“You…You…” he whispered.
Who knows how many people bow down to her presence, in the last years, asking her help, her pardon, just praise her.
“What can I do, Father?”
Her voice was always the same, without any inflection. Yet something was different, the positions were different: now he was the penitent. He would not stare at her, he turned and watched loyals instead. They were more and more astonished.
So he understood to be the only one who could listen her. That voice existed just in his mind, that she communicated with him in that way since the dawn of time.
“What are you?”
“You know it, Father. I’m everything.”
“You are not God. You did not create us!”
“I believed so. I believed it for more time. I thought I created everything.”
“You are not from this world. You do not know us.”
He made the loyals move forward. “Are you fine, Father?” Then a voice of a woman: “He was talking with Saint Claire!”
They confused the priest for a crazy man, but Father Anselm knew that the statue was alive. However, although an old man who talk with a thing of wood it is not a normal thing, he did not care about it.
“You brought me here”, said the voice in the statue of Saint Claire.
It was just the wooden statue of a Saint. Someone brought it across the sea with a ship. The priest caressed the wood, removing not more varnish from it.
So, the priest reminded the vendor who talk about a wood of the statue, taken by the most famous forests in the world. Initially he could not believe in the vendor’s words. A green land, full of life, with men of another provenance: Amazonia.
So, it was the wooden alive and not the statue.
“What are you?” Always that question! But that question was wrong. The priest understood it. “What were you?”
All the loyals surrounded Father Anselm. They were confused. “It’s a miracle!”, screamed someone. “It’s the heat. It can provoke hallucinations”, said scepticals.
They were disturbing him at the worst time, so the priest tried to move them all away.
“I was everything”, said the statue. “My roots were extended for miles, everywhere. I generated life and my branches stranded out against the sky, covering the entire forest. My trunk was growing for a millennium.”
It was a tree. But not a simple tree, but the tree of the life! Something like a real God.
“Everyone respected me; everyone loved me; everyone prayed me. Anybody ask me favours and they were part of me, as a family. They were not like strangers who came from far away to destroy my home and my forest. They did not understand who I am. They did not bow down to me. They buried my trunk, cut my branches and they divided me! They took me away on the boats!”
Father Anselm was anxious. “Why you did not stop them?”, said the Father. “Why you did not say them who are you?”
“For what reason would I have to do it, Father?”, said the voice. “I did not understand the word sin. I learned it listening to you.”
Father Anselm stammered. “I…am…”
“I understood that I was wrong and for that I was punished for it. You revealed me the right way.”
The priest cried while loyals talked about the possibility to call an ambulance. Someone stared at the disturbing statue.
“I thought I was everything and it was not real. I thought I did everything and I was wrong here, too. There is a world around me who is part of me not yet. This is the purpose of my existence.”
“No!”, screamed the priest, scaring even the loyals. “You cannot do it!”
“I have always been fixed, Father. I did not believe that it was necessary. I was convinced that everything was part of me already.”
Father Anselm got up quickly and dropped the votive candles. That horrible word resounded in his mind: Again!
Loyals were increasingly worried. “Father, how are you?” said a woman.
“I did not talk about it before!” screamed Father Anselm.
“Yes Father. This is the only answer and I thank you for explaining it to me. I knew you were a wise man.”
The statue moved, in front of him. Like an animated object descended from the pedestal. The paint fell continuously, uncovered the wood.
When the loyals realized it, the screams began behind the priest.
“Stop it! Stop it! I command you!”
Father Anselm took the little crucified Christ and protracted it towards the statue. Then he realized that was wooden, as the statue, it came from the same place of the statue. Father Anselm opened the hand and he dropped the little crucified Christ toward the ground.
“No!” screamed Father Anselm, backed again. The statue was on the ground, but it did not walk again. The wood contort itself and the statue began to walk. It seemed to be alive.
The screams behind the priest increased, then they became hysterical. Someone started screaming for despair.
Father Anselm found the courage to turning toward the loyals. They were hidden behind the benches, which they also seemed alive. Branches appeared from the benches, as many snakes and they took the people’s leg. The heat was grown and the humidity too.
Someone of the loyals succeeded to escape toward the altar, to protect themselves, but the statues Christ and Saint Joseph were alive too. It was all useless.
Someone went to the entrance, but it was closed. The ginormous door was blocked and the two portals were welded together, became a unique solid layer. Saint Francis came down from the pedestal, too.
“I am so many, Father. I am so many and only one, many then the trinity you pray. You divided me in this way and I thank you. I will soon be really all, everything.”
The screams were atrocious. They prevented him from listening and thinking.
“It was getting inside of me!” screamed a woman. “It was inside of me!”
It was right. That horrible branches pierced muscles of the people. While the benches were agitating, the human life mixed up with the vegetal life. There was an absurd fight in front of the priest. That chaos of humans and plants seemed to be fused into a single mass.
