Correspondent in Jerusalem,
James appears to have Jerusalem syndrome.
He does not take himself for the Messiah but resembles him.
Wearing an ecru tunic, he wears a beard and long hair, walks barefoot on the cobblestones of the alleys of the old town, leaning on a pilgrim's staff.
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Her silhouette is familiar.
Every day that God makes, this Hierosolymitan of American origin goes to the Holy Sepulcher, where he spent his days and sometimes his nights.
During his nocturnal stays, he slipped inside the presumed tomb of Christ and prayed on the marble bench in the obscure little room.
The virus broke that sequencing.
James loses his Latin.
When the door of the building remains closed he settles down on the square watching the hours go by.
When it is open for a mass in a small committee, he has no access to the tomb closed to the public for ten months.
He then meditates with a grave face in one of the innumerable corners of the place of worship.
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I will come back
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