VIIThey’d speak of it in the days ahead as the Santiago Miracle, for that’s what it had been, as surely as the sun crosses the sky. Nor would there be a single dissenting voice—not even Peter—or any attempt whatsoever at explaining it away. For the simple fact was they should not have made it: they should not have veritably glided through the water only to meet sudden resistance on the opposite bank, where the boulders snapped the axles and burst the tires, laying the bus low.
“It had been like Moses parting the Red Sea,” Sheila would say, and no one would laugh—at least no one who had been there—while still others would claim they had felt the bus literally rise upon the water, fording the river like a hydrofoil.
Lost in the celebration—at least at first—had been the fact that something
