“I did mind at first”, he said. “I’m not used to this sort of milieu.”
“Good, then why don’t you stick by me and you won’t have to simulate casual conversation with prime ministers and geniuses.”
“That is kind of you.”
“Not at all. It relieves me of a similar burden.”
She smiled at him, and it warmed the chill that had settled on him from the moment he entered the palazzo.
“What would you like to talk about?” she said.
“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. I have many questions, but they are inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate. Really?”
“For example, would it be too forward to inquire about your connection with the President?”
She laughed with genuine hilarity.
“Not forward in the least. You are a gentleman, I see. You would be surprised at how the number of gentlemen in the world has decreased in recent years,”
“I suppose it would depend on what you mean by a gentleman.”
“I mean a chevalier du roi. A man of good will and good word.”
“It lifts my heart to hear there are some who still value such things.”
“There are some. But to answer your question: I’m a member of the Board of Directors of the President’s Foundation for the Development of Archeology.”
“Are you an archeologist?”
“Strictly an amateur.”
“Then why. . .?”
“Because my family has a great deal of prestige, and because my name is useful to him.”
“You are very forthright.”
“Life is short. I don’t think we human beings have much time to waste on the creation of misleading images.”
“I agree with you.”
“So, you see, not only has your inappropriate question cleared away the fog, it has uncovered the fortuitous fact that we have something in common. We can discuss ruins until dinner time.”
He was struck by the gentleness of her voice, the consistent clarity of her glance, revealing both modesty and honesty and a more elusive quality. . . virtue. He liked her and realized with some surprise that he had made an ally.
“Now, I am free to ask the same inappropriate question. Why are you here?”
“I have been invited, but I don’t know why. I met the President only once, a few months ago. I was simply a courier.”
“Simple couriers do not receive invitations to gatherings such as this.”
“Then I suppose he thinks I may be useful to his cause—in some way that eludes me.”
“He always has a purpose”, she said without emotion.
“Do you admire him?”
“He is an extraordinary person.”
But again he noted the absence of enthusiasm.
“Do you admire him, Father Schäfer?”
“As you say, he is an extraordinary person.”
She did not reply, but continued to look into his eyes as if waiting for something.
At that moment the dinner bell rang, and the guests began to move toward the dining hall.
“Thank you for this conversation”, he said. “You have made it easier for me. I wish you well in your enterprises.”
“I also wish you well. Perhaps we will meet again one day.”
She turned and went ahead of him into the hall.
That was that, Elijah said to himself. He lingered by the door, uncertain as to what he should do. He watched Anna Benedetti locate her place card halfway up the right-hand side of the table, and seat herself. He observed most of the guests proceeding to their positions at table with a certain knowing, as if they had a faculty for estimating their degree of importance.
Roberto and a few other servants guided the stragglers, Elijah among them, to their places. To his surprise, he found himself positioned beside Anna. He had come to think of her as Anna. She looked up and smiled. He smiled back.
“Archeology”, he said.
“Yes, that must be it. Someone has done his homework. They always do, you know.”
To his right sat a woman who rustled in black satin, appointed with diamonds. They introduced themselves, and then she turned to the man on her right, with whom she resumed a vigorous discussion in a Balkan language. Elijah guessed from the names of classical composers bobbing on the surface of unintelligible words that they were discussing music. Anna was chatting with the elderly man on her left, the American ambassador.
Elijah looked down at his own name card. It read Professore Elijah Schäfer. So, it had been determined what his public image would be—the academic. He shot a glance at her name card. It read Signora Anna Benedetti.
She was married. A married woman without a ring. A widow?
The President entered the room flanked by two men. Some of the guests burst into applause. All conversations stopped in mid-stride and the applause became a storm; the guests rose en masse to their feet. Elijah stood up with them. Anna caught his eye, but her face remained expressionless.
The President seemed embarrassed by the attention and waved them to silence.
“Grazie, grazie!” he said, then he made an Italian pun that elicited much laughter. It was clear that the guests not only esteemed the man but felt affection for him.
“Now, really, you must forgive me for this inexcusable delay. I had hoped to be able to greet each of you as you arrived, but I was kidnapped by these two sinister fellows and held at ransom. I have made every concession within my power, and thus I am now set at liberty. This international terrorist on my right will return to the London School of Economics with his bag of cash, and this other one on my left will return to the IMF with his loot. I am now free to enjoy—to enjoy with you—the pasta!”
More laughter, applause, and cheers.
He was a gracious host. He conducted the two economists to their respective places near the head of the table. The heads of state were at that end also, and two or three personages whom Elijah could not identify.
When everyone was seated, the President remained standing.
“My friends,” he said in a voice that carried to the end of the room but remained warm and virile, “my friends, welcome to this festive day. We have completed weeks of deliberation, composed masses of documents, and now we must play. No speeches, no position papers, no honorifics are permitted this evening. Enjoy yourselves. Viva Roma!.”
“Viva Roma!” the crowd shouted and raised their glasses.
