my way out of what had seemed to be no-win situations, but this was one confrontation I knew I couldn’t win—or escape. Everyone in the room had turned in our direction except the two bartenders, who had suddenly and conveniently found things to do at the other end of the bar.

I forced a smile. “That was me, all right, but—”

The heavy monogrammed ring on his ham-size fist glinted in the light just before it exploded on the point of my jaw. I felt myself falling and thought I heard cheers as my head hit the floor.…

two

THE ANCIENT, LEATHERY FACE staring down at me was etched with more lines than a geodetic map of North America. His skin, dark as a pecan shell, contrasted vividly with silver shoulder-length hair and a full beard that had been carefully trimmed. Hanging from his neck was a heavy gold amulet that swayed precariously close to my nose as the old man leaned forward to look into my eyes.

I opened my mouth, but the voice didn’t sound very much like mine. “Who are you,” I rasped, “and where am I?”

The stranger’s reply was warm and friendly, and his deep, rich voice was completely incongruous emanating from such a frail and antique frame. “My name is Joseph, and you are on a couch in the dining room of my humble home. Welcome, Matthias!”