THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA - { CHAPTER. FOUR } - [ PART. 12 ]

{ PART. 1 } - Entering the convent infirmary was like walking through a time warp. Jagged cracks ran along the neglected white-washed walls, and iron bedsteads looking like leftovers from the First World War lined each side of the room. The pungent odour of disinfectant took Christiano's olfactory senses hostage as he looked round the ward for the nurse, while the incessant drip... drip... drip from leaky taps shrilled in the silence. A buxom face with rose-flushed cheeks poked out of the bleached surgical curtains that concealed a portion of the room. I'll be with you shortly, Father Abbadelli. Please take a seat on the bed, over there. The nurse signalled with her had as she spoke. Christiano reached the bed and noticed a small television set nearby--a relic from the seventies. He switched it on and twisted the volume knob all the way down, to mute the sound. Father Christiano! called the Abbess from the doorway. She walked in, arm-in-arm with Father Cavallo whose face was straining from the climb up the stairs. Sister Celeste informed me that you had arrived. How are you feeling after a few days rest? The reached his side, and she beamed a warming smile, while Father Cavallo dabbed the sweat from his forehead and tried to catch his breath. The Abbess inched closer to Christiano. May I take a look at the wound? Of course, said Christiano. It's just a graze. I was lucky. Sister Carmina said that my head must be made of steel... Father Franco, you should not have climbed the stairs in your condition.       ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 2 } - Nonsense, I refuse to be an invalid. It is good to see you well, my friend. Do you remember what Happened? Why you were standing on a chair? asked the Abbess. With all the fuss I didn't have a chance to ask. I was just clearing cobwebs from our Lady when the chair gave way. Really Father, we have a ladder and a dusting brush for that. At least you could have waited until daylight, said Father Cavallo. Christiano's lips pursed in mild amusement. It seems that any priest who works here meets with a mysterious accident, said Father Cavallo. I am glad to retire. It has become a perilous job. And what will you do, Father Franco? asked the Abbess, amused. Well, if I'm honest I'll be bored out of my wits. I'll need a new hobby. My preference is to lead a cloistered life among my brothers, take a vow of silence and write my memoirs--somewhere where they make fine wine. The reality, however, is a hip replacement and rehabilitation under the supervision of my sister, Fiorella--a woman of deep compassion but a teetotal, strict disciplinarian. The Abbess and Christiano laughed. Santa Maria will be a dull place without our jolly Father Franco and his shenanigans, said the Abbess. In mid-chuckle, Father Cavallo stopped. He leaned towards Christiano and put his spectacles on. How extraordinary.       ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 3 } - your mole has a cruciform shape. Right there beneath your left eye. He pointed. I've never noticed it before. Have you. Abbess? The Abbess cocked her head and moved in closer with a squint in her eye. Oh, yes. How odd. Were you born with it? I think so. I have had it for as long as I can remember. People are always intrigued. Well, it's certainly fitting for a priest, said Father Cavallo. The surgical curtains parted with a jingle and Sister Carmina stepped into the ward, followed by Angelica, whose luminous presence seemed to transform the room into a starlit sky. The Abbess shifted uneasily, and her face suddenly appeared burdened. Father, I must leave. Please take it easy today. She walked towards Angelica and chatted for a moment with Sister Carmina. I must go, too, said Father Cavallo. I wish to pop to the library. I shall see you in the chapel in due course. Be ready to take confession. Christiano nodded. Do you need help with the stairs? Father Cavallo shook his head and waved his hand in the air in a dismissive manner.                                           ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  { PART. 4 } - Christiano smiled and shook his head in astonishment as the old man, came in hand, limped with surprising speed to the door. He turned his attention to the women but found himself distracted by the fuzzy television screen to his side. A black limousine was passing through the gates of the Vatican. The back seat window was slightly open and a man with a full head of lustrous silver hair, on top of which sat red skullcap, smiled and nodded at the cameras. The headlines at the bottom of the screen appeared with the words Cardinal Casar Beltz, Perfect of the Miracles Commission, leaving the Vatican after a meeting with His Holiness Pope Leo XIV. How are you feeling, Father? Christiano turned to face Sister Carmina, Much better, Sister. Thank you. Marcello and Agostina kindly took turns and watched over me the night of the accident. I slept like a log. Unfortunately, they did not. Well, you could have stayed here. I should have insisted, but you were adamant to leave. How stubborn you can be, Father Abbadelli! My apologies if I appeared abrupt and rude.                                                                      ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  { PART. 5 } - It was the fall, I am sure. you were quite spooked as if you'd seen a ghost. It seems the psychological impact was worse than the physical damage. She inspected the wound. Well, it's practically healed. As I said, head of steel. He smiled. Thank you, and I'm sorry for being so much trouble. I shall keep my feet firmly on the ground next time, unless, of course, I want another two days rest. Ah, humour! You're definitely better. christiano left the infirmary and made his way to the chapel, hoping to be alone for a while. His hopes were dashed by a nun in the front pew kneeling before the Virgin sculpture. To his relief, she got up to leave. She bowed her head as she walked past him. Sister. He nodded and waited until she was gone before he entered the transept crossing. His large pupils gawped in wonderment at the stone sculpture that only days ago had seemed to come to life. As the Venerable Mary returned a loving gaze of motherly affection, the image before his eyes lost all focus. Christiano was sure he caught a fleeting flicker--a flash of Angelica's anguished face metamorphosed over Mary's.                                      ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  { PART. 6 } - He blinked, and it was gone, like a rogue slide in a roll of film. Christiano! followed in a whisper. As unmistakable as a blot of lighting, his name reverberated through the old bones of the timeworn basilica. The room seemed to spin. He grasped hold of the altar table and stood aghast as his cheeks drained of life and his breath laboured in his chest. Father Christiano! announced Father Cavallo as he entered the chapel. Still looking for cobwebs? He turned to him and tried to gain his composure. I think I got them all, he replied weakly. Are you all right? You look quite pale. Has Sister Carmina given you a clean bill of health? I'm fine, Father Franco, and ready to resume my duties. Well, if you're sure. He continued to look at him; clearly concerned... Our sisters are due at any moment. Would you like to take the booth? Yes, of course. He entered the cubicle and collapsed on the seat, his head in a whirl. Perspiration seeped from his forehead like a running tap of water. He wiped it away with his sleeve and took deep breaths to calm himself. As his breathing normalised, he heard the shuffle of someone enter the confessional and take a seat. The nun cleared her throat. He slid the grille open and caught the movement of black, and little else. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession. His eyes widened as he heard the familiar voice. What is the nature of your sin, Sister? he asked with a steady tone. Father, why do you think God favours sinners over the pious? He rubbed his temple, nervously. I do not think that he does.                                     ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ { PART. 7 } - A partial quote by MATTHEW  5:45 describes it best. ... He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the God, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. . . Do you think Jesus fornicated with a prostitute? Sister, how are you feeling since the last time we spoke? He squinted his eyes and looked through the grille, but the image was a formless blur. Father, it is fruitless to try to recognise my voice as I am holding a piece of fabric over my mouth. I have come to recognise your expression, Sister. That is all... Now name your sin or be gone. I know that you are not here for lessons in bible study. Why would God favour a dirty whore over a nun? His jaw clenched. I ask you to moderate your tone, Sister. my apologies, Father. Polite rhetoric has left me nothing but barren. Sister, I'm afraid for you. There is something in your tone that is beyond reasoning. Perhaps it's too late to save me, Father. I will nevertheless try if you would give me the opportunity. It is far too late for that. It is through idle hands that Satan does his bidding, and I kept mine busy with prayer for over forty years. I prayed devoutly, and it has left me nothing but bitterness and anger. He never answered my prayers or saved me from the demons that tormented me every day of my life.                                                                                             ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 8 } - I wanted to feel a man's touch; a man's love. I wanted to experience a child growing inside me, to give birth and to see my child grow into an adult, but instead, he cursed me and forced me to watch his predilection for whores. Sister, I ask you again to watch your tone. All men prefer whores, and you are no exception. Christiano punched his fist against his thigh. Enough! Instead of coming to me full of penitence and begging for God's forgiveness, you continue to sin. I have tried to help you, to give you hope, to listen to your dilemma, but you continue to dishonour our Lord and me. It is time to see the error of your ways. You must seek help! You must repent! There was silence. Christiano pounced up from his seat and burst out of the booth to find the door open and the chamber once again empty. Mystified, he looked quickly round the chapel. Father Cavallo, who was speaking with a group of nuns, looked at him with a worried expression. Father Christiano, are you okay? Christiano hastened to the corridor and then ran along the hallway to the cloister.                                                                                           ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ { PART. 9 } - The sun filtered through the antiquated, stone arches, highlighting Angelica's presence in the corridor. The cook, Sister Immaculata, pointed a finger in Angelica's face, as if in rebuke. When he saw them, he stopped, quickly hid behind one of the pillars and glanced furtively round the stone column. Angelica was motionless, clutching something to her chest. Finally, the cook withdrew her finger and walked away. With slow, hesitant steps, Christiano moved away from his hiding place. Angelica whipped her head round. Don't be afraid. . . Is everything okay? From the narrowing distance between them, he noticed, clutched to her chest, sheets of paper, and on the back of one of them was a sketch. You're an artist? Angelica gave a slight, irresolute nod. He continued to move towards her, delicately. Your style resembles some sketches in the Abbess's office. Are they yours, too? Once again, she nodded, saying nothing. You are very talented. . . May I look? He gently reached his hand towards her, but Angelica took a giant leap backwards and ran down the corridor. She paused just once to look back before she disappeared into her dormitory. Christiano lifted his hand to his cheek as if in reaction to a bitter sting from a slap.             ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ { PART. 10 } - He stared down the empty corridor, his heart beating like a racehorse's and his mind befuddled with intrigue and curiosity. LATER THAT EVENING, MARCELLO sat at the kitchen table, which had been attractively set for dinner. He read a newspaper while Agostina prepared dinner. Freshly made spaghetti lay on a towel in wait for the pot of water on the stove to reach boiling point. A flaming red sauce bubbled, filling the kitchen with a sweet, peppery aroma. She waved away the steam and placed a lid on the pot. Do you think he'll have dinner this evening? asked Agostina. I don't know. He's not been himself since the fall. The clomping of steps silenced them as they looked eagerly at the kitchen entrance. Christiano appeared. I am off for a little walk. No dinner, Father? Maybe later, if it's not an imposition? Not at all, Father. I'll put some aside for you. He nodded politely and left. Agostina and Marcello turned to each other. Marcello shrugged.                                             OUTSIDE, THE INTENSE HEAT of the day had surrendered to the subtle evening breeze, and the most dominant sound was the incessant buzz of mosquitoes overpowered by the odd car or scooter speeding by. The air was filled with the smells of home cooking. Garlic, basil and tomato wafted through the air as people dined alfresco on the front porches of their homes.                                       ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 11 } - He walked in deep contemplation. Every now and then he took a glimpse at the happy families gathered round their dinner tables. Join us, Father, called out one man. Thank you, another time. God bless you, he replied, as he continued his journey. He entered Piazza di Nettuno, which was bustling with punters enjoying their wine and feasting on a smorgasbord of food, and sat with eyes closed on a bench by the fountain. Father! announced a deep, croaky voice. He opened his eyes to see Philippe staggering towards him. Philippe, how are you? You know me, Father? Any friend of Marcello and Agostina is a friend of mine. We lost our children, Father. He slumped down on the seat next to him and wiped the silent tears from his eyes. I am aware of your tragedy, and I am deeply sorry for your loss. Philippe continued in a low murmuring sob. He drowned it in a swig from his bottle of whisky. I sometimes think God punished me by taking my sons and my wife. I never appreciated what I had until they were gone.                                       ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- { PART. 12 } - The acknowledgement of your sins is the first step to forgiveness. He took another gulp of his drink. Yes Father, I confess, I was a bastard to them. I used to stay out late. I sinned against my wife. I was a bad role model to my sons. I showed no love, nor care. Philippe, while confession is what you need, it must not be made in your current state of inebriation. Perhaps if you would take steps to sobriety, I could take your confession and. . . I'm a lost cause, Father. If only there was a way to redeem myself. He stood up and turned to face him. You know, Father, shortly before your arrival I began to have visions. What kind of visions? They told me you were coming--the man with the mark of Christ. They are calling on you soon. Be ready! Philippe, what are you talking about? Philippe staggered away without another word, leaving Christiano dumb-founded by the day's events. A heavy sigh left his lips.                                                         -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------