“Viva Roma!” said Anna, sotto voce, looking at Elijah with a raised glass. He touched his glass to hers and said, “To the wisdom of history!”
She smiled at him and then sat down smiling to herself.
During the meal, the American ambassador continued to engage her attention. He was a charming extrovert and had a great many opinions to offer on a variety of subjects. They spoke at length about laws that would likely be passed by the Europarliament at its next session. Elijah was intrigued to overhear Anna’s grasp of fundamental principles of law and to hear her argue, relentlessly and with considerable skill, against a piece of proposed legislation, the substance of which Elijah did not hear because of a guffaw from the direction of the Balkans. When he again caught the thread of their discussion, he found that it was winding up quickly. The ambassador was shaking his head, saying, “Well, you may be right about the principle, but for the good of societies one must be flexible. Law must serve man, not man the law.”
“That is true”, she replied, “But one must be careful of sophistries. Law must serve universal principles in man, grounded in natural law. Law cannot serve man properly if it is blown this way and that by every wind of opinion, fashion, or prejudice.”
“Hmm,” said the ambassador, “that’s too philosophical for me.”
He turned to the woman on his left, leaving Anna to eat her meal.
“You are no ordinary housewife, Signora Benedetti.”
She looked at him.
“Professore Schäfer, I am of the opinion that when o
ne gets to know a housewife, any housewife, one finds that she is never ordinary.”
“That is a noble sentiment.”
“It’s also a fact.”
“You know, tonight I learned that very thing.”
“Oh?”
“I discovered a great secret of the cosmos.”
“Did you? And what is this secret?”
“I learned that the universe is held together only because of a few extraordinary souls. It is kept from crumbling into ruins by the power of fierce old women who carry string shopping bags.”
She put down her fork and laughed outright. “That is a noble sentiment, Professore.”
“It is also a fact.”
“I think you mean it.”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Over dessert and wines, the President worked his way along the table, welcoming each guest personally.
He came to the musicians and told them how eagerly he was looking forward to their performance.
He moved along to Elijah and gripped his shoulder with the right amount of firmness.
“Father Schäfer, I’m so very pleased you were able to come. You honor us. If I may presume upon your patience, there are so many guests and few of them could bear to be neglected. It would be a pleasure for me if we could meet together later this evening.”
“Of course, sir. I will leave it to you to let me know when it is convenient for us to meet.”
“Anna! Always a joy. How are you?”
She answered that she was well. She used his first name. He inquired after the health of people unknown to Elijah. She reported accordingly. She was friendly, open-faced, but reserved.
He moved on to the American ambassador.
“Edgar, can Europe ever repay such a gift of credit and wheat from your people? Bread is life! Hope is life! When the fall session begins I will have Parliament draft a formal letter of thanks. I have already commissioned a sculpture—titled Freedom—which we wish to donate to the American people. I think your Congress and President should have a tangible memorial of our gratitude. Your generosity has averted a disastrous war. Russia, Ukraine, Georgia, the millions of lives you have saved. . .”
“I think, sir,” said the ambassador rising, shaking the President’s hand, “that if facts be known we should be thanking you.”
“Now, now, none of that! I want none of your Louisiana nonsense!”
The ambassador roared appreciatively and slapped the President on the back.
And so it went up and down the table.
The guests were invited to move into the main salon, the red room, thickly carpeted and hung with Renaissance portraits. The guests arranged themselves on brocade couches and gilded chairs. The President entered and chose a seat in the front row. Some of the men remained standing, twirling their brandy glasses. Anna sat by herself in a stiff-backed chair off to the side. Elijah came and stood beside her. She did not seem to notice his presence.
The orchestra had positioned itself on a low stage at the far end, and the woman in the black satin dress now went forward and stood with them.
Candles were lit throughout the room; the ceiling lights were dimmed.
The woman, speaking in accented Italian, said, “Mr. President, and honorable guests, tonight you will hear three romantic pieces: Telemann’s Aria, Puccini’s Un bel di, and Dvorak’s Hymn to the Moon. These works express the deepest mysteries of love. I wish for all who gather here a happy stirring of the powers of the heart. Love is the medicine which will cure our sick world. I dedicate this trinity to the man who is rejuvenating our times—to you, sir.”
She bowed to the President. He stood and returned her bow.
There followed a wave of gentle applause.
The woman repeated her introduction in French, English, and her native Slavic tongue.
The orchestra struck its first notes and began the passionate sweep through the Aria. Elijah gave himself up to the music and felt his emotions stirred. Ruth’s face came to him, Ruth as she had been under the pomegranates, Ruth with the rose light of sunset on her brown cheeks, Ruth with joy. Ruth with child, slow and happy, her slender feet rubbing the black-and-white goathair rug, her fingers deftly cutting red peppers into a bowl of sliced avocado, orange, and lettuce. Ruth with her heart pounding hard under the roof of their bedroom. At the morgue with her body torn open.
The wells of agony and loss burst and flooded upward from his interior.
I am old. All love now lies in memory. All love exists beyond an impassable gulf.