Father Anselm was trembling with fear, while the statue was behind his back. The tears near the eyes. He would not to pray his God. “Do not hurt me! Please, do not hurt me!”
That insufferable voice was without humanity. “How can you think that, Father? You are so important for me. Do you want to be part of a God? Are you alone, without me?”
The priest was petrified and he stuttered. “Begone, please. Begone and do not kill me!”
The priest did not dare turn around. He did not have the courage. He knew he was no longer a statue. It had grown up.
“Sure, Father, I will follow your advice. Finally, I will walk, everywhere, and I will thank you forever for this.”
He felt the humid wood come in his body, but the priest could not scream. It was not painful so far.
“Why?” asked the priest.
He felt the wood fused with the muscles and his conscience disappear. He was invaded by a strange peace and his fear was vanished.
“Because I want to move. Because I need to see the world. Because just in this way you will be part of me, everyone.”
And while the screams go off little by little, God took possession of all his new loyals.
June 2010
WATER
Translation by Talida Mantegna
It was not yet eight o’clock, and now darkness reigned over the city, the lanterns wrapped up everything of a sad yellow aura that the shops’ signs broke at times, throwing bright spots on the street still wet by the afternoon downpour.
I came back home, like every night, and I was tired, only dreamed of the moment I would sit down and Guido was waiting for me, his caresses, the little gentleness he spotted me and I could not do without them anymore. I was glad that Guido worked as translator and had the opportunity to work at home, this made our life
much easier and, in the last few days, he had become a fantastic cook, much better than me.
As soon as I turned the corner, I noticed a discordant note: something strange was happening in front of the building I was living in. A tiny crowd of curious people fluttered, there were also two police cars with flashing lights, but no ambulance. I hurried, worried.
There was no agitation among the present, it seemed to reign over curiosity more than fear, more than anxiety about anguish. I looked in the faces of some of my knowledge to ask for explanations. There was Mario, the grocery store greengrocer in front of the shop, and in the end, I could take his attention. He was a big guy, always good and joking, I’ve been in his shop for years and had a formal, but friendly relationship with him, while I had never tied up with my neighbors, Guido was holding contact with them.
The greengrocer lighted up recognizing me.
“Mrs Landi, I’m so glad you’re here, so glad.”
It seemed as though he was crying; This raises my concern.
“What happened? Was there a disaster? Is my husband doing fine?”
I could not answer, he just shook the head.
“I do not know, nobody knows. We have no idea what happened there. Come with me, I have you talk to the police, maybe they’ll be able to tell you more.”
He grabbed me by an arm and I felt dragged away from that worried man who was shaking the crowd with his considerable weight, repeating the same phrase continuously, aloud.
“Let us pass, the lady lives here.”
He repeated it to the policeman who blocked us from the front door of my house. I found myself frightened and anxious as never before. I looked around: there was nothing to let anything to do with anything unpleasant. The illuminated, deserted door, the lit lanterns, the well-groomed hedge, the open gate, no broken glass, no traces of any kind. Then I looked up to the facade: everything seemed normal.
Too many, maybe.
I realized with amazement that all the shutters were open and the lights in the apartments were down. It was very strange, at that time of the year the darkness was already at six o’clock in the afternoon, there should have been lights lit everywhere and for hours. I thought instinctively that the current was missing, but I immediately broke the idea, the entrance was illuminated and, through the windows, you could see the soft yellow light of the stairs. Without being able to find a rational explanation, I felt that my apprehension was growing.
Instinctively, I pulled out the door key and stepped forward to the entrance.
One hand grabbed my wrist, making me jump.
“Wait.”
He was a bourgeois man, but I had no difficulty identifying him as a policeman. He had to have my age and was robust and athletic. His face was anonymous, not expressive. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Behind him, another burial policeman appeared, younger, and an old uniformed officer.
Mr. Mario immediately thought.
“She’s Mrs. Claudia Landi, she lives here.”
The policeman came up.
“I am Sergeant Andrei and this is my colleague Spini.”
The younger agent greeted me with a nod. He was tall and blond, a slim, dry physical and a disarming smile that women love. He did not seem very smart, but generally those with a look like him did not feel too much the lack of intelligence. The old man in uniform had not been included in the presentations.
“Do you live here, confirm me?”
“Yes sure.”
The man glanced at his notebook. I tried to peek, but seemed to be covered with hieroglyphs.
“Mrs. Claudia Landi, apartment 4B. On the fourth floor, right.”
I absented with a head movement.
“She does not live alone. Can you tell me if you planned to find someone at home on her return?”
I kept my mouth open: the coldness of that question had paralyzed me.
Mr. Mario came to my aid.
“But I told him! Mr. Landi almost never leaves. She works at home and at this time she should be upstairs, as always.”
I felt a shiver running along my back.
“My husband. Something happened to my husband! Please tell me, please!”
The agent seemed embarrassed.
