Suppressed tears enlarged Sarah’s eyes, which flashed with images of children being abused. I see broken small bodies on the floor wrapped in crumpled clothes, in the fetal position on cots, others being penetrated when they kneel in the rectory. Shrill cries echo down deserted hallways where doors are quickly closed, and it happens again. Sarah could not block the horror flashing in her mind.
Because she saw that Sarah was truly suffering, Sister Hildegard probed her inner mind while running the beads of her grandmother’s ebony rosary through her fingers. Mother of God, this crisis has to be faced. Now that the works of the early Christians who truly loved the Master and followed his way have been found, the real truth about the Church is coming forth. People struggled to have safety and comfort amid historical chaos. By offering some comfort and beauty to them, the Church got away with too much arrogance and dished out deceit to people. Now that people have some comfort and safety in the world, they can no longer tolerate the Church’s arrogance.
Hildegard said slowly, “I think you are meant to be a voice for the early Christians who believed evil would take over the Church if it became an institution that claimed divine powers, especially absolution for sin and infallibility. The Church is based on an earlier culture, Judaism. Yahweh as Lord probably did elevate the primitive tribal people four thousand years ago by making a covenant with them as the Chosen People. But what does that matter for our Church? We are having a horrendous crisis. It would be bad enough for secular people to commit such grievous sins, but for clerics it’s an abomination. Great potential exists in your desire to speak for early Christians who had a pure vision. I’ve read what the Gnostics said about the evil god in the world and that we should be wary of worshipping him. Considering what’s been happening to innocent children—meta-bestial acts—Gnostic beliefs challenge me too.”
Sister Hildegard and Sarah locked eyes, two Christian women who understood each other. Sarah said, her voice determined, “Birmingham is not a Catholic institution but it is Christian. If I go out on a limb and base my thesis on Marcion, will I be denied a degree for a thesis that raises such heretical issues?”
Sister Hildegard considered Sarah’s question. The only problem she could foresee was with one close-minded Dominican. Regardless of him, Sarah’s academic credibility would be the deciding factor as long as she was her advisor.
Interpreting Sister Hildegard’s silence as hesitation, Sarah continued, “Sister Hildegard, I must have some sense of the playing field. I am really lucky to have my father’s financial support. I can’t play with that and just throw it away. Really, how safe am I taking such a radical approach?”
Sister Hildegard said firmly, “I think you should expose things in the early Church that may be the source of the present moral degradation. A solid critique of apostolic succession and the hierarchy could offer new perspectives for where we are now. After all, anybody is entitled to a mistake, except, of course, a pope,” she said with laughing gray eyes.
Sarah said good-bye to Sister Hildegard feeling totally supported. But as she returned to the Norman Chapel, she started to wonder, How can I ever do this? This is so much work. I have Hildegard’s support and even her enthusiasm. But how can I do it? Seated in the deserted chapel, Sarah fell into a state of deep meditation and first saw Simon’s shy smile. Next she saw Yaldabaoth—a peculiar Gnostic image of the father of Yahweh—with Armando’s rakish eyes. Scanning her sources, a deep knowing came into her mind from a faraway place: The events and synchronicities that occur in my life will show me the path of spirit. Life is my source for truth. I can’t find these answers in my mind anymore. I have to find them in my life even if I have to experience evil. She came out of meditation when a thin prelate lit a beeswax candle on the simple soapstone altar. When she rose to leave the chapel, she chuckled over what her father would think of what Sister Hildegard had just said.
