Manuel was an old man. A gentle man whose soul vibrated at a frequency that gave him endless, sleepless nights. He walked the floors of his church to meditate on the majesty of God. The solitude and this nearness to his Lord calmed his unsettled yearning to be useful until the day he died.

He was shocked when he saw Jhana-Merise Salva kneeling in front of the carved wooden statue of the Virgin. It was too late for her to be here, and alone.

The young girl held a rose between her praying hands.

Manuel listened.

She whispered the word “Edubba.”

From his study of ancient texts, he knew it was a Sumerian word meaning: “House of Tablets.” But he had no idea what it meant coming from the mouth of one so young. How she knew that word was a mystery.

He waited for her to acknowledge his presence, but she spoke only to the statue with different words now, in a language he didn’t know.

“Jhana-Merise,” he whispered.

But she was in a world of her own.

She placed the rose at the feet of the carved wooden virgin.

He put a hand on her shoulder and a jolt of electricity shot through him. He jerked back.

Jhana-Merise turned—her face beamed with pure radiant light.

“Nos es Unus,” she said.

“Yes. We are One,” Manuel said, excited, acknowledging her words and his internal truth.

Jhana-Merise opened her arms as if welcoming the world—and fainted.

Manuel caught her in his arms and looked up at the statue—expecting it—wanting it to be alive. But the empty wooden eyes of the icon gazed back, as if staring into an unending void.

From the doorway of his daughter’s hospital room in Cuzco, Vincente Salva watched Manuel as he prayed over Jhana-Merise, who laid unconscious in bed in Hospital Regionale. An IV dripped fluid into her.

“What happened?” Vincente demanded.

“Jhana-Merise is a special one. Su hija es especial,” Manuel answered.

“The doctor said she’s in a coma,” Vincente said, controlling his anger. He didn’t appreciate the priest’s singular zeal.

Manuel moved to Vincente.

“Senor Salva. Nos es Unus. Nos es Unus. We are One.”

Vincente stopped the priest with a raised hand. It was a hand that had laid a thousand bricks, and now worked the coffee fields.

“What happened in the church?” He ordered the priest to tell him.

“She was speaking to the statue of the Blessed Virgin.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She was talking to the Blessed Virgin, and the Holy Mother touched her.”

“What do you mean touched her?” Vincente said, grabbing Manuel’s arm.

“Your daughter is a special one.”

“Get out,” Vincente snapped, and released Manuel from his grasp.

“Nos es Unus. Nos es Unus.” Manuel blessed him with the sign of the cross and hastened out of the room.

Vincente went to his daughter and sat by her side.