Publisher: Infinity Publishing
Publication Date: June 2009
# of Pages: 307
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About Mike Manos
Mike Manos is professor of Economics and a scholar of History and archaeology. He is also a poet and a freelance writer. God’s Poor is his first novel.
About God’s Poor
The sudden deaths of pregnant women rock the world.
A deadly virus causes world panic.
A dangerous heresy reemerges from the misty past.
The Catholic and Orthodox Christian Churches face an unknown enemy.
Mossant reveals dangerous secrets that threaten religious foundations.
The quest for immortality leads to the first Jerusalem and incredible revelations.
Finally an earthquake produced by HAARP gives a temporary solution.
Jesus said,” Know what is in front of your face and what is hidden from you will be disclosed to you. For there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed.”
Gospel of Thomas, 5
Jorje Matanas woke up abruptly. His silky purple pajamas were soaked in sweat even though the climate control of his mansion kept the temperature steady at 21 Celsius all year round.
The dream seemed to him alive. He was inside a low stone cottage. In front of him stood an ascetic elongated monk of undeterminable age, dressed with a dark blue hooded cassock fastened around his waist with a rope. On the center of his cassock there was a white symbol, like a cross but with the upper line replaced by a circle. The monk had a light white beard, black charcoal eyes and hollow cheeks, like a figure painted by El Greco. A milky white light filled the cottage. A force pushed Matanas on his knees and he kissed the monk’s bare toes. The monk put his right hand on Matanas’ head and his caved voice echoed inside his mind.
“Welcome, my brother. I was waiting for you.”
The soft ring of the phone found Matanas sitting in the middle of the bed trying to get over the dream. He picked up the phone.
“Senor?” the old butler’s voice was heard on the other end of the line.
“What is it, Juan?”
“Senior, it is 6 in the morning and I ask you to forgive me. A monk is here and he insists that he has an appointment with you now. What should I do?”
Matanas was shaken and nearly dropped the phone. “Take him to the living room. I will be there in a minute.” Still soaked in sweat, he went to the bath off his bedroom, washed his face and neck, and wiped himself with a white towel monogrammed in dark blue thread with his initials. He took a silk burgundy robe from his closet, slid his feet into the matching slippers to the side of the door, and made his way down the marble staircase .On the ground floor he went to the open, hand-carved wooden door with its four impressive gold emblems and entered the huge royal living room, sumptuously decorated with thick blue-white rugs, red velvet sofas and heavy chandeliers.
A short, skinny monk with a long white beard stood next to the low marble table close to the door. He wore a plain grey hooded cassock fastened at the waist with a rope. Matanas was shocked when he saw on the left side of the cassock the white symbol of his dream.
He approached the monk and gave him a handshake, trying to hide his impatience. He was surprised that although the monk looked very old, his grip was quite strong. The monk smiled at Matanas.
“God is merciful. I am Friar Jose from the order of the Pure. Theophilus, our guide, sends me. You have already met him,” he said in a way that made Matanas shiver.
“But how?” Matanas whispered. “What’s happening?”
“Don’t ask. He is waiting for you. The flight for Salonica is scheduled for 10 a.m. You must not say a word to anyone about where you are going. There you will visit the Ministry of Northern Greece, where you will get a permit to visit Mount Athos, the Holy Mountain. You will arrive there by boat from Ouranoupolis. They will wait for you. Don’t bring anything with you, just some money for the trip and your passport.”
The monk paused and handed Matanas a small open grey envelope with the same white symbol on its left side. “All the instructions are written inside the envelope,” he continued. “God have mercy, my brother.”
The monk turned and walked towards the door. Matanas followed him, looking puzzled.
“But I don’t understand,” he stuttered. “I have to leave today at 10 a.m. for Salonica?”
The monk stood at the entrance to the living room. The old butler appeared to be trying to button his jacket. Without turning his head, the monk spoke again. “He is waiting for you tomorrow, you know that. Don’t delay.” He walked to the door without saying anything else.