Il Pane Della Vita

by Coralie Hughes Jensen

  “You’ll print them out please. I enjoy reading letters, but I avoid email. It takes the writer no time to compose and reads like he or she has never studied grammar or vocabulary.”

  “Spoken like a true teacher, Mother. You’ll make Sister Eloisa a great one. I’ll print them out at the printer in your office—if you could get Sister Marcella to retrieve them for you.”

  The mother superior stared directly into her charge’s eyes.

  Sister Angela smiled. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “You were careful, yes. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t hear the venom in your voice.”

  “I’m finished with my lunch, Mother. Yes, I know. I ate far too fast. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll run upstairs to pack a few things.”

  Mother Margarita bowed her head, and Sister Angela hurried toward the stairs to her room.

  At three o’clock, a car pulled up in front of the school. Sister Angela was ready. The driver held open the door to reveal a plushy back seat for her and placed her suitcase in the trunk. Then they were off. The nun watched him carefully maneuver the black BMW E-23 through the gate and then sat back to gaze at the orchards and vineyards up close.

  “Do you get out often, Sister?” asked the voice from the front seat.

  Sister Angela glanced at the kindly pair of eyes, staring at her through the rearview mirror. “Often enough. I go down to Petraggio on occasion. I usually take the bus. I have lived here all my life and rarely leave the valley. I guess you normally transport the men affiliated with the palace, Mr.…”

  “Belmonte, Ugo Belmonte. On occasion, I do drive the secretary general. Doesn’t she direct your chapter under the superior general? Madam Secretary is quite affable, you know. Otherwise I drive only men. You must be doing something important, Sister, to have me drive you all the way to the mountains. I’m glad because it’s such a beautiful day.”

  “How long is the drive?”

  “It’s just about two hours. You will arrive in time for dinner, Sister. I hear the nearby village of Collinaterra is known for its terracotta. Mrs. Belmonte wants me to find some figures that fit our Christmas crèche. I have no idea what she wants, but she wrote it down for the sculptor.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something wonderful. But I don’t want to think about Christmas while I’m visiting the monastery. That makes me envision snow, and I don’t want to dwell on snow in the spring. How long have you lived in Montriano, Mr. Belmonte?”

  “I hope this isn’t part of your investigation, Sister. Am I speaking off the record here?”

  The nun smiled. “Yes. I guess I’m naturally inquisitive. I like to get to know the people I meet so that when I see them again I’ll be able to converse about topics that might interest them.”

  “I don’t live in Montriano. My wife and I met in Roma, but we settled in Petraggio.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  “No. My wife couldn’t have any. We thought about adoption but could never find the time to fill out all those pages. Perhaps we didn’t want any. I don’t know.”

  “Does your wife work then?”

  “Yes, she’s a hairdresser in Petraggio.”

  “Ah, so what’s the name of the place for when I need my hair cut?”

  “I’ll put the information on my card at the end of our drive. I saw on the news that there was a fire at one of the monasteries in the area. Was that at Santo Velo?”

  “Yes. They didn’t mention where on the news?”

  “No. They just said there was a fire in the mountains, but that the fire was put out quickly. Are you going there because of the fire?”

  “Why would the bishop send me there? What could I do? The fire is already out.”

  An awkward silence followed.

  “Why would you be going there when the monastery is for men?”

  The nun smiled. Did she feel a bit giddy? “There’s a retreat center there, Mr. Belmonte. Many nuns take retreat there when the weather is good. I brought my sunglasses and a good book for a vacation in the middle of the school year. I hope the food is tasty.”

  “Ah, then sit back and enjoy yourself, Sister. We’re beginning to hit the foothills.”

  An hour and a half later, houses began to appear through the trees.

  The road narrowed, and the trees disappeared. Belmonte drove onto a brick road with stores and offices on each side. “We’re nearly there, Sister. I need some coffee. May I get you some?”

  “Yes. I should get out and stretch my legs. I promise I’ll stay in sight of the car.” She crossed the road to look at a space between the stone buildings. Such a quaint little village. A steep, forested hillside ascended closely behind the buildings. Peeking over the railing, she saw a bubbling brook enter a pipe under the road. She glanced back across the thoroughfare and discovered a similar railing between two buildings on the other side. Waiting for a car to pass, she traversed the road once more. Behind tree branches, she viewed a panorama of the valley. The late afternoon sun gave it a golden glow. How perfect, she thought. This scene might even be more beautiful than Montriano. And the smell… The leafy trees are so sweet and fresh.

  Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned to see Belmonte with their coffees.

  “This one is for you, Sister. There’s a table a few hundred meters up the highway. I can carry it for you, if you would like.”

  “I was just admiring the beautiful view.”

  “The monastery is just a few kilometers farther along this road.”

  “Then my visit should provide me with a good rest.”

  The two strolled up the hill where more stores appeared. They sat at a picnic table and enjoyed their coffees.

  “I see that there’s a store with terracotta tiles just across the street,” said Sister Angela. “Maybe you should visit now. It might be closed after you drop me off.”

