THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA - { PT. 9 }

{ PT.  9 } - The room they entered was large and rectangular in shape, reminiscent of an old, stuffy library. Beams of light from a patio door highlighted the dust particles in the air. The doors led to a terraced roof garden, where a table and sun chairs occupied the space. To the right, Kurush approached a tidy desk. An antiquated wooden box stood out from other items. The tanned wood was light in colour, and the main body was covered with meticulous hand carvings of a starry night. He motioned for the others to come closer. Angelica and Christiano sat down on two chairs facing Kurush. From the age of fifteen, I was given a special task by my mother to look after this ancient wooden box, he said, taking a seat. This has been passed down to each generation of our family for over two thousand years. He pulled open the lid and slid the wooden panel inside to reveal a long strip of fabric. This, he said, holding it up and eyeing it with admiration, is a swaddling band given to my ancestor, Jannara, by the Madonna herself, when he visited Jesus.                                                 ________________________________________________________ 

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