Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  Julia sat silently, not bothering to answer.

  “You’re free to go. Congratulations on a successful year and congratulations on being admitted to Harvard. We’ll see you at graduation.” The Dean nodded at her dismissively.

  She picked up her knapsack and walked to the door. Just as her hand reached for the doorknob she stopped, turning to face the two professors.

  How strange it is, she thought, that these two men, armed only with massive intellects and closets full of tweed, could wield so much power over her heart and her happiness.

  “I don’t regret my relationship with Professor Emerson, even though it ended badly. Both of you were incredibly dismissive and patronizing to me throughout this entire process. I understand the importance of protecting someone who needs protection, but the only people I needed protection from was you.”

  Julia gave them a withering look and exited the office.

  Chapter 37

  Gabriel stayed so long in Assisi, he became a fixture at the Basilica. Every day he spent a long hour sitting by St. Francis’s crypt, thinking. Sometimes he prayed. Sometimes God seemed near and other times he seemed far away. At all times, Gabriel wished he was with Julia, although he began to realize how flawed their relationship had been—how he’d wanted to change his ways to be worthy of her when really, he should have changed because he was an insufferable ass.

  He was enjoying lunch one day at the hotel when a fellow American struck up a conversation with him. The man was a physician from California, who was visiting Assisi with his wife and teenaged son.

  “We’re going to Florence tomorrow, and we’ll be there for two months.”

  “Doing what?” Gabriel asked, eying the gray-haired man curiously.

  “We’ll be staying with the Franciscans. My wife, who is a nurse, and I will be working in a medical clinic. My son is going to be helping the homeless.”

  Gabriel frowned. “You’re doing this as volunteers?”

  “Yes. We wanted to do this as a family.” The man paused and looked at Gabriel intently.

  “Would you consider coming with us? The Franciscans can always use more help.”

  “No,” said Gabriel, stabbing a piece of beef determinedly. “I’m not Catholic.”

  “Neither are we. We’re Lutherans.”

  Gabriel gazed at the doctor with interest. His knowledge of Lutherans was limited almost exclusively to the writings of Garrison Keillor. (Not that he was willing to admit it.)

  The doctor smiled. “We wanted to lend a hand to a good work. I wanted to encourage my son to think beyond beach vacations and video games.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline.” Gabriel was firm in his response, and so the doctor changed the subject.

  Later that evening, Gabriel stared out the window of his simple hotel room, thinking as he always did about Julia.

  She wouldn’t have said no. She would have gone.

  As ever, he was reminded of the divide between her generosity and his selfishness. A divide that, even after spending so many months with her, was yet to be breached.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Gabriel stood in front of the monument to Dante in Santa Croce. He’d joined the Lutherans in their trip to Florence and become one of the Franciscans’ most troublesome volunteers. He served meals to the poor but was horrified by the quality of food on offer, so he wrote a check to hire a caterer to make the meals. He went with the other volunteers as they gave toiletries and clean clothing to homeless people, but he was so troubled by the lack of cleanliness of the men and women that he wrote a check to construct washrooms and shower facilities for the homeless at the Franciscan mission.

  In short, by the time Gabriel had seen every aspect of the Franciscans’ work with the poor, he’d endeavored to change everything and agreed to finance the changes himself. Then he paid a few visits to some wealthy Florentine families, who he knew through his academic life, asking them to support the Franciscans as they helped the poor of Florence. Their donations would ensure a steady stream of revenue for years to come.

  As he stood in front of the Dante memorial, he was struck by a sudden kinship with his favorite poet. Dante had been exiled from Florence. Even though the city eventually forgave him and allowed a memorial to be placed in his honor in the Basilica, he was buried in Ravenna. In a strange twist of fate, Gabriel now knew what it was like to be exiled from his job, his city, and his home, for Julianne’s arms would always be his home. Even though he was forced into exile.

  The memorials around him reminded him of his own mortality. If he was lucky, he’d have a long life, but many people such as Grace had their lives cut short. He could be hit by a car, or contract cancer, or have a heart attack. Suddenly, his time on earth seemed very short and very precious.

  Since he’d left Assisi, he’d tried to assuage his guilt and loneliness by doing good works. Volunteering with the Franciscans was certainly a step in that direction. But what about making amends with Paulina? It was far too late to make his peace with Grace, or Maia, or his biological mother and father.

  What about Julianne?

  Gabriel stared at the figure of a despairing woman who leaned on what looked like Dante’s casket. He’d accepted his exile, but that didn’t mean he’d refrained from writing letter after letter to her, letters that were never sent.

  * * *

  Cemeteries had a stillness all their own. Even cemeteries located in busy urban centers possessed this stillness—an unearthly quiet that clings to the air.

  Walking through the cemetery, Gabriel couldn’t pretend that he was strolling in a park. The sparse trees that peppered the landscape were not teeming with singing birds. The grass, though green and very well kept, was not alive with squirrels or the occasional urban rabbit, playing with his brothers or looking for food.

