“This is a small community institution. Clients get a fair amount of attention, but the emphasis is on getting the less disturbed ones into decent shape so they can get back out into the world. We have ‘half-way houses’ for them. Sometimes they become outpatients. But John and a few others caused no problems here; they had jobs of a kind within the institution and for various reasons, no one figured they’d be able to make it outside. So I suppose they ended up with less attention. Anyway, I’d been here several weeks before I got to check John’s chart and set up an appointment.

“Well, I had a miserable migraine headache that day. I’d taken medication, but nothing seemed to help much. It was just after lunch. I felt vaguely sick to my stomach. Then John Window came for his first appointment with me. I’d read his file. Later I’ll show it to you, but that doesn’t matter now. Have you met him? Oh, of course, you worked on his teeth. Well, there he was, a quite ordinary man, medium everything, medium height, coloring, weight. Nothing distinctive. I found myself wondering that he was imaginative enough to ever believe he was Christ. I introduced myself. He sat where you’re sitting now, Dr. Brainbridge. May I call you George?”

George nodded.

“George,” she said. “Anyway, we didn’t mention Christ. He said he was John Window. In my first interviews with clients, I go gently to set up a good rapport if possible, so we talked briefly about innocuous subjects. I must have glanced out the window or perhaps checked my watch, because I didn’t catch the transition at all. When I looked up, well, something happened. He said, mildly enough, ‘Christ, here. Now let’s get rid of that headache. You see? It’s quite gone.’ And everything about him had changed. The very ordinariness of his appearance magnified, so that he seemed to represent all men. It was as if ordinariness was raised to an incredible degree. So that it wasn’t ordinary at all, of course.” (She wet her lips.) “And in that instant my headache vanished. And mind you, I hadn’t even told him I had a headache.”

George Brainbridge stood up and started pacing the room. Seven felt sorry for him and for Josephine Blithe, too; how difficult it must be, he thought, when you found miracles so hard to accept.