“We do not know. Not yet, at least. It does not respond to the intercom or telephone call. And the door is closed.”
I was astonished.
“You did not even go to see!”
The agent shrugged. The colleague came in his aid. “We could not. There was no complaint, the door was closed, and we could not break it without a mandate. There is nothing to indicate that a crime is being committed.”
I wondered if they had not become all crazy.
“You could make it open by a neighbor! Ask some of them to go see!”
Andrei answered cautiously.
“You do not understand, ma’am. None of the inhabitants of the palace answered to the intercom and when we tried to call we could not talk to anyone.”
“Nobody? But at this time the house should be full of people!”
“Sixty-five people, more or less. Six floors, eighteen apartments. So at least the other inhabitants of the street told us.”
“And did not you come in? It’s crazy!”
I was furious.
“It’s not so easy. As I told you, there is no evidence that something illegal is happening. If someone wants to stay in the house in the dark and refuses to answer the phone, well, it’s certainly not a crime. They could have been out for some reason, maybe a trip, a condominium meeting…”
“At eight in the evening? Are you crazy?”
I realized that the agent hid his irritation with difficulty, but the idea of hurting his feelings even seemed attractive to me.
“We are trying to get in touch with relatives to have permission to enter. But it’s not easy.”
“I’m here and I want to get in. This is my home and I have the keys. If you want to follow me, the better. Maybe you will not be able to enter the other apartments, but in my house, I will gladly invite you.”
The agents seemed to wait for nothing else. Spini nodded and immediately four policemen were at their side.
Andrei came to me, almost murmuring, not to be heard by the curious.
“So, let’s go right away. But, I recommend, let us go first and, for God’s sake, do nothing impulsive. If I give you orders I want you to run execute instantly, without thinking. Just remember that it is for your good, I don’t want you to run unnecessary risks.”
Spini was giving the latest guidelines to his men.
“I recommend, do not let anyone go and for no reason, until we come back.”
Despite everything, I felt encouraged to have such a stock.
“Give me the keys, I think I’ll open, she’ll stay behind, with Agent Spini. Let’s get in us first.”
He turned the key and the door opened with a click. Everything inside was quiet and peaceful. The police first came in and I was last. The door closed with a tear behind us, making me jump.
“Who deals with lighting in the stairs and in the entrance when it is dark?”
I tried to remember.
“It’s automatic. There’s a timer in the cellar, I think.”
Andrey nodded.
“I imagined it.”
We walked through the hallway, intact and empty mailboxes, a couple of fat plants, a second locked glass door.
A small place: side by side the elevator door and stairs. Sink on the right, the cellar door. It was all lindy, freshly washed, no grain of dust was visible.
“We take the elevator?”
Andrei seemed to think a moment before answering the colleague.
“I see no reason not to do it, I do not think it’s dangerous.”
He pressed the button and the doors opened immediately: the elevator was already on the floor. The cabin was empty, a mirror reflecting our images. Almost I did not recognize myself: I had my eyes twisted, the expression hallucinated. I tried to
recompense.
Spini and the oldest policeman came into the elevator behind me; Andrei, before reaching us, motioned for the other policemen to go on foot.
“It was not necessary, we could do two trips”, I said.
“This is not the problem”, Andrei replied patiently. “Better to be certain that no unpleasant surprise is waiting for us, do not you think?”
I was forced to nod and I was forced to remain silent. I tried not to think, to make no assumptions. Guido… What could have happened to him? I tried to stay polished. The elevator was old and slow, climbing screaming in a worrying way. I was not sure I’d ever heard those rumors before, but I had to admit that they were probably acute by the anxiety of the moment.
When we got to the fourth floor, the other cops were already waiting for us. One of them warned Andrei that the street was free.
We went out. The corridor was lit, but silence reigned. There were only three doors, all closed.
One of the cops reported to Andrei.
“Nothing suspect in the underlying plans. All the doors are closed, no trace of break-in.”
I pointed to the nearest one. Andrei nodded and pulled out the bunch of keys.
“Which of these?”
I pointed it and Andrei passed the key to another agent. Then he took my arm and led me to a corner. The agents placed at the sides of the door, being careful to keep out of the reach of a firearm. The agent who used the key made him so grace that he did not make any noise, then opened the door and threw himself sideways.
Inside there was only darkness and silence.
Andrei motioned to continue.
At gunpoint, the cops entered the apartment. It seemed to me to wait for an eternity, but maybe it was only a minute, then a policeman made a note that we could come in.
A policeman lit the lights in the apartment: I felt paralyzed, unable to move one step.
Andrei squeezed my arm and drove me inside. Down in the street they shake their hands, a curious expression of jubilation for seeing a light come on. The house was ordered, there were no traces of collusion or sudden abandonment. The stoves had not been used, a sign that something had happened before Guido started preparing for dinner. My husband’s computer was off: he had stopped working before his disappearance. I approached thoughtfully.
The Prison Page 51