  He saw the stone angels in the distance, their twin forms standing like tall sentries among the other monuments. They were made of marble, not granite, their skin white and pale and perfect. The angels faced away from him, their wings spread wide. It was easier for him to stand behind the monument. He couldn’t see the name etched in stone. He could stay there forever, a few feet away, and never approach. But that would be cowardly.

  He inhaled deeply, his sapphire eyes shut tightly, as he said a silent prayer. Then he walked a half circuit around the monument, stopping in front of the marker.

  He removed a pristine handkerchief from his trouser pocket. An onlooker might have guessed that he had need of it for sweat or tears, but he didn’t. He leaned forward and with a gentle hand swept the white linen over the black stone. The dirt came away easily. He would need to tend the rose bushes that had begun to encroach upon the letters. He made a mental note to hire a gardener.

  He placed flowers in front of the stone, his mouth moving as if he were whispering. But he wasn’t. The grave, of course, was empty.

  A tear or two clouded his vision, followed by their brothers, and soon his face was wet with their rain. He didn’t bother to wipe them away as he lifted his face to gaze upon the angels, the souls of silent, marble compassion.

  He asked for forgiveness. He expressed his guilt, a guilt he knew would ache for the rest of his life. He didn’t ask for his burden to be removed, for it seemed to him to be part of the consequences of his actions. Or rather, the consequences of what he failed to do for a mother and their child.

  He reached into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone and dialed a number from the iPhone’s memory.

  “Hello?”

  “Paulina. I need to see you.”

  Chapter 38

  Julia’s father insisted on attending her graduation and refused to allow Paul to move her to Cambridge alone. Tom paid the security deposit and rent on her summer sublet. And it was Tom who flew to Toronto so he could watch his only daughter graduate with her MA on June eleventh.

  Dressed in simple black with artful shoes, Julia left Paul and Tom on the steps of Convocation Hall while she
went to line up with all the other graduating students.

  Tom liked Paul. A lot.

  Paul was forthright and had a firm handshake. He looked Tom directly in the eye when they spoke to one another. Paul offered his assistance in helping move Julia to Cambridge, including accommodations on his family’s farm in Burlington, even after Tom had insisted that he could move Julia by himself. Tom dropped a hint to his daughter over dinner the evening before graduation, suggesting that Paul was an obvious choice for a new love interest, but Julia pretended she hadn’t heard him.

  As the graduates filed into the hall, Julia couldn’t help but scan the audience, looking for Gabriel. With so many people it was unlikely that she would see him, even if he were present. However, when she gazed over at the faculty section she easily located Katherine Picton, dressed in her Oxonian robes. If the faculty were arranged alphabetically, and it certainly seemed as if they were, then Julia should have been able to guess where Gabriel would be seated, dressed in Harvard’s crimson. But he wasn’t.

  When they called Julia’s name, it was Katherine who ascended the stage in slow but certain steps to hood Julia with the vestment of a magister. It was Katherine who shook her hand professionally, wished her well at Harvard, and handed her the diploma.

  Later that evening, after a celebratory dinner with Paul and Tom at a local steakhouse, Julia checked her voice mail and found a new message. It was from Rachel.

  “Congratulations, Julia! We all send our love and we have presents for you. Thanks for sending me your new address in Cambridge. I’ll mail everything and make sure it arrives after you do. I’m also sending your bridesmaid’s dress.

  “Dad booked your flight from Boston to Philadelphia for August twenty-first. I hope that’s okay. He wanted to pay for it, and I know that you were planning on coming a week early.

  “I still haven’t heard from Gabriel. I’m hoping he was at your graduation. But if he wasn’t, maybe you two will be able to sort everything out at the wedding. I can’t imagine that he’d miss it. He’s supposed to be a groomsman, and I don’t even have his measurements for his tux!”

  Chapter 39

  A certain blue-eyed Dante specialist read T.S. Eliot’s poem Ash Wednesday before offering his nighttime prayers. He was alone, and yet not alone.

  Looking at the photograph on his bedside table he thought about her graduation. How beautiful and proud she would have looked in her robes. With a sigh, he closed his book of poetry and turned out the light.

  In the darkness of his old bedroom in the Clarks’ former house, he reflected on the past weeks. He’d left Italy and traveled to Boston and Minnesota. He’d promised the Franciscans he’d return, for they’d said (wisely) that they prized his presence more than his donations. With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes.

  * * *

  “Gabriel, it’s time to get up.”

  Groaning, he kept his eyes shut, hoping the voice would go away. Sleep was peaceful and he needed it.

  “Come on. I know you’re awake.” The voice laughed softly, and he felt the mattress dip next to his legs.

  He opened his eyes and saw his adoptive mother sitting on the edge of his bed. “Is it time for school?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  Grace laughed again, the sound light and airy like music. “You’re a bit old to be going to school, at least as a student.”

  He looked around, confused. Then he sat up.

  She smiled warmly and held out her hand. He relished the feel of her soft hand in his before squeezing it.

  “What’s the matter?” She gave him a puzzled look that was not unkind, as he held her hand in both of his.

  “I never said good-bye. I wasn’t able to tell you—” He paused and inhaled quickly. “That I love you.”

