Coming into customs, he felt a thrill of adrenaline pass through his stomach. Uncertainty and fearfulness dropped away as he watched the inspector seal his welcome to the United States. Fortunately, he was not left to come ashore alone and unfamiliar with the city of New York as his only welcome. Father Robert Trowe, his great friend from the Vatican was there to gather him into the new land. A transfer to Loyola to join the teaching staff as a clinical pathologist had put the young Californian in place to anchor Peter’s arrival. Though they hadn’t seen one another for half a year, the warmth of their embrace secured Peter’s sense of safety.
"The more I thought about what happened to you in Rome, the more certain I was that I’d had enough of the place," Robert winked at Peter over a beer. "Wasn’t hard to get transferred back to a teaching position," with a broad smile. "Dad and Cardinal Fischer were school chums. What happened to you significantly undermined my trust in the direction of the Church. To be really straight with you, I considered leaving like you did, but I have some questions that haven't been answered yet, so, for the moment I’m staying put."
Nothing remained untouched by the shift rippling through Peter’s life. Within a week of his arrival a miracle showed itself. In a sense, it must be true that man is just god in rags, as his mother had often told him. This idea recurred to Peter many times in the days to come.
"Hey Pete," Robert's booming voice demanded over the phone. "Found something that could get your attention. Why don’t you come down to the office around noon. We’ll have lunch and I’ll show you what I’m talkin’ about." The excitement in his tone infected Peter.
Peter couldn’t get over the wealth of the country. Walking toward the cafeteria to meet Robert, he had to pass a building being raised. It stood leaning into infinity, a sharpedged pinnacle whose concrete facade and countless reflective windows shone self assurance and progressive aggression from each gleaming row. Where Rome was the epitome of old world finery, and the Vatican its gem, here nothing stayed in place. All was constantly awash in a flood tide of change. Superabundance came as a shock to Peter’s system. In comparison Europe stood rightful heir to the title "The Old Country".
He found Bob standing in line at the buffet, yet another example of bounty. Trays overflowed with fruits and vegetables, painted to perfection with the colors of desire. He noticed recently how many heavy people there were wherever he went, and here before him, weighing gleaming counters to their deflection limits, was the reason. Who could resist such plenty? Never before had he shown interest in desserts, but now.... Since arriving his appetite had certainly revived. "Looks like you might even get healthy," Bob grinned as they shoved trays along gleaming steel rails past steaming bins of vegetarian ravioli, baked Chicken Itza, egg fu yung and tofu scrambled pasta.
"Look Peter, remember all the tests we did on your lesions last year? Well, when I came over I had them send some of my rarefied lab work along. Three weeks or so ago a buddy of mine told me about a serum his group was working on. This is a drug meant to suppress immune reaction. The point is they’re using it in conjunction with some other protocols to study suppressive immune rejection. Like the sort of thing that happens when somebody is given a donor organ and their body tries to get rid of it. Anti-invader response, right?"
Peter could only nod. At the center of his being he sensed monumental change, a certainty that whatever happened in the next few moments would wrench him away from the familiar. He could hardly forget the tests or their reason for being administered in the first place. A cry for denial mewed deep within. No, don’t let there be more. Isn’t what has happened already enough? But he would not forestall the impending change. His fingers closed on the fork, gripped at his pants. "Mmm hmm."
"Well, it turns out there’s a halo effect to the vaccine that knocks hell out of certain viral structures." Robert took a moment to swallow his soup. "Never talk with your mouth full. First rule at my mother's table. Anyway, I did some fluorescent antibody microscopic studies and turned up the virus that is causing your lesions." He waited a moment for the information to sink in. "Pete, what’s eating at your hands, I don’t know why it stayed so localized but you’re lucky it did, and I think an accidental side effect of this experimental treatment will kill your infection."