16
A Home in Rome
During early September cool morning breezes from the Umbrian hills north of the city swept down to the waking city and cleared the sultry air that had pooled on the Tiber from the previous day. Dragging slowly across the floor in her robe, Sarah went to boil water for coffee. She had flown in from London the night before. Curling up in the window seat, she listened to early street sounds while noisy birds splashed in the garden fountain below. The night before, she had forgotten to remove the gold chain holding her grandmother’s diamond, and rainbow rays of light flashed from it as the morning sunlight penetrated the diamond. The black-and-white floor squares bordered by delicate gold filigree lines seemed even more ancient than they had before she’d left. I’d forgotten about Donatello’s rich coffee beans, and I’d forgotten how much I love beginning my day here. I wonder about the life of Luciana Amelia, the favored daughter who lived here long ago. Was she cherished? Did she marry or go into a convent to avoid giving birth?
The rising sun penetrated the ancient leaded glass circles dappled with trapped air bubbles. It created shimmering spheres that resembled distant galaxies when the universe was born. She was foggy and dreamy when she took out her cell phone to dial up Simon at his new apartment. I wonder if he’s there? I hope I’ll see him today. Just when she was ready to dial, the phone rang, startling her. She answered thinking it must be him—what a synchronicity—but instead she was greeted by a lilting and crisp high voice with a strong Italian accent. “Hello, Sarah. This is Matilda Pierleoni!”
“Oh, hello,” Sarah responded tentatively.
“Ciao! I hope you have recovered from your flight? We are all so happy that you have returned!”
“It’s so thoughtful of you to call. I am quite well, but how did you know I just arrived?”
“Well, I must confess that I called your home in Boston to see when you were coming back,” Matilda replied. “I reached your father yesterday and was delighted to hear you were coming last night. I do hope you will not think I’m presumptuous, but I just had to call to tell you something very exciting. Armando has painted you! I have not yet seen the portrait because he wants you to be the first to view it. I have, however, seen the photographs he worked from. They are very lovely, my dear, very captivating. So the painting must be marvelous, but he just won’t let us see it until you have seen it first. I can’t imagine why, since he has always been anxious to show us his work as soon as possible. But, anyway, I’m so anxious to see it myself that I hope you will come to Tuscany this weekend to see it? I am anxious to see you again too! Our weather is exquisite right now, while it is still so hot in Rome. Armando is here now, too. Will you consider coming as my honored guest? My driver has errands in Rome today, so he could easily bring you up here tomorrow morning. We’d just love to see you!”
Sarah hesitated. This rather demanding request made her aware Matilda knew she’d been seeing Armando, and Sarah wasn’t at all sure she was ready to see him again. I feel so connected to Simon, and I’ve got to get to work right away. I almost forgot about being photographed by Armando; it was so much fun and so natural at the time. Regardless, it was an aberration on my part. As she was thinking these thoughts, she stroked the left side of her neck and fingered the old diamond, remembering Armando’s scent when he touched her while posing her on the divan. Sarah wanted to see Castel Vetulonia, the venerable old library, and the Tuscan countryside again. But she felt ambivalent about seeing Armando and his painting.
“Well, Matilda, thank you so much. I suppose this is possible because I can’t get back to work until next Monday when some tractates arrive. Are you sure Armando wants me to see the painting now?”
“Oh, yes! Prego!” Matilda replied with an audible sigh of relief. As a lady born to the Duke of Lucca who ended up as a count’s wife near Siena, she wasn’t accustomed to the possibility of her invitation being denied. “Armando says he can’t wait to have you see it, so then hopefully we can also see it. He is not up yet because he was working late last night, but I’m at liberty to invite you as my guest. He will be surprised and d
elighted. This is perfect! Guido can pick you up at nine o’clock tomorrow morning and you’ll be up by one o’clock, just in time for lunch. The tomatoes are just in, and we will have made antipasto. Oh, how delightful!”
Sarah felt she was being pushed by a strange wind, but so far that was how things had been since the beginning of 2012. She never knew what was coming next until it hit, and then she reacted. Once she had accepted the invitation, however, she began to recall luscious images of the family chapel, the inviting library, the ancient tower, and the view of the castle from the lower road. By appealing to her fixation on being a dutiful and perfect daughter, Matilda had made it impossible for Sarah to refuse. She made Sarah feel like she was standing in the way of Matilda’s viewing of her own son’s painting! Regardless, Sarah finished the call with real enthusiasm. “This will be wonderful, the perfect way to spend my first weekend back in Italy. I am very curious about the painting. I’d love to spend more time with you, so I will see you tomorrow afternoon! Thank you so much for such a lovely invitation!” And that was that.
