“The indwelling of divine love contains all human love.”
“But I mean flesh and blood. Heat. Passion.”
“That too is contained within it, though in a different form.”
“Have you never loved a woman?”
He told her about Ruth, and she listened until he was finished.
“I’m sorry”, she said. “I didn’t know.”
They drank the last of their wine. Anna stood up.
“There is more to tell you, but it can wait until tomorrow”, she said.
She showed him to a bedroom off the parlor.
“We’re putting you in here. This was my grandparents’ room and my great-grandparents’ before them. They were a wonderful old couple. Very devout”, she said pensively, touching a small crucifix on the wall above an antique washstand. A framed engraving of the Sacred Heart hung above the narrow bed.
“Tell me about them?”
“Nonno was a farmer. Nonna was a housewife. They didn’t have much education. They were like a little banty rooster and hen, always together, never apart a day in their lives. The Rosary every night. This house was full of love. Seven children; my mother was the youngest. They saved every penny and sent her to college. She met my father there. He was from Firenze, the son of a city counsellor. Upper-middle-class people.”
“Where are your mother and father now?”
“Both gone. The land was divided up among the family, but the house passed to me when Mamma died. I treasure this place more than anything else in the world. I’ve changed nothing. When the world gets too much for me I come here. Gianna and Marco don’t feel quite the same about it. They have their futures ahead of them, and young people don’t think about tradition. Gianna will understand some day. This will be hers when I’m gone.”
“It’s a room full of peace. I will sleep well here.”
“Bene! It’s time for you to do that. Buona notte, Father Elijah.”
“Buona notte, Anna.”
* * *
He slept well, as predicted. He got up with the sun, prayed his office, and celebrated a private Mass in the bedroom before the rest of the household was awake. Not long after, he heard Marco gunning the motor of his car, then someone clanking the lid on the kitchen stove. Coffee and bacon smells soon spilled through the cracks in the doorway.
He found Gianna sitting by the stove tending a frying pan and a pot of coffee.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Good morning, Gianna. It looks like a beautiful day out there.”
“Not a cloud to be seen. The forecast is for cooler weather. It won’t be too hot.”
She served him bacon and toast with gooseberry preserves, a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee.
“Where is your mother?”
“She’s sleeping. You must have visited late into the night.”
“We did.”
“I’m glad you’re here. She needs someone to talk to. Life hasn’t been easy for her.”
“She has many responsibilities.”
“Too many.”
“She is an amazing woman, your mother.”
“Yes, amazing. She gives so much. She takes nothing for herself, except this place now and then.”
“She told me about your father. I am sorry about your loss.”
The girl nodded and a sadness washed across her face.
“Do you remember him?”
“A little. He was very kind. I remember that he was tall, like a giant. He was handsome. Everyone loved him.”
She glanced down at a book lying open on her lap.
“What is that you are reading?”
“Philosophy.”
“Do you like philosophy?”
“With a passion”, she said wryly. “Don’t tell anyone. It ruins a girl’s chances.”
“You are in no danger of that. There must be a long line-up of gentlemen callers.”
“Hundreds of them. I have to bar the door.”
“Good. Don’t accept the first offer.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Her bantering mood turned suddenly serious. She flipped the pages and said, “This is a passage I think about a lot. Would you like to hear it?”
“Very much.”
“It’s by Kierkegaard. Do you know who Kierkegaard is?”
“I do.”
She looked amused and impressed.
“Listen to this: The majority of men are subjective toward themselves and objective toward all others. Terribly objective sometimes. But the real task is in fact to be objective toward oneself and subjective toward all others.”
She looked up with a delighted expression. “Isn’t that wonderful? Doesn’t he say everything in just those few lines?”
“He says an important thing.”
“Mamma doesn’t like that passage. She thinks we should be objective about everything.”
“She probably means in regard to her work.”
“Oh, it’s more than that. She wants everything to stay cool and detached. She wants to be separate from life. She was badly hurt, you know. I tell her, Mamma, you don’t need to be a judge every waking moment. She agrees but can’t seem to change. Her only soft spots are Marco and me and this mountain.”
“She is blessed to have you.”
“I think she’s blessed to have found you, Father. She needs a friend.”
“I’m sure she has many friends.”
“Hundreds of them. She has to bar the door too.” She refilled his cup and stacked three more pieces of thick toast on his plate.
“Eat!”
“I willingly obey, Gianna.”
She went back to the stove and laid slices of ham in the pan.
“You know what she said to me when she was trying to arrange this weekend?”
“No.”
“She said that in all the years since Papa’s death you’re the first person she felt she could trust completely.”
“That is quite an honor coming from your mother. I hope I deserve it.”