Insanely, he wanted to kneel and lay his head on Anna Benedetti’s knees and tell her that in his long life he only ever had one home, had only once dwelt as a man was meant to dwell with a woman. One home. For two years.
“There was a garden in Eden”, he would whisper. “And a man was formed there. A deep sleep was cast upon him, and from his flesh there was formed another, she who was made to be his companion, to be cherished as his own. And he, in turn, was to be her own, and neither the powers of the heavens nor those of the earth could split them in two. They were one soul.”
But she would not know the meaning of this. Her face would remain expressionless. She would see before her only a man groveling.
It is a secret of the cosmos, he would say to her, aching to convince. It is one of the great things, but not the greatest.
Is that a noble sentiment? she would reply. Or is it archeology? Anna, if the heart is dead, love is only archeology.
I am strictly an amateur, Professore, strictly an amateur.
Applause for the aria.
Then Madame Butterfly’s longing poured out of the singer’s throat and became the lament for all human loneliness and loss, all aspirations for union, all hope for permanent joy. A new form of ache transfixed his heart.
He felt time sliding again. Music filled the entire created order. Existence was music itself. Music reflected back the glory of existence to itself.
Ruth, I thought I could escape the unbearable moment. I thought I could bear to live without you. I have lived without you for all these years, but as a butterfly that wriggled under the pin, tore loose, leaving behind a fragment of itself, beating upward on the wind, sustained by an image of itself as whole. But not whole.
Applause. He was jolted back into time. He looked down at Anna Benedetti and saw that she continued to remain motionless. He noticed that her chest was swelling and her eyes were wet.
Anna, have you been stirred as predicted? Did they apply the effective recipe for emotional release? An evening of catharsis as social sport?
The Hymn to the Moon began. The singer knew her art, knew the unique powers of her voice, and knew Dvořák’s intention. Elijah’s eyes followed her gestures, his hearing absorbed the massing, controlled passion of this love cry until it united with some long-buried movement of his own heart. He closed his eyes and listened until it was completed. When he opened them, the applause burst into sound. And Anna’s seat was empty.
He wandered through the ground floor looking for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“You are searching for Signora Benedetti?” Roberto asked, eyeing him.
“Yes.”
“She has gone.”
Elijah stared at the doorway.
“Gone?” he said.
I am making a fool of myself. You are a priest forever. David, Elijah, David, Elijah, Elijah, Father Elijah. My brother, my daughter, my father, my sister, my mother, my friend, my love. You have been a priest for so many years and still you wriggle on the pin? Five pins? Five kisses. Eli, Eli. Pawel. Papa. Ruth. Anna. You are a priest forever. With my whole being I do give my life to you. Lord. Jesus. Protect. Me. By. The. Blood. Of. The. Lamb.
“Signore Schäfer is feeling unwell?”
“I am feeling dizzy. I must sit down.”
“Let us go out onto the balcony. You can sit there in the cool night air. The circulation is bad in these old places. Come with me.”
He follow
ed Roberto through a set of French doors onto a marble balconata that overlooked a miniature garden enclosed within the walls of the palazzo. A single flowering tree grew there, a fountain whispered, night birds sang. He sat on a wicker chair and breathed deeply. Gradually, his head cleared, though what was left of him when the spinning stopped was meager indeed. He felt himself to be a void surrounding a lump of sick dread.
“Would you please give my regrets to the President. I am feeling quite ill. Would you call a taxi?”
“Certainly, Signore.”
The taxi arrived within minutes. Later, Elijah would recall nothing of the journey to the college. He remembered only stumbling up the front steps, entering his cell, looking with disgust at his own image in the mirror, tearing off the fine clothing, lying down on the bed, pulling his habit over himself and clinging to it tightly. He lay trembling in the dark, not knowing what was happening, afraid of it—no, terrified of it. Eventually, toward dawn, his breathing slowed and he drifted into troubled dreams, tearing loose from a skewer of old pain, beating into the sky, leaving a fragment of himself behind, leaving many fragments falling, falling, as they had so often, spinning slowly back to earth as he climbed, sustained by an image of himself as whole.
* * *
He lay sick in bed a day. He got up to teach his classes, but he was merely a voice delivering information. The students knew there was a difference. They stopped taking notes and merely listened. At the end of the class one of them suggested that he return to bed and stay there until he was well again.
Gradually, the fragments pulled together and the memory of flight faded into a symbol in the mind. The ache declined steadily. The sacraments strengthened him. He was convinced that once again he had failed. He contacted the Cardinal Secretary at his residence, continuing to communicate in cryptic language.
The cardinal picked him up one evening, and they drove far out into the countryside.
“You penetrated the darkness without armor”, said the cardinal. “You tried to go in by your own strength! Really, Father Elijah, you mustn’t do that again. You should ask for prayers when you go into such places. You must plead for the necessary graces.”
As a restorative, the cardinal instructed him to read Ephesians 6:10-20. He scolded Elijah humorously, with the air of an urbane Italian nonno, but his eyes were worried.
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