The conversation between Dahlia and her brother continued over salami sandwiches. The tang of the salami and mustard, surrounded by the comforting white bread, was a sublime pleasure.
"So you're possessed? Like Linda Blair? Are you alright? You seem okay. In fact, you never looked better."
"Yeah, I'm okay," said Dahlia. "but I'm her now."
"No, I know you. You were always smart, like I said."
"Maybe I was always her."
"Then her is you. You're you!"
"Smart is one thing. I know things I couldn't possibly know. I know things St. Catherine couldn't know. Just today I realized I know Italian."
"What?" asked Billy. "How did you learn Italian?"
"I didn't. I just know it. Or... or it's because I heard someone talk Italian once. I think that's what it is. I'm like a super-absorbent sponge. Anything I touch I absorb it completely. Sometimes I pass people on the street, I don't even know what language they're speaking, but I understand what they're saying."
"That's... impossible. Jesus."
"Catherine's the saint of education."
"So it's like you got bit by a radioactive saint."
Dahlia spit out her salami. "Ha! Yech!"
"So, what are we going to do about this?"
"We?" asked Dahlia. "Don't you have your own problems?"
"I think my problem is that I think too much about my own problems."
"Damn! I never thought I'd hear you say that."
"Change is in the air, I guess."
"We're going to Rome," declared Dahlia.
"You asked what we were going to do about it."
"That's where she died."
"But what about this Jesus guy you're so crazy about?"
"Sometimes you have to help yourself before you can help somebody else."
"Good for you."
"I was talking about him."
"You, too. You always did have a little bit of a martyr complex."
"Ha! Now I've got a great big one!"
"How are we going to get to Rome? You got money?"
"Nope," she said, reaching for the phone. She dialed information.
"Hello," she said, "get me the Pope... uh-huh... uh-huh... no... all right... well, get me the Archbishop or something."
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