She slumped down into the squishy plush velvet cushion, releasing air from her constricted lungs. The bubbles in the ancient glass sparkled in her pupils like faint stars. She felt peculiar. It must be the late flight. I do want to go to Tuscany again, but something feels odd about getting back here. Sarah’s body was sending disturbing subliminal signals from the knot in her sacral root Armando had deftly implanted there months ago. I’m not so hot to see him now that I have grown so close to Simon. Yet I want to see the painting. Sometimes the energy in Rome feels very strange.
She forgot about trying to reach Simon until the phone rang again. “Oh how lucky! I wasn’t sure you were back yet, but I thought I’d just try,” Simon said in a happy, light voice. “I can grab some time today, so can we have lunch? And would you like to see my new apartment? I’m all moved in!”
Scrunching deeper down in her window seat, she felt waves of relief. I always feel secure when I hear his voice. I always know things are right when I’m with him. “I would love to have lunch and see your apartment. Can we meet at Luigi’s near the Cumae site? That will give me enough time to unpack and relax. A walk would be good after the flight.”
The morning flew by and soon they were eating salad and sharing pasta primavera at Luigi’s, just down the road from where they had first met. As Simon held his wine glass to his lips, savoring the aroma, he took a moment to study Sarah’s face while she told him about her last conversation with her father before leaving Boston. Her sensual yet slightly thin lips were glossed with soft, shell-pink lipstick. He noticed for the first time that she used very light eye makeup, just a touch of emerald-green eye shadow and light mascara. I wonder why I didn’t notice this till now? Did she always wear makeup? His journalistic side always dissected things, so a more intriguing possibility came into his mind: I’ve been so taken with her naturalness, her stunning elegance, that I didn’t even notice things like this. Sometimes she doesn’t seem human. And what’s the cool distance I sense in her today? I suppose it’s the late flight?
“So my father had some advice for me,” he heard as Sarah’s voice drew him back to their conversation. “Simon, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, of course. What did he say?” Simon responded quickly. He possessed an ability to snap back from his private thoughts into conversation when somebody uttered anything that called for his attention. He was naturally an exceptionally keen listener, a quality his profession had enhanced.
“He lectured to me about getting down to business this year in my work. I think it was because he’d gotten a call from Matilda Pierleoni, who called him because she wants to see me. I suppose it made him think I’d be up playing in Tuscany like when he visited. But he was really funny because he’s never hounded me about studying before. If anything, I’ve always thought he wished I were less bookish.” Watching Simon’s face, she detected a veil in his eyes when he heard the name Matilda Pierleoni. I wonder if he’s jealous? She did not mention her weekend plans.
Walking to his apartment, they lingered for a moment at the bottom of the Spanish Steps so he could point out how great his neighborhood was, the Via Frattina beginning at the lower end of the Piazza di Spagna. On his very first morning at the new apartment, he had gotten up early and walked to the Piazza to see the sun rise. She glanced up at the twin towers of the Trinita Dei Monti and said excitedly, “I’ve always loved the view of that old church by the side of the Hassler Hotel. Let’s go visit it someday, maybe even have lunch at the Hassler?” Actually she was remembering the day Armando had kissed her up on the stair landing just above and how intense that day was. Of course, she didn’t mention the kiss; it seemed a lifetime ago. Yet recalling it made her realize she felt distanced from Simon today.
They came through the front door and walked into his living room, and she was thrilled. A large archway led to the kitchen, where ivory lace curtains waving in the breeze from open casement windows caught her eye. The space was light and airy, and the moldings and the elegant mantle were stunning. “Simon, a cardinal might have lived here or any aristocratic Roman. It’s elegant yet so cozy!”
