Chapter
6.
The
Altar-boy.
Early
Saturday, after morning prayers and a short Mass in the cathedral, Fratelli met
with Ernesto. Dina brought them a hot breakfast of freshly-baked bread and
seasoned apples along with tea. At first, they ate without speaking. Feeling
unable to wait any longer, Fratelli broke the peaceful silence:
“You
have more information don’t you?”
“Yes,
but I still don’t feel right talking about this,” Ernesto replied.
The
cardinal blurted, “I don’t feel right not
talking about this!”
“The
man who was murdered is Diego Pollini, a wealthy art dealer. In fact, Gino
Siglio who has an exhibit now, is rather upset that Diego isn’t able to help
him with the work. He was very shocked about his death but I think he’ll be
fine.”
“I
met Siglio last night.”
“Yes,
he is upstanding. Unfortunately, Diego didn’t fare so well. In addition to
quarrelling with Father Adreo, it seems no one in Lucca liked him very much.
They say he was greedy and heartless… in fact, our local merchant, Luigi, even
said that good Father did us all a favor by getting rid of him.”
“But
Father didn’t get rid of anybody!” Fratelli cried.
Ernesto
leaned closer, “Your Eminence, you must admit that Adreo is hot-headed.”
“Well,
yes he can be…but he is no murderer.”
“I
know you’re right Angelo- I want to know you’re right…They have been
investigating the crime scene however, there are no signs of real struggle
which means Father…I mean, the killer, must’ve come from behind.”
After a moment
of silence, Fratelli then suggested, “Here, why don’t we call him a nicer, less
biased name like: “Martin”?”
“Martin?”
“Yes! I do not
know anyone with that name, do you?”
“No.”
“See, it’s
perfect.”
Ernesto spoke
again:
“What’s very
intriguing however is that the knife-wound was caused by a most strange kind of
knife… a flat, spade-like knife. Not any kind we’ve seen before. Now would you
mind searching the rectory for a flat knife?”
Fratelli gritted
his teeth. Ernesto glanced back apologetically.
“Please Your
Eminence, it could help a lot…”
“Fine, I’ll do
it!”
The two shared
another cup of tea to smooth over the tension which settled over them. Then
they parted ways: Ernesto readied for his morning patrol and Fratelli retreated
into his chapel, needing a time of reflection. He had a sermon to write for
Sunday, which was also the High Feast of Pentecost, when Catholics commemorated
the outpouring of God’s spirit upon the apostles. It mattered a lot to Cardinal
Fratelli that each of his words be likewise filled with this spirit.
Preparations for
this Sunday Mass also included training Gianni for serving the altar. Soon as
Fratelli entered the church’s sacristy, where all the sacred vestments and
vessels were held, Gianni followed him and asked, “Do I have to wear a dress?”
“It’s not a
dress, it’s a cassock,” Fratelli corrected.
“Do I have to
wear one of those goofy, pointy hats?”
“No, only I wear
the miter…and they are not goofy- they’re a symbol of apostolic authority.”
Gianni kept
quiet to Fratelli’s relief as he fetched various items. Rodrigo peered through
the door and greeted them,
“Hello Your
Eminence, hello Gianni.”
Sheepishly, the
boy replied, “Hello Father.”
Together, all
three walked onto the cathedral’s broad, central aisle and climbed the
sanctuary steps. Fratelli instructed Gianni how to kneel at the altar before
taking his place. Curiously, the boy watched as they exchanged gestures and
prayers, mouthing words in solemn Latin.
“Dominus vobiscum…(1)”
They said
nothing else. Instead. both stared straight at Gianni who fidgeted, putting his
hands in his pockets. They kept staring.
“What?” he finally
asked.
Slightly
frustrated, Fratelli answered:
“Et cum spiritu tuo (2)-
say it.”
Nervously,
Gianni pronounced the words, stretching them like caramel over his tongue. He
didn’t sound half bad. After they went through several more prayers and
responses, Fratelli at last stated, “Well-done, now let us show him how to
enter.”
Gianni had grown
bored, leaning on one large column and yawning when all of sudden Fratelli and
Rodrigo came from the sacristy bearing a huge swath of bright red cloth. They
placed this around Fratelli’s shoulders. Unraveled, its train spread almost ten
feet along the ground. Gianni’s little eyes widened as he grabbed at it.
“You will hold
the end up as I proceed down the aisle,” Fratelli told him.
Enraptured by
this peculiar ecclesiastical garment, Gianni upheld one end- but forgot to take
his foot off the other when Fratelli began walking. The cloth snagged. Fratelli
stumbled to the ground. Watching him fall in a big lump of red, Gianni had
trouble suppressing giggles. He hastily removed his foot, blushing and covered
his mouth. Glaring angrily, Fratelli clambered afoot and remarked:
“Not funny.”
Thankfully,
during the grand procession of Pentecost’s High Mass, no one fell. Gianni
behaved, walking to the altar and kneeling with perfect form. Flowing chant
wafted over them amidst incense-smoke. Here, where heaven touched earth,
Fratelli whispered a prayer for Adreo. Though he was terribly nervous and
frightened on behalf of his brother-priest, Fratelli spoke his sermon eloquently,
betraying none of this frightened nervousness. While ignoring the circling
distractions in his mind, he concluded:
“May the Holy Spirit of God grant us
enlightenment, leading us to all truth. Our hearts must grow quiet in order to
be enkindled with his love. Therefore, together, let us hush so we may hear the
rushing winds in our souls…and feel the tongues of flame.”
Chapter 7.
The Old Friend.
Before
morning-prayer, Cardinal Fratelli anxiously looked around the bedrooms for a
knife like the one Ernesto had described and found nothing. He went into the
kitchen while Dina was preparing breakfast.
