Boston—about the same time
Massina caught up with Sister Rose Marie as the nun made her way through the children’s ward. He watched her from the hall for a moment, talking with the little ones. For a woman who had never had any herself, she certainly seemed to have a way with children. She offered neither toys nor candy, yet the Good Humor ice cream truck couldn’t have gotten a brighter response as she walked through the large room, stopping at each bed. Her smile was contagious, but more so was her optimism; she exuded grace, to use the religious term, and the children were eager to soak it up.
As was he.
“I see your secret source of energy,” said Massina as she came out of the ward. “This is your fountain of youth.”
“It is. The Holy Spirit is strong with them. He always gives me energy.”
“What I have to do someday,” he told her, “is come up with a computer program that can duplicate your enthusiasm.”
She wagged her finger at him. “Computers are not people, Louis. They have no souls.”
“Maybe not yet.”
“Don’t blaspheme. Only God gives souls.”
“Why can’t God give a soul to a machine?” asked Massina. “Certainly He could. He could do anything.”
“You are always provocative, Louis. And maybe you are right. A machine with a human soul.”
“Or a machine soul, as God directs.”
“Now we are getting into areas that Sister Williams is better at,” said the hospital administrator. “Have you had lunch?”
“It’s nearly three.”
“Have you had lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me to the cafeteria anyway. I assume you want to talk.”
“Yes.”
They walked to the end of the hallway, the Sister waving and nodding to patients and staff alike.
“I had a bad experience the other night,” Massina told her in the elevator.
“I saw the news. Someone broke into your building.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that,” said Massina. He had managed to keep much of the story—including the fact that he had escaped to the roof—out of the papers and TV broadcasts. He told her about it now, lowering his voice as they went into the patients’ cafeteria. Sister Rose liked to mingle with the families; she had gotten several ideas for improvements simply by overhearing complaints. This had become more difficult over the years, however; few people in town didn’t recognize her instantly.
Sister Rose selected a tuna salad from the refrigerated display, along with a water. Massina insisted on paying.
“It sounds like quite an ordeal,” said Sister Rose Marie when they sat down.
“It was. There was a moment—I cursed God for putting me up on that roof.”
“You climbed there yourself, though.”
“True. But I felt as if He wanted me to die. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to follow his will.”
“Louis, if you want to make a confession, Father Dalton will surely hear it.”
“He’ll just give me a couple of Hail Marys and Glory Bes and call it a day,” said Massina. “I had my doubts on my roof. I thought I was going to die.”
“But you didn’t. And so now, what else is it that you’re supposed to do?”
“That’s a point.”
“That’s the important point, isn’t it? We all have our moments. Peter had his moment of despair. Even Christ on the Cross. ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.’ But He wasn’t forsaken at all. And neither were you.”
“No,” agreed Massina.
“So what are you going to do?”
“A lot,” said Massina.
“Souls in machines?”
“More than that.” He looked around the cafeteria. He’d been so focused on that moment of doubt on the roof, his cursing at God, that he hadn’t looked at it as Sister Rose did. And hers was the proper view: It was a moment of affirmation. He was alive. It had to be God’s will.
So what was he going to do with that?
“I have a question for you, Sister.”
“Yes?”
“What you do—you’re obviously a force for good.”
“You’re very kind.”
“I wonder if there are limits to what we can do.”
“I can’t answer that for you, Louis.” She laughed. “You seem to have no limits.”
Massina remained serious. “You think it’s right to work against evil?”
“Of course. Someone has to. Someone has to fight.”
“Yes, we do.”