The girl went in to the forest to collect mushrooms, though she may have stopped to smoke a joint or take some antihistamines. And she later told Father Collins she twice stopped to masturbate. The papers reported that her name was Ann Holmes, a waif-like 16-year-old who had been sexually abused by her stepfather but now lived alone in North Fork forest in Oregon.

"The Virgin Mary has come to me," said Ann dreamily. "She wants us to build a church in the forest."

Carolyn Greer was also a stereotype. She was a plump, dope-smoking mushroom picker with an eye on the main chance and keen to befriend Ann. "Let's go back to the forest to see if the apparition returns."

"Oh look, there's the Virgin Mary again," sighed Ann. "I don't feel very well. I think I've got a temperature."

The following day several more people joined them. By the end of the week more than a thousand people were camped out in the forest.

"The Blessed Mother still wants us to build a church," Ann cried. "Give me some Tylenol, I'm still not well."

Father Collins was another stereotype. He was riven with self-doubt over the works of Aquinas and Saint Augustine and predisposed to onanism. "Am I really bad?" he intoned, while self-flagellating.

Tom Cross had appeared in dozens of Bruce Springsteen songs: a blue-collar worker, driven to despair by the economy and a loveless marriage. "I am a bad, bad man," he yelled. "My son uz paralysed because of ma hatred. I called him a pussy and a tree fell on him while we wuz out loggin'."

"We must build that church, Father," Ann pleaded. "But I am not baptised. I will not be saved."

"You're looking a bit peaky," replied Father Collins, trying to get a glimpse of her underwear. "Are you sure you're not on drugs?"

"Of course, she's on drugs," snapped Father Butler, the bishop's delegate and yet another lazily drawn character. "She is not part of God's plan like Sister Catherine Labouré."

"You're so knowledgeable," said Father Collins. "This must be literary fiction."

"See how the holy water flows," Ann whispered slowly. "I'm feeling worse and worse."

"Hang on in there," said Carolyn. "The crowd is throwing money at us."

"I want some of that water to cure ma son," yelled Tom.

"Step away from that woman," shouted Carolyn, who had just stuffed $10,000 into her duffel bag.

"The church," groaned Ann, as she slumped to the floor.

Father Collins looked around the nave. His was now the finest church in Oregon. There in the sacristy, Tom prepared the wafers for the first communion. Carolyn rushed in. "I killed her. I was going to steal the money."

"Calm yourself. She died of a fever," Father Collins replied, making a sign of the cross. "Blessed are the gullible: for they shall buy this book."

The digested read... digested

Feeble US whimsy that splutters on a wing and a prayer.