Giulani walked to the doorway and hesitated before taking a step into the room. Most men were simple. They were looking for security, or power, or a feeling of usefulness or of certainty or competence. A cause to fight for, a problem to solve, a place to fit in. There were many possibilities but once you grasped what a man was looking for, you had the beginnings of an understanding. At a loss, he studied the exotic face, half hidden by dark hair and bed linens, and whispered, “So what, in the name of Jesus, is he?” It was a question he’d pondered, one way or another, off and on, for sixty years. He didn’t expect an answer, but he got one.
“A soul,” said Edward Behr, “looking for God.”
Vincenzo Giulani stared at the fat little man standing in the hallway and then at Sandoz, sleeping drugged against an assault on his own body, and wondered, What if that’s been it, all along?”