  “A mother knows these things, Gabriel. I’ve always known.”

  He was momentarily overcome with a wave of emotion as he reached over and pulled her into a hug. “I didn’t know you were sick. Rachel told me you were getting better. I should have been there.”

  Grace patted him on the back. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for everything. You made the best decision you could given the information you had at the time. No one expects you to be omniscient—or perfect.”

  She pulled away so she could see his face. “You shouldn’t expect it of yourself, either. I love all my children, but you were my gift from God. You’ve always been special.”

  Mother and son spent a moment or two in quiet communion before she stood up, smoothing her dress.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Gabriel wiped his eyes, pulling back the blankets and swinging his flannel covered legs to the floor. He stood up, trying to comb his hair, momentarily forgetting that he was shirtless. Grace went into the hallway then came back, with her arm around a young woman.

  Gabriel stared.

  The woman was young, although she seemed ageless. Her hair was long and blond, her face a flawless white, and she was slender and tall. Her eyes were familiar. Striking sapphire blue eyes greeted his, accompanied by a wide, pink smile.

  Gabriel gave Grace a questioning look.

  “I’ll let you two talk,” she said, and disappeared.

  “I’m Gabriel.” He smiled politely and extended his hand.

  She shook it, grinning happily in return. “I know.” Her voice was soft and very sweet. It reminded Gabriel of a little bell.

  “And you are?”

  “I wanted to meet you. Grace told me what you were like as a child, about your work as a professor. I like Dante too. He’s very funny.”

  Gabriel nodded, not quite understanding.

  The young woman looked up at him wistfully. “Will you tell me about her?”

  “Who?”

  “Paulina?”

  Gabriel stiffened, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I never knew her.”

  He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “She went to see her family in Minnesota, to try to reconcile with them.”

  “I know. She’s happy.”

  “Then why do you ask?”

  “I want to know what she’s like.”

  He took a moment to carefully construct what to say. “She’s attractive and smart. She’s stubborn. She speaks several languages and she cooks well.” He chuckled. “But she’s not especially musical. She can’t carry a tune in a basket.”

  The young woman giggled. “So I’ve heard.” She eyed Gabriel curiously. “Did you love her?”

  He looked away. “I think I love her now, in a way. We were friends in the beginning, when I met her at Oxford.”

  The young woman nodded and turned her head as if someone was calling her from the hallway. She quickly shifted her gaze back to Gabriel.

  “I’m glad I met you. It wasn’t possible before. But I’ll see you again.” She smiled and turned toward the door.

  Gabriel followed her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  She looked up at him expectantly. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  “I don’t. I’m sorry. Although there’s something familiar about your eyes…”

  She laughed and Gabriel smiled in spite of himself, for her laughter was infectious. “Of course my eyes are familiar; they’re yours.”

  Gabriel’s smile slid off his face.

  “Don’t you know me?” She seemed puzzled.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m Maia.”

  His expression froze. Then, as the moments passed, it ranged through several different emotions, like clouds floating across the sky on a summer’s day.

  She pointed to the tattoo he wore on his left pectoral. “You didn’t have to do that.” She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “I know that you loved me.

  “I’m happy here. It’s filled with light and hope and love. And it’s so beautiful.”

  She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, her touch lingering for only a second, before she left
him to walk to the hallway.

  Chapter 40

  Tom stood at Julia’s front door the day after her graduation, wearing a gray T-shirt with the word Harvard emblazoned across the chest.

  “Dad?” Julia’s tone was a question.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said gruffly, pulling her into a hug.

  Father and daughter shared a quiet moment on the porch of Julia’s building before they heard someone coming up the steps behind them.

  “Uh, good morning. I brought breakfast.” Paul held a tray containing three coffees and some doughnuts from Tim Horton’s. He seemed somewhat embarrassed at having intruded on the Mitchells, but he was greeted with a handshake from Tom and a hug from Julia.

  The trio shared breakfast at Julia’s card table, then the two men began planning how best to pack up all of her things and move them. Luckily, Paul had persuaded Sarah, who was subletting to Julia, to allow her to move into the Cambridge apartment on June fifteenth.

  “Um, Katherine Picton invited me to lunch today. But I don’t have to go.” Julia spoke quickly. She didn’t want to leave Tom and Paul working while she went on a social call.

  “You don’t have a lot of stuff, Jules.” Tom quickly appraised her studio’s contents. “We’ll let you pack your clothes while we start on the books. I’m sure we’ll be close to finished by the time you have to see your professor.” He smiled and tousled her hair with his hand before disappearing into the washroom, leaving Paul and Julia alone.

  “You don’t have to do this. Dad and I will be fine.”

  Paul frowned. “When are you going to accept the fact that I’m here because I want to be? I don’t leave, Julia, not when I have a reason to stay.”

  Julia stiffened uncomfortably, and her eyes quickly fixated on the half-finished coffee in front of her.

  “If Professor Picton summoned you, it’s because she wants to talk to you. You’d better go.” Paul squeezed Julia’s hand lightly. “Your old man and I can handle things around here.”