THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA - { THE ABBESS TOLD US } - [ PART. 4 ]

[ PART. 1 ] - THE ABBESS TOLD US that you are only at Santa Maria for a year, Father Abbadelli, said Marcello. Christiano, who had a spooned a mouthful of minestrone, swallowed it quickly to reply. Please, call me Father Christano...Yes, Monsignor Luka Basso requested that I gave my services for twelve months. He dabbed his lips with his serviette. So you are on loan? He smiled. It would seem so. The priest who was to take on the role had a car accident breaking a few ribs, both his legs and an arm. Marcello made the sign of the cross. And if you were not here, Father? I was to continue my studies for a Doctorate in Theology. Ah, I see, said Marcello, looking impressed. What do you do, Marcello? I am the janitor at Santa Maria. So I shall see you every day. Do you every day. Do you attend mass at Santa Maria? Yes, the Abbess permits me to attend with Agostina on Sundays. Father Cavallo is a wonderful minister, but he was forced to retire, due to his hip. Such a bad fall. I was right there when it happened. It was as if an invisible force pushed him down the stairs.                                                                                     ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 2 } - He had just one more step to take before reaching ground so the priest who should have taken his place had a nasty accident, and Father Cavallo fell down the stairs. What a strange chapter of accidents has brought me here said Christiano. He retire in one month, yes? As far as I known, Father, he has already retired, and you are his replacement. But while his sister is preparing his room, he is staying on to help you settle into your new role. It would seem you are now officially the priest of Santa Maria. More zuppa, Father? asked Agostina. No thank you, that was delicious. How about some homemade gelato? Thank you, but I never eat dessert. After dinner, I like to go for a walk. I find that it not only helps me to digest, but I sleep better.Would you like some help in the kitchen before I go? I would not hear of it, Father.                                           ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 3 } - Enjoy your walk. Christiano left the house and walked along a freshly tarred road, through a dimly lit village. The street lamps emitted a red-orange hue that drenched the surroundings in a sepiatone, like an old Victorian photopraph. He walked past a gaggle of teenagers gathered outside a cafe that was closed for the night. The boys and girls quickly stamped out their cigarettes, waving their hands in front of their faces to disperse the smoke. The young girls gazed lustfully at his athletic torso and exchanged dreamy looks. Hello, Father, they said in unison; though he thought he detected a couple of provocative voices among them. Nodding his head dutifully, he said, God bless you! He continued down a winding road. The uneven pavements became narrow dirt tracks. Soon he could hear the ripple of the ocean and smell the salty sea air.              -------------------------------------------------------------------------------     { PART. 4 } - He pushed his handkerchief against his nose and popped a ginger sweet into his mouth, turned on his heel and briskly walked uphill towards the Village centre. He turned right down a deserted lane, lined with clothing boutiques and shoe shops. Suddenly, he stumbled upon an old man sitting in the middle of the road holding a quarter-full bottle of whisky and muttering nonsensically. The man looked up, saw the priest and said, Forgive me my sins, Father. Christiano helped him to his feet, walked him to the parade running the length of the shops and sat him down on the pavement. Seek confession, and it is done. They told me you were coming. Who? The man laughed, rising from the ground. He looked straight at Christiano. His laughter died. Then he said, in a hushed voice of wonder, You bear the mark. He set off round the corner without another word. A curious Christiano pursued the mysterious drunkard, but he had vanished. Instead, there ahead of him was a large stone wall with black iron gates in the shape of a pointed arch. As he walked closer, he could just make out the sign under the subtle street lighting: Santa Maria Ladorata. He reached the gates and attempted to catch a glimpse of what lay behind the dense barricades, but they were unrelenting. He finally looked away and instead fixed his gaze on the looming image of the Virgin Mary set against a purple-blue, starlit sky.