“All for you, my darling,” he said as she noticed his cute wry smile when he teasingly touched her lightly on her back. She shivered as he grazed his fingers lightly over her strong shoulders. He was keeping his distance because of what was to happen next. It was time for Simon the seducer. “Come with me into the kitchen to see my plants and my new set of fine Italian porcelain dishes.”
She followed him eagerly, admiring the soft white marble counters backed by cracked eighteenth-century brown-and-white French tiles with thin blue borders. Sarah thought the color tones were marvelous—cupboards with blue porcelain pulls that matched the tiles, and a delicate, ornate brass gas-electric fixture with lacy topaz shades that hung from the high pressed tin green ceiling.
Slightly salty air blowing in from the balcony rustled her short skirt, something that did not escape Simon’s notice as he poured two glasses of white wine from a bottle resting on the marble counter. Clicking his glass with hers, he penetrated her eyes and jolted her. Wispy images of scenes from long ago merged in her mind—watery glimpses of lime green and yellow cork trees on a hillside in southern Portugal. Who are you? Who are you?
Gingerly he took her left hand. “You have not yet seen the best part!” He led her from the kitchen into the bedroom and touched her fingers to mauve velvet drapes embossed with trellis patterns that covered the French doors out to the balcony. “Don’t they feel exquisite?” he said as he watched her eyes slyly noting his double bed covered with a white coverlet. “The owner has such excellent taste! I didn’t even have to buy this stuff myself.” She started to feel like a cornered doe ready to bolt but stood there obediently. Simon knew exactly what she was feeling. She can’t help being polite. I haven’t had this much fun in my whole damned life! Taking her hand again, he said, “Come through the hall to see the tiles in the bathroom. They are fantastic.”
She followed him through a hallway elegantly finished with built-in drawers and closets—a dressing room for a gentleman. She felt naughty glancing at his red paisley silk robe. Walking into the bathroom, she was taken aback by its outrageous high-Roman décor. The copper tub on claw legs with a high, raised back was perched like an emperor in the tiled alcove. The marble sink set with pewter faucets and porcelain hot and cold knobs was perfect. The porcelain bidet with raised vines and flowers made her feel uncomfortable. Over-the-top burgundy tiles with gilded lions gleamed in the glow from the sconces. Thick butterscotch towels were draped over clear glass rods that ended with glass balls that turned the bathroom upside down. “This is just marvelous, Simon. It’s fit for a count!”
“Yes, I agree, and the count is me!” he said in an amused voice. Going back through the hall and the bedroom, they walked out onto the balcony to a small table with a plate of cheese and nuts. Sarah welcomed the salty air. Whew! I’m glad to be out of ther
e!
Sarah put her wine glass down beside Simon’s, preparing to sit but suddenly he was standing very close to her. Turning her slowly toward himself, he said in a husky tone she’d never heard before, “We are going to have wonderful times here. There is no hurry about anything, but the time is coming when you will know me.” Then he pulled her sinuous trembling body close, tilted her face up to his, and penetrated her eyes. He kissed her passionately, penetrating her lips with his tongue for the first time.
She went limp, not resisting because his erotic demand took her totally by surprise. As he kissed her while provocatively massaging her lower back and hips and moving his pelvis subtly against her, waves of intense desire rose in both of them. Feeling dizzy, hot, and helpless, she realized her skirt was barely a handkerchief over a lace thong. The sensations in her sacrum and solar plexus were so strong she could have triggered an earthquake; all she could do was surrender. Simon knew exactly what was going on in her body; so just when she started to stiffen as she always did, he gently disengaged his hold. She’d never resisted any move he’d made, and that’s how he intended to keep it. Also he was getting hard in spite of visualizing William’s face to control himself.
Revelations of the Ruby Crystal Page 17
