Two stories with a touch of mystery: Christianity and Judaism meet in a church; The power of a tropical island.

From Tenebrae:

Then he moves. I have forgotten about him in the soothing eternity of the psalms. Now he stands, and makes his slow, deliberate walk to the large, old lectern in the centre of the sanctuary. In his black cassock and white surplice he is not so much my Edward, or even Father Edward, as he is an anonymous servant of God. He stands at the leather-hung lectern that has been put before the altar, his back to me, to the congregation. There is deep silence. Then he lifts his head and sings. His voice is the sound of beauty. The mournful tune curls around the sanctuary and washes over us: “Here beginneth the Lamentation of Jeremiah the Prophet.” He breathes in and then calls out “Aleph,” extending the syllables into five or six notes. “Aleph,” I hear in my head and close my eyes in shock. It’s as if I’m in my university room 15 years ago, repeating what Daniel has just said. “Aleph.” “Bet,” he continues, and I mimic him. Daniel’s right hand is holding my left; our fingers entwine. “Good,” he says. “That’s the beginning of the alephbet.” I shift my head on his bare shoulder and absently correct him. “The alphabet.” He softly touches my nose with his forefinger. “The alephbet. The Hebrew alphabet is called the alephbet. Did you know that in New York City, you can buy Campbell’s Alephbet soup?”