“What do you
want, Your Eminence?” she asked sharply, perturbed as he rustled through some
drawers.
“A flat knife?
Have you seen one? Flat and spade-shaped?”
“No Your
Eminence, how could you cook with something like that?”
He didn’t answer
but scrambled out.
By noon, summer
sun beat upon paved roads and stucco buildings. Needing to get out of the house
and settle his mind, Cardinal Fratelli strolled. Passing carriages, small
marketplaces and roadside eateries, he smelled intermixed, city smells: food
cooking, tobacco smoke, perfume, the scents of vinegar and wine. Reaching the
piazza, he squinted against the blaring sun and pulled the wide-brimmed hat
over his head.
He barely stopped
himself from bumping into a careless child who darted onto the road after a
ball. Snatching the bright, yellow ball, a little girl looked up with playful
eyes. Instantly, she tossed the ball at Fratelli. The cardinal flinched, ducking,
throwing his hands up as the ball knocked his hat off.
Ashamed, the
girl started crying.
“No, no it’s
okay,” Fratelli assured, blushing horribly, “I’m not hurt…see just my hat fell
off.”
The girl only
cried louder. People began to pause and look towards the commotion.
“No, no- stop
crying, please.”
Quickly,
Fratelli took the hat and placed it on her head. It slid down, covering her
face. Pushing it back up, the girl’s frown turned into a smile. Her eyes
shining brightly, she now giggled. Fratelli decided it was best not to reclaim
the hat and began quietly slinking off- as if averting a disaster. However, he
glanced back and waved goodbye.
“Goodbye!” he
gently said, careful not to upset her.
The girl’s tiny
hand waved in return.
Eventually, he
walked further down the road. Stepping beneath the calm shade of the
clock-tower, coolness swept over him and he sighed gladly. Suddenly, he remembered
this was the scene of last week’s murder. Greatly curious, Fratelli began
searching, seeing if anything were on the ground… perhaps left behind. Turning
a right corner, he stopped and observed faint stains of blood on the ground. He
quivered in horror just as someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Get away from
me!” Fratelli yelled, swatting at them, “You’ll be excommunicated!”
Ernesto grabbed
his hands, saying:
“Angelo, it’s
me!”
Fratelli calmed,
still panting heavily, and gasped, “Are you trying to scare me to death?”
“No, I am sorry
I startled you. This is still a crime scene. I was going to escort you out of
here.”
“I can walk
myself,” Fratelli grumbled.
Ernesto watched
him go.
Fratelli
arrived home at about three in the evening. Seeing the time, he remembered that
tonight, his old friend, Jack was coming to visit. Finally after fourteen long
years, they’d see eachother again! Upstairs, Fratelli obsessed over whether he
should wear a regular cassock or something more formal. He chose to dress normally.
After all, what did appearances matter when someone knew you so well?
Dina
was setting silverware on the dining room table as Fratelli strolled in. He
began pacing by the window, watching the sun sink beneath the hills.
“Stop
it, Your Eminence, you are only making yourself more nervous,” Dina scolded.
She
placed a bowl of olives in front of him and he ate them, gladly distracted. He
heard Father Rodrigo and Gianni’s voice in the hallway. As they passed, the
priest was gently telling him “We are eating in the parlor. His Eminence is
having a very important friend for dinner…”
After
a few agonizingly long minutes, the sound of horse-hooves approached and a
light flickered in the front yard. Fratelli moved but Dina rushed out before
him and answered the door. Already standing, the cardinal heard footsteps get
closer and closer. Finally, a man appeared, wearing bland, grey clothes, his
jet-black-hair combed neatly and his pale lips smiling.
“Angelo
Fratelli!” he exclaimed.
“Jack
Holloway!” Fratelli cried out.
Instantly,
he rushed forth then stopped. The two stood only a small distance from each
other. Still smiling, Jack grabbed Fratelli’s hand and excitedly shook it.
Seeing Fratelli’s hand still extended there in the air, he curiously glanced.
“Is
something the matter? Did I hurt your hand?”
“No-
never mind,” Fratelli said.
They
sat back down and slowly began eating.
“This
is so nice,” Jack said between spoonfuls of minestrone soup, “Real
silverware…look at this!”
“It
came with the house…” Fratelli replied.
“Oh,
and here I thought you were trying to impress me.”
They
shared a short laugh.
Warmly
smiling, Fratelli began, “I remember when we were not yet full-grown, when we
would take walks by the pond…”
“Yes,
do you recall when we found that old, wooden row-boat with all the holes and
tried to repair it?”
“We
were so silly…”
“But
it did float- for couple minutes!”
More
laughter.
Darkness
consumed the sky outside while Fratelli and Jack ventured out onto the veranda,
each holding a small glass of wine. They rested, absorbing night’s peace.
Crickets chirped smoothly from the tall grasses and a squirrel scuttled about
in the rose bushes.
“So,
they call you Cardinal Fratelli now?” Jack asked, “How is life treating you?”
“I
am doing better than others,” Fratelli said, thinking distantly of Adreo, “The
Lord is good.”
“He
surely is!”
“Will
you be coming to Mass tomorrow morning?”
“Of
course I will- I won’t want to miss seeing you get all dressed-up!”
“Jack,
I am only dressed up to honor the Lord, from whom all glory comes and to whom
it goes…”
Jack
laughed, “You are such a preacher! Yes, yes I know that… But you have to admit
with all the fine vestments- it’s easy to think otherwise...”
Fratelli
clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t entirely understand this last comment. In
fact, he was a bit startled at it. Yet, he happily sighed and laughed to
himself.
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