"Do you recall," Declan asked, standing in the back yard of his brother, Joss's home, "when we in the younger generation were small?" There was no response, so he clarified, "You were reading to me, as I remember. You mentioned Noah's Ark, and I asked you what that was, and you were surprised that no one had ever said anything."
He paused, and traced a small line of dirt with his shoe. "You had paper books, and you brought them out – the Old and New Testaments, and the Koran. You gave them to Joss eventually. He keeps them in his office room, which was Marie Patrice's room, and then it was Shaoqing's, and now he's just got a desk and a chair and those paper books. You gave him Dante's Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradisio, too, as I recall. But you would know that. I need not remind you."
There was still no response. "And you showed us films, too, on the viewer. I recall rather vividly one which showed the Pope and the Cardinals. I don't recall anything else about that film, not even its name. As you know, I have been an artist nearly since I was able to actually hold a stylus, or a brush. And I took my paints and I mixed up that red. Even then, I knew it was a rather particular color. It wasn't red like your hair, or like blood, or one of Marie Patrice's outfits. It wasn't the red of the raw tuna my mother got on very rare occasions that Doug would put on the grill with some sea salt, fresh lime juice, and a touch of ginger. I mixed and mixed – I ended up with a ton of that red. And I slopped it onto my heavy paper that you used to get me. Do you recall that, as well? They didn't have it at the Calafan market. You used to order it, special, from Andoria."
There was still quiet. He continued, "It was the first time that anyone had ever spoken with me about faith and, and spirituality. We celebrated Christmas, but no one really knew why – except for you, it seemed. And so I tried to paint the Cardinals, that day, and you told me, you said that they were a part of Catholicism. And that you had been brought up as a mix of both Catholic and Muslim, and that a lot of the details differed, but their essence was the same, that there was some sort of higher power and that it was, simply, out there. Neither you nor anyone else truly knew what that higher power did. Had it created us? Kicked off the Big Bang? Smote our enemies? Or perhaps it simply waited, passively, observing us and our petty problems and small actions. Or maybe its sole purpose was for after our deaths, or even before our births. As I got older, I asked you these questions. To your credit, you sometimes tried to answer them, and sometimes directed me to readings, and you sometimes told me to ask others. So I spoke to Calafans. I spoke to Melissa, and to the Starfleet Imam, too. I simply wanted to know. It was not until later – much, much later – that I learned that no one truly knows. It's rather like the Uncertainty Principle. No one can nail it down."
He coughed briefly. "I am here to tell you that, whilst I do not have the answers, I at least have a focus for my questions. And I have a purpose, and a goal. You met Rebecca; you always had a feeling about her, I think. I am here to tell you that I am embracing her faith now, too. But that image I painted of the Cardinals – we'll keep that. I shall insist. Because I need to remember my questions, and your attempts at guidance."
There was a sound behind him, and he turned. "Joss," Declan said, "I do hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," said the older man. "I talk to Norri sometimes, too. C'mon in and have dinner with Jia and me, Dec."
They turned and went into Joss's house, leaving six stone markers, one of which was engraved with Leonora Digiorno, 2136 – 2212 – True companion. Adored mother and grandmother.
