The angels speak of it still, that evening when the Son approached the Father and said in a romanced tongue: Je suis responsable de ma rose. Or, as the angels understood, I am responsible for those I love. The Father was well pleased with his beloved, threw his arms around his neck to kiss him. Then he ordered Slowly, remove the best robe from his shoulders, take my ring off his hand, unshod his feet, put away our wine and song. We will feast no more for my Son is now lost, he will surely die. And so began the Father’s ache. The angels would witness him each evening, standing at the gate, waiting and watching.