[ CHAPTER TWO ] - ( PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA ) - { PART. 14 }

{ PART. 1 } - Christiano awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and a room immersed in darkness. He turned on the table lamp, yawned as he scratched his chest, and checked the time on his alarm clock. It was 5.30 AM. He kicked the sheets away and rose out of bed. True to his word to Marcello, he approached Nicolas's photo, where he lit a candle and muttered a prayer. When he'd complete his blessing, he switched on all three fans, pulled a mat from his suitcase and placed it on the cemented floor. He took a seat, positioned himself into lotus pose, shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths before moving into a handstand. He then brought his legs up and over his legs up and over his head to finish with the soles of his feet on the crown of his head--Taraksvasana pose. He continued to perform various yoga poses before finishing with a cold shower and proceeding to breakfast. Agostina greeted him with a wide smile.       ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 2 } - Good morning, Father. Good morning. No Marcello? No Father, he ready left. The breakfast table was loaded with cornetti, bread rolls, jam and figs. Christiano was suddenly hungry. Did you have a good sleep, Father? said Agostina as she placed a cup of espresso on the table. Thank you...Actually, I was a little restless. I met a drunkard in the street last night and...Oh, so you saw Philippe, she said. He has had a great sorrow in his life. Did Marcello tell you about Nicolas? He did. I am sorry for your loss. Thank you, Father. Philippe's two sons were with Nicolas, and they also drowned. He lost his wife a week later. Grief-stricken, she took her own life. A tragedy. Yes, Father. It was a difficult time. What happened? A freak storm, Father. The sea claimed our children. They would have been a little older than you now. Agostina's eyes glistened. I will pray for you all. We appreciate that, Father.                                                       ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 3 } - CHRISTIANO STROLLED THROUGH THE stone-brick village towards thee convent, which, in daylight, he could now see towering above the rest of the suburban buildings on the crest of a hill. The bell tower sprouted defiantly above the gates as if determined to be seen. Standing at the highest point, it rang proudly, summoning all to its call. The morning was warm and fresh with a crystal blue sky that promised another scorching day. He walked beneath the Romanesque arches, which formed columns connecting the opposite buildings to each other. The narrow streets curved and undulated round the small suburb which was crowded with buildings constructed on an old medieval fortification. With each turn, he chanced upon a hidden treasure of quaint village streets and ally-ways, and the bustle of people starting their day. He strolled by shops selling fishing tackle, trinkets and fine embroidery. A market was just opening its doors. He chose a different route from the previous night's walk, stumbling upon Piazza di Nettuno, lined with cafes, restaurants and bakeries brimming with queuing customers. In the centre stood an impressive fountain with a hefty stone statue of Neptune sitting on a rock, his trident in hand and his hair and beard carved like the waves of the ocean. The children sat on a stone bench bordering the fountain, each munching on a cornetto. The chocolate filling trickled down their chins. Morning Father, they said happily as he passed.                                                   --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 4 } - Bless you, children. Others sat having breakfast at the tables around the piazza. A man in an apron swept the floor outside his restaurant, while another set the tables. Each person greeted Christiano with a polite hello and nod. He strolled with his head held high, his spine as straight as an arrow and his hands at his sides, responding to each greeting with a gracious smile and a nod in return, until he reached the gates of Santa Maria. He dabbed his perspiring brow with a handkerchief as he pressed the buzzer. Welcome to Santa Maria L'adorata. How can we be of service? replied the polite female voice. Father Christiano Abbadelli to see Father Franco Cavallo. The gates opened and Christiano entered the courtyard. An old brick well stood in the centre of the grounds with an antiquated wooden bucket suspended above it. Ahead of him was the entrance to the abbey where double doors formed a Gothic arch doorway. To his left, fenced by an arcade, was a pathway; an entire wall of modern windows spread its length, revealing a library where a few nuns were reading. To his right stood another arcade, and through a circular window, he could see two nuns sitting at their desks. The arcades bloomed with climbing rose bushes of red, cerise, white and yellow--pruned with precision, so they only lined the stone walls.                                                                                                    