Shout in the Dark

by Christopher Wright

  *

  Piazza di Santa Maria Maggiore

  AT ELEVEN-THIRTY, Marco let himself be jostled out of the congested bus. Outside the ancient church several tourist coaches were unloading their cargoes of foreign visitors. Last night had been a disaster. Enjoyable at the time, but on waking he realized that his darker side had been fed a diet of hatred.

  He pushed two tourists aside and entered Father Josef's building. He envied these crowds. Life must be so peaceful for them, transported from place to place. For a moment he was caught up in a fantasy with Laura -- or was he with Anna? It was definitely Anna. Waking up together again, getting aboard a coach and being taken off to a new destination. Away from Rome; away from the Church.

  Father Josef was in the meeting room standing with his back to the bright window. A hazy silhouette like a holy shimmer surrounded the black clothing. Marco felt in no mood for any unusual or interesting visions at this moment. He moved so as to place himself between his host and the window.

  "I had a terrible time with Laura's friends last night," he said wearily.

  Father Josef sat down and beckoned Marco to do the same. Seen with the light from the window shining on him, no longer in visionary form, the old priest looked his usual down-to-earth self.

  "There were, I imagine, things you heard that did not please you."

  Marco sat heavily in Amendola's throne-like chair. "Why did Canon Angelo try to sell the relic?" he demanded angrily. "He wasn't just selling it to anyone, he was selling it to the neo-Nazis!"

  Father Josef waved a thin hand, almost in the manner of a blessing. "Are there perhaps things about Laura Rossetti that you wish to share with me?"

  Could shrewd old Father Josef have divined his confused feelings towards Laura? Sister Maria had always seemed able to read his mind, but surely Father Josef was not blessed with the spiritual insight of the old nun. Sister Maria's reputed ability to read minds had kept his thoughts very pure as a growing boy -- while on Church property at any rate.

  "There's nothing in it," Marco found himself protesting. "I know Laura's attractive, but I intend to honor my vows of chastity." Now he had said more than he meant to, more than he had even admitted to himself.

  Father Josef raised his eyebrows. "Oh dear, I did indeed warn you to be careful, but I did not intend my warning to cover infatuation. You must most certainly honor your vows. However, although I cannot condone it, there are perhaps worse sins than a little passion pausing on its way through your mind. Consider the hatred and lack of forgiveness in the world, Marco. I had it in my mind that these were the evils against which you would be doing battle."

  No reprimand there, no lack of sympathy. Marco started to feel more at ease. Father Josef could so easily have made him feel foolish for the way he spoke of Laura, but no, the elderly priest was a person of understanding, a wise man filled with love. "I'm angry that a canon of the Church could set out to trick two men, even if they were neo-Fascists. It's almost theft."

  "But if he wanted the money to repay those families that suffered in the war under the extreme right, is that a sin, Marco?"

  "We're talking about a holy relic, Father Josef -- about Church property!"

  Father Josef stood up. "We are all the Church; but the Church, as you call us, had no wish to possess this particular relic. Canon Angelo did indeed try to hand it to the authorities after the war, while it was still covered in white paint or plaster. Maybe both. I have learned from Monsignor Augusto Giorgio that it was discredited as being nothing but a mess, and returned to him immediately. Even in those days, the Monsignor was concerned to shield the faithful from the Jewish roots of our faith -- the faith of Abraham as well as the faith of Saint Paul."

  "The Brothers at Monte Sisto would have known what the relic was."

  "Ah yes, Monte Sisto. I did some homework last night, while you were out dining with your friends, young Marco." He broke off and smiled. "That is not a rebuke. You are allowed to enjoy yourself while working for me. The community at Monte Sisto was never an accepted part of our Church." Father Josef shook his head. "The Order at Monte Sisto was considered by many to be nonconformist, though not in the Protestant sense. Our Brothers there, may the Lord grant their souls peace, were not well received by us."

  "Laura said that the local priest betrayed them to the Nazis," said Marco quietly. "Did he?"

  "I am ashamed to say he did. The priest and the villagers thought they were doing their duty. The Vatican arranged for the bodies to be reburied after the war. Christians with Christians, Jews with Jews. I have still to discover where the Brothers' bodies were taken. I am having the matter investigated."

  "But you do not condemn the Order?"

  Father Josef smiled. "Indeed I do not. But I want to warn you that Monsignor Augusto Giorgio will be calling here shortly, so please do not mention Monte Sisto when he comes. I think he is now rather repentant, even embarrassed that he rejected the relic in nineteen forty-five at the end of World War Two. I know he returned it to Canon Angelo with some rather ungracious comments. The name of Monte Sisto is a painful one for him. This is confidential, of course."

  Father Josef glanced behind him, as though to make sure the room was empty. Only the dark faces in the heavy frames stared down, silent witnesses to this indiscretion. "Many in the Vatican are now becoming inclined to the idea that the bronze head, brought to Saint Peter's by Canon Angelo's father, may truly have been from the statue seen by Eusebius."