  “Oh, but I mustn’t take too long. I have to have you at Santo Velo by dinnertime.”

  She tossed her paper cup into a nearby trashcan. “Then let’s go shopping now.”

  Belmonte caressed the bag on the seat beside him as he turned right at a small wooden sign and followed the narrow road that snaked up the side of the mountain. Not a kilometer farther, the trees opened up to reveal an unimposing building.

  “Is this it?

  The yellow plaster was framed in brown. The building in front of them was not as old as she imagined. It was rustic.

  “It looks smaller than I envisioned,” she said.

  “The building goes back a ways.”

  “You have been here before, Mr. Belmonte?”

  “Yes, a few times. The bishop visits on occasion.”

  He slowed the car. “The monastery sits on the edge of a plateau. From there, the slope becomes steep, but it won’t fall. There are beautiful gardens where you can sit and contemplate inside the front doors.

  “I’d get out, but it looks like someone has come to the front door to greet us.”

  Belmonte drove forward until they could look up a few steps to a wide portico in front of the entry. A small fountain sat in the center.

  “Ah, Sister Angela, we’re so glad to see you. I’m Father Rafaello. I am afraid we’re sitting down to dinner in about fifteen minutes. If you let me show you to your room, you may have a few moments to freshen up.”

  Belmonte handed her suitcase to the abbot. “Thank you for keeping me company, Sister. I’ll pick you up in a couple of weeks. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Belmonte. I’ll keep Father Sergio informed about when to send you.”

  The entry hall of the main building was grand. It circled a courtyard of bright flowers and bronze statues. Mosaics and paintings decorated the walls opposite the garden. She gazed up the through the roof and watched a few clouds dot the bright blue sky. The abbot set the suitcase on the walkway.

  “I must tell you, Sister, that none of us has seen the eremo since the accident. The brothers will probably try to wheedle information from you
about what happened up there. We know nothing.”

  “In an era of mobiles, pcs, and smart thingamajigs, I’m surprised you haven’t heard anything.”

  “Although we do have one phone—mine, the rest of the brothers don’t have any. The computer in the office doesn’t connect to the Internet. People who come in here to work must pledge not to mention news from the outside. It interferes with prayers and contemplation.”

  “But I’m expected to communicate with Father Sergio. How do I do that if I cannot access the outside world?”

  “I thought of that. There’s a connection in some of the guestrooms. I’ll put you in one of those. I only ask that when you come downstairs to eat, please don’t inform them about outside news.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling in thought. “And one other rule—no guests in the rooms.”

  “What about the hermitage? Have the investigators already cleared the scene?”

  “No. It was difficult, but we asked them to wait until you were here.”

  “And they agreed? That doesn’t sound at all like the police where I live.”

  “The chief is a childhood friend, Sister Angela. You’ll be working with Chief Inspector Monte Morena. He will indeed be raring to go in the morning. Someone will pick you up right after breakfast, which is at seven, and drive you up to the top of the hill.”

  “I realize they’re hermits, Father, but how does one talk to them if one needs to?”

  “We all hike up. It’s about an hour up the mountain. There’s a path if you ever want to try it. The people who tend to their needs telephone us for supplies. They’re delivered, or the attendants walk down here to pick them up.

  “They have telephones, then?”

  “Members of the staff have them. The eremiti and the brothers here do not.”

  So entranced by the story about how the hermits lived, Sister Angela barely noticed that they had gone inside the building. The stairs were just across from the door. They did not wait for an elevator because there was none.

  “The brothers and canons live on the ground floor. The entrance to the cells is through a set of doors beyond the stairway. Next up is the VIP floor, if you want to call it that. Not only do we have church officials, but Italian businessmen often have retreats for their executives. They stay on this floor. The rooms are en suite and modern.”

  “It’s difficult to stay away from the world beyond,” the nun said. “Why have this kind of room at all?”

  “Businessmen help keep the monastery standing, and they need to communicate while they’re here.”

  Once off the stairs, the prior guided the nun down the hallway. “Sorry it’s so far. There’s no one using this floor right now.”

  “So it’ll be quiet.”

  The abbot punched the keycard into the lock, but the door would not open. “I cannot stand these new-fangled things,” he said. “This is the only floor that uses these because most young businessmen don’t know how to use a key.” He turned the card over and tried again.

  The door swung open to a bright and cheery room that was still light. The windows across the room were open.

  “I had them open these windows to air out the room.”

  “Is that Avalle in the distance?”

  “Yes. It’s between the two mountains. You can barely see it in the haze during the day, but at night, the lights are glorious.

  “It looks so far away.”

  “It’s about a half-hour drive—a lot of switchbacks for the chief inspector to navigate. We don’t visit Avalle often. We get most of our supplies in Collinaterra.”

  “I saw the shops in Collinaterra. What’s that noise I hear?”

  “This room is at the back of the building. You can look straight down from the window and see a brook. Can you hear it? It can be very relaxing.”

  “Yes.” She inhaled the sweet-smelling air.