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 5 } - It was clear the buildings to his left and right were modern extensions while the arches were remnants of the original building. As aged nun stood patiently at the doorway. She wore her black serge habit pinched in at her slender waist by a white rope. She gave Christiano a mild greeting smile. Welcome, Father Abbedelli. I'm Sister Celeste. Father Cavallo is waiting for you in the chapel. Please follow me. Sister. Christiano nodded as he stepped into the corridor. He gasped when he saw his new surroundings. Stone bricks the colour of rust and burnt sienna--some cracked and chipped from age--formed irregular walls and gave a cold but characteristic feel to the abbey. Directly ahead of him was a water fountain that had been carved into the wall, forming part of its structure. It was overlaid by fading mosaic tiles which spread to the wall above, forming the image of a famous painting. Tell me sister, is this based on The Crowning of the Virgin by the Trinity, by Velasquez? I think so. A beautiful representation, he said and paused to study it more closely before following Sister Celeste.                                                           ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 6 } - She turned right and opened a wooden door that led to a generously sized cloister skirted by a Romanesque arcade. A cypress tree stood erect in its centre. Two nuns sat reading on stone benches bordering the square. They did not look up. To his left was a two-storeyed building that he assumed were the nuns dormitories. Sister Celeste continued along a short corridor with white-washed walls and rooms hidden behind closed doors. She reached a set of arched doors and pushed them open, leading Christiano to the chapel nave. He was at once plunged into a cool penumbra, soothing after the sun's bright glare. Stained-glass windows high in the chapel walls were the sole source of natural light. The sun streamed a potpourri of hues through the coloured glass, exposing dust that clung to the air and created a mystical atmosphere. There was a tranquil silence throughout the basilica that seemed to diffuse a feeling of peace on anyone who entered. Sister Celeste nodded and left. A rotund old priest holding a cane slowly hobbled towards him with a smile that did its best to disguise discomfort. Greetings, Father Abbadelli. Father Cavallo extended his hand and Christiano received it with a slight smile.                                                                                           ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 7 } - Have you settled well into your dwellings? Yes, Father. Thank you. Marcello and Agostina are good, pious people. Yes, they are pure of heart. He studied Christiano's face with a reminiscent glint in his eyes. You know, I remember my first day fresh out of the seminary. I was desperate to begin my work; a young whipersnapper eager to preach the word of God and change the world. Oh the years, how indiscriminately they pass and with such speed. How old are you, Father Christiano? Twenty-seven. And a great life ahead of you, I have no doubt... Well, this is our chapel. The convent dates from 1157, and as you can see the chapel has maintained most of its original, Romanesque features. Beautiful, said Christiano as he stared up at the patterned herringbone ceiling. As you can see Our Lady of the Chapel stands to prayer above us. A monochrome sculpture of the Virgin Mary was suspended eight feet in the air. She wore a compassionate expression as she gazed down at the congregation, her hands clasped in prayer. He stood awestruck. Was she made by a famous sculptor? No, back then the abbey was a dwelling for monks.                                                                             ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 8 } - They moved to the Abbey of Fossanova to join the friars there in the sixteenth century, and the monastery became a convent. It was one of the monks, a talented Friar Rodolfo back in the twelfth century, who sculpted Our Lady from the local mountain stone... Did you have much of a chance to look around? A little as I walked. Well, we have a very talented group of nuns at Santa Maria. The dear sisters are successfully running an organic vegetable and herb garden, they embroider the most magnificent tablecloths and bed sheets, they make jam from our very own orchard, and they make pottery. Yes, I hear. The abbey shop is just opposite. He motioned tonhis right. It runs by the side of Via Scala. . . Well, the Abbess is keen to meet you before lunch. Father Cavallo hobbled to a wheel-chair parked by a pew. If you don't mind pushing, I will direct. Of course. Father Cavallo led Christiano across the cloister. It's very quiet. I've only seen a handful of sisters, said Christiano.     --------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 9 } - Most are attending to duties in the convent, and some are out amongest the community. You will meet most of them at lunch. They reached the end of the cloister and took a sharp left. Father Franco rapped lightly on a door with his cane. Enter! They entered a rectangular office. Light flooded through a skylight that formed the entire roof. A tall, distinguished, elderly woman walked towards them, her hands overlapping at her navel. This must be Father Abbadelli. Welcome, Father. I am Abbess Francesca Rossini, she said with a welcoming smile. It's an honour to be here, he replied shaking her hand. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a collection of iconographic sketches pinned to a ccork board on the wall. One of the drawings had an increbible likeness to the Abbess. All the drawings were in monochrome, except for one, which was a richly coloured sketch of the entrance to the abbey, with the climbing rose bushes in full bloom. Christiano was captivated by the artwork. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 10 } - Marcello tells me that you have settled in well. He likes you very much. Yes, it's a peaceful home, he said, forcing his gaze away from the sketches. I do so enjoy the meditative life. Indeed. Here at Santa Maria many of our sisters like to practise spiritual silence. Not all of us have taken a vow of silence, but generally, words are few and only spoken with good intention. Christiano nodded. What is more important then allowing time for prayer and quiet contemplation with the Lord? You most certainly seem an ideal replacement for our Father Franco, even if it is a temporary position. He will be greatly missed though. I will do my best to fill his humble shoes. . . I must say, the convent is quite beautiful. Please, allow me to give you a tour. If you don't mind I'll be on my way, said Father Cavallo, it has been a pleasure. I shall see you at lunch. He wheeled himself away leaving Christiano with the Abbess. Let us walk and talk, she said. As they stepped into the corridor, they met the nun who had greeted him at the front gate. You've met Sister Celeste, said the Abbess. I've had the pleasure.       ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 11 } - Sister Celeste nodded politely and continued past them and down the corridor. I don't know what I would do without her. She is my right arm. Christiano smiled. As you have no doubt noticed, the architecture is an eclectic mix of periods and influences, but we think it adds character. The Abbess led Christiano back towards the chapel. They passed through the cloister and walked down a corridor until she opened the door to a frugally furnished recreation room. The overpowering scent of fresh thyme, rosemary, basil and lavender wafted through open patio doors and circled them like buzzing bees. In the garden, two nuns collected herbs and placed them in a woven basket, while two others did the same in the vegetable garden. The two of them walked on-wards, meandering through a fragrant grove of lemon, quince, cherry and fig trees, rampant with delectable, ripe fruit. At the end of the grove was a cemetery, which led to a pathway, after which they re-entered the corridors via a side door by the preserve kitchen.                                 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   { PART. 12 } - Inside, nuns prepared homemade jam, bed linen, biscuits, vases and crockery. From there, they entered a quaint shop that had the familiar characteristic stone brick walls. a large iron crucifix hung on the wall above the till, and to the left a large tapestry of the Virgin Mary. Ah, a representation of the Sistine Madonna by Raphael; commissioned by Pope Julius II in 1512, said Christiano. You know your art, Father. A great love of mine. The Madonna is holding the Christ Child and at her sides are Saint Barbara. They stand on clouds, and two distinctive winged cherubs rest on their elbows beneath her. Stunning! The nun working in the shop shut and locked the door leading to Via Scala. Lunchtime already, said the Abbess. They retraced their steps to the preserve kitchen and from there into the corridor. Such a creative and productive community, said Christiano. Yes, we keep busy. Personal time for prayer and contemplation is important, but we also believe that it can be accomplished through artistic pursuits. Exactly my reason for my love of art. I look upon a piece, and it's as if I'm staring into the face of God. Are you an artist? Alas, no. I can only admire, not create. Perhaps, if you had been an artist you would never have entered the priesthood. That will have to remain a mystery.                                                                                                 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 13 } - They both chuckled as they refectory where Father Cavallo and a group of nuns sat around a long wooden table. The dining room was plainly furnished but modern, with smooth white walls, one of which had large windows over-looking the cloister. As soon as the Abbess entered, the nuns rose in venerable salutation, their hands in prayer and bowing their heads. The Abbess introduced Christiano. As he sat at the table, he saw out of the corner of his eye a woman, not dressed as a nun, but in a long, grey hooded cloak. She came out of the kitchen with a large pot of soup and laid it on the table. He eyed her curiously, unable to see her face; just young, smooth, olive-skinned hands, long and delicate, with a gold, heart-shaped ring on the little finger of her left hand. She disappeared as swiftly as she had appeared--without a word, her head still bowed. Father Christiano, we would be honoured if you would say the lunchtime prayer, said the Abbess.                                                        ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 14 } - The honour would be mine. They all bowed their heads. Bless us Oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.               ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------