  "Is that why you want me to find it?" Marco could not believe that the infighting amongst the Vatican staff could be quite so small-minded. "Do you want to embarrass Monsignor Giorgio?"

  "Indeed I do not, Marco. I want to stop the neo-Nazis from promoting a dangerous lie. But if this object is genuine, and I say if, then we could have a wonderful indication of the visual appearance of Jesus Christ. It would be considerably more distinct than the image on the Shroud of Turin that many still believe to be our Lord's features. There have, of course, been other holy relics allegedly bearing the imprint of the Savior's passion. Objects like the Veronica, the sweatcloth from the sixth Station of the Cross."

  Marco rose from Amendola's throne and walked to the window. The traffic below was as busy as ever. "Why are we calling it a relic? Part of a statue can't be holy."

  "An interesting opinion, Marco, but relics are not necessarily the remains of a holy person. Articles that the saints touched in their lifetime are often considered to be relics. The people who made the statue knew our Savior. He healed the woman of her internal bleeding when she dared reach out and touch his cloak. Subsequently, according to Eusebius, people were healed when they touched the statue. The Holy Father shares my opinion that there is no problem in considering the head of that statue to be a sacred relic."

  Marco felt surprised. Father Josef was speaking as though he knew something firsthand of the Holy Father's views.

  "Marco, do you know what the poet Dante said about the Veronica, when he saw the imprint allegedly left when Christ wiped his face on the way to the cross? He stood in awe and wrote the words: 'My Lord Jesus Christ, very God, was this then Your true semblance?'" Father Josef gave a broad smile as he leaned over, lowering his voice slightly. "Tell me, Marco, would you not like to see that face while still in this life?"

  "And Canon Angelo tried to sell it! He tried to sell it to those ... those maledetti! Excuse me, Father."

  Father Josef spoke softly. "Can we sit in judgment? He knew what he was selling was just a copy of the real article. The money was to be reparation for the dreadful suffering inflicted on the Jews by the Nazis."

  "Laura said the same sort of thing last night. You both sound as though you hate the Germans," said Marco.

  Father Josef sighed. "Then I am sorry. Germany is the country that gave me birth, and I love my people. My passport is German. The vast majority of German people today are totally opposed to a fascist revival. A few years ago I was one of three million Germans who marched by candlelight as a protest agai
nst the extreme right."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "A shrine -- a so-called Christian shrine -- holds considerably more attraction than a political creed. I will just have a look. I can hear my countrymen saying it. Once inside, the seduction would start. Names taken for a register of those interested in further contact. Danger indeed, Marco. The insidious lure of mysticism. People are always drawn by the promise of something new and powerful. Such promises led many of us astray in the war."

  "Laura told me the Nazis shot Canon Angelo's family." Marco closed his eyes. "Against a wall. I was taught we had to leave vengeance to God. Now I'm not so sure. Vengeance is a powerful force, Father Josef." He felt uncomfortable, walking from the window to the table as he spoke.

  The old priest shook his head. "Powerful, yes, but also destructive. Do not wish the judgment of God upon anyone, Marco -- not even upon your most evil enemy. Try instead to pray for their forgiveness. Can you do that?"

  Marco had a vivid picture of Anna lying on the steps. His anger at the three drunken tourists and the terrible craving for revenge. His anger at being falsely accused by the carabinieri of involvement in Anna's death. The hatred, the bitterness that had twisted into his heart like a knife. His ruined life, the long nights, the tears.

  "It's hard. I've never prayed for the men who killed Anna. Yes, perhaps I should."

  "Life is hard, Marco. You must remember: God's forgiveness is a free gift, through the death of Jesus on the cross. No one can earn it. I have always thought that it is easier for God to forgive than it is for man. We find it hard to forgive and offer love at the same time. God offers his forgiveness because he loves us, but because of pride many do not take it. Do not judge Angelo Levi too harshly. I cannot believe he would have allowed the neo-Nazis to bask for long in their new-found glory. He would surely have come into the open with the genuine relic, and completely discredited them. They could hardly ask for their money back, and he would be free to give it away as he thought best."

  "Perhaps," Marco conceded somewhat reluctantly.

  Father Josef laughed. "It might not be divine justice but it would certainly be good enough for me."

  Marco looked down into the piazza. A figure was marching purposefully towards the building making passers-by jump aside. It was Monsignor Augusto Giorgio, his black cassock flowing. He was sailing along like a dark pirate ship in a storm ready for battle.

  "You're talking as though you know something of Canon Angelo's motives, Father Josef."

  "Perhaps I do. Even senior figures in the Church require someone to confide in."

  "Then if you..." Marco paused. It would be insubordinate to suggest that Father Josef had been party to a conspiracy. And would he admit to it anyway?

  The Monsignor had already entered the building. A further question might help, but Marco knew he must be quick. Laura had asked it first, by the fig trees. "Can the motive make the action right?"

  Before Father Josef could answer, the black clad Monsignor thrust himself into the large chamber, cutting short any further speculation on divine condemnation and forgiveness.