  “You crossed over several little bridges driving up to Collinaterra.”

  “I didn’t notice. This is a glorious view indeed. I’ll spend all my time in here gazing out the window.” She turned back to the room.

  To her right was the bedroom. The luxurious fabrics covering a canopied bed made her feel like she was in one of her childhood dreams. Where’s the horse and handsome knight?

  “A small fold—out desk in the corner is for your laptop, and of course, there is a TV, but I’m not sure how many stations it gets because we don’t watch it here.”

  “Oh, but I don’t need all this.”

  “Sorry. These are the only rooms with internet connections. After dinner, I’ll send Brother Bruno to make sure you can get onto the Internet.”

  “One of the brothers has technical experience?”

  “He joined us after working for a tech company. He said he suffered burnout in the business world. I grabbed him immediately. Monks with that kind of background are rare.”

  “What about the floor above us?”

  “There are two. The one just above is for those who want the retreat experience. They have no access to the outside and share bathrooms at each end of the hallway as do the monks below. The top floor is for the staff. It isn’t full. We have a few housekeepers and a maintenance person. Most of the jobs are done by the brothers themselves so they live in cells on the ground floor. We make our own beer and wine and bake our own bread. Besides works of art, we also make the soap and shampoo. If you want a nice walk, you can take a path down the side of the monastery to the brook. Beyond the road, the woods are enchanting.”

  “I can’t wait to try them.”

  “You’re welcome to investigate the entire grounds, including sitting in the contemplative garden. You’re allowed to talk to the eremiti, but we ask you to tell us so we can inform the eremo when you’re coming. I’m afraid they’ll ignore you unless we call ahead. I’ll let you wash up now. I’m afraid you only have a few minutes before we eat. We’ll wait for you tonight because you’re our guest. Remember, when you leave your room, turn left. Follow that to the end of the hallway and turn right. You will soon see the stairs. Outside the door, turn right at the courtyard. You’ll discover another courtyard. At the far end of the second, you’ll find the door to the sala.”

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Father Abbot. Thank you for the tour.”

  “Everyone here calls me Father Rafaello. Please feel free to use that address,” he said, stepping out into the hallway.

  She shut the door and made her way to the sink. How was she going to explore the whole place? Would they all expect a miracle? Would the Church kick her out if she found out the explosion was caused by an accident or that the hermit was covering up for something he did or, God forbid, the explosion was a real murder?

  Sister Angela returned to her room after dinner. Easily maneuvering her keycard into the lock and pushing open the door, she jumped when she saw the figure, hovering over a laptop. “Excuse me,” she said. “Perhaps I have the wrong room.”

  He turned his head toward her. He looked young, his eyes were pensive—no, numinous. “Sister Angela? Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I saw you downstairs and thought it might be better if I had you up and running by the time you returned. I’m Brother Bruno. I just have to get the Wi-Fi running so you can use your phone. We don’t have a cell tower close by, and your mobile won’t work without it.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Does that mean it won’t work on the mountain?” She was mesmerized by his eyes, dark brown pools framed by light-brown brows.

  “Yes, they don’t need it, Brother Bruno said. He automatically tousled his short graying hair. “There you have to use the landline in the offices.”

  “That’s good to know, I suppose. Father Rafaello mentioned that you worked in the business world before you decided to become a brother. How long did you do that?”

  “A few years,” he said.

  “Your experience is much prized here.”

  He smiled but continued with his task. “There. You’re all set. This connects you automaticall
y so you won’t have to call up a connection to the Internet each time you want an email to go out.”

  “You must have worked longer because you seem to know so much.”

  “Not that long,” Those dark-brown eyes gazed directly at her. “I’ve been playing with computers since I was a child, Sister. Those growing up today don’t have to learn about how they work. If you need me again, don’t hesitate to call Father Rafaello. He’ll contact me.”

  “I can’t call you directly?”

  “No, Sister. The monastic life has cured me of my addiction to things electronic. I only dabble with them when they need me to help out, but everything is supervised so I won’t go overboard.”

  “Good night then,” said the nun.

  “Good night.”

  Three

  Past and Future

  In the morning, Sister Angela opened the window to let in the sweet spring air. She shivered and shut it again. It must have rained during the night. A low fog clung to the treetops.

  After showering, she made her way down the stairs and out the door, walking around the second courtyard. An open door and the din of conversation made it easy for Sister Angela to find the dining room without help.

  “Good morning. Sister Angela, isn’t it?” asked one of the brothers.

  “You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

  “I’m Brother Enrico, the breakfast cook.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brother. Where am I to sit?”

  “You can sit anywhere there’s a chair. I think I see one at the first table. It’s near the windows if you don’t mind the light. There are rolls in the baskets and coffee in the caraffe. You can serve yourself juice or cereal at the tables along the wall here.”

  The nun waddled to an empty chair and waited for a carafe to be passed to her. The bread, with an assortment of local jams and honey, was delicious. She gazed around her, wondering if she should talk to anyone, but most of the men seemed to be more interested in the hot libation and food than a lone woman wearing a habit.