She looked at him gravely, wondering what he meant. Then she grinned. “Such humility! I’d forgotten what religious people could be like.”
“Aren’t there any in Milan?”
“There are some.”
“Are you close to any?”
“One. He’s humble like you. But he’s proud too.”
She looked away, musing.
“That’s all? Just one Christian at the University of Milan?”
“They move in other circles. I’m a loner.”
“Aren’t there any circles for young philosophers?”
“Yes. But most of them are like me. It’s hard to organize loner’s club.”
“What do your philosopher friends believe in?”
“When I started medical school, the people I knew in philosophy were mostly Marxists. Idiots! Well, half-idiots: they were Gramsci Marxists, not the Gulag-and-torture-chamber kind. A lot of them are sick of it now. Some have become capitalists. Quite a few became environmentalists. Some are going back to the Church.”
“What happened to make them change?”
“I guess our generation just grew up. It’s interesting the way the most simple minds, and the finest, eventually go back to the Church. We agnostics find that strange.”
“Ah, so you are an agnostic!”
“Don’t laugh at me, Father Schäfer, or I’ll burn your ham.”
“I apologize.”
“I guess faith gives some people strength to face life. Life can be ugly.”
“And very beautiful.”
“That too. But no one’s ever explained the ugly part. I’ll never forget the first time I assisted at an autopsy. Do you want to hear about it?”
He looked at the slices of red meat she was putting on his plate. She burst out laughing.
“No, I guess you don’t.”
“Oh, yes, I would like to hear. Please tell me.”
She stood gazing into midair, the spatula dangling
from her hand.
“It was the oddest feeling. There were about a dozen corpses laid out on tables in the lab. They all had black plastic bags over their heads, to make it easier for us I guess. To hide the identity. They wouldn’t want us to think they were people, would they?”
“I suppose not. That would make it difficult.”
“You steel yourself, you calm your nerves, and you watch the professor cut. It’s so marvelously technical. Everything in the body has a Latin name. I found it fascinating, but I kept coming back to that plastic bag. I kept wondering who she was, the old lady we were dissecting. The professor called it a cadaver. An it! A few of the corpses were people who had donated their bodies to science, but most of them were derelicts given to the university by the city morgue. Ours was a derelict. You could tell she hadn’t been a healthy person. Her fingernails were badly stained. No one had looked after her for a long time—you could see that. If I tell you something, will you think I’m strange?”
“It depends on what you tell me.”
“You’re honest. I’ll risk it. At lunchtime everybody went out of the lab. It was the first time for most of us and nobody felt like eating. I went back alone and took off the old lady’s plastic bag.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I don’t know why.”
“What did you see?”
“Please don’t think I’m crazy, but I saw my grandmother. Not really my grandmother, of course, because she was no one I’d ever known. But I thought, This could be Nonna. This could be Mamma in a few years from now. Some day this could be me.”
“That is not so strange.”
“I’m glad you think that. Then something else happened. I started to weep for her. I cried and cried. The tears fell all over her face. I stroked her forehead. Her hair was wild, caked with dirt. She was a poor old beggar woman, I guess. She probably died alone, unwanted and unloved. I braided her hair around her head. It took a while. Then I covered her up again.”
Elijah looked out the window. Gianna shook herself and went back to the stove where she made herself busy.
Anna came down the stairs at that moment and greeted them.
“You look rather serious this morning”, she said to her daughter, hugging her.
“I’ve been telling Father Schäfer how to dissect a body.”
“Oh, Gianna, spare us!”
Elijah broke in, “It was really quite interesting. You should be proud of her, Anna.”
“I am, I am”, she sighed theatrically. “But please, no anatomy discussions before breakfast.”
She sat down to eat and said to him, “What would you like to do today?”
“Anything you wish. Do you have any suggestions?”
“We should walk in the hills. I’d like to show you a grotto my great-grandfather made on the mountain.”
“Would there be time to go to Assisi?”
“I think so. It’s a short drive. Why Assisi?”
“I have a friend there whom I would like to see. We wouldn’t stay long.”
“All right. We can go after breakfast. We’ll walk this afternoon.”
She backed a nondescript sedan out of an old stable, and they left for Assisi in a cloud of dust.
“I see you were getting to know my daughter.”
“She is delightful. In the space often minutes, we covered a lot of territory. We started at philosophy, galloped through religion, and arrived at autopsies.”
“That’s Gianna all right. I sometimes think she’s more of a poet than a doctor.”
“I wondered if she would be better suited for philosophy. That is halfway between poetics and science.”
“You may be right.”
“You seem worried about her.”
“No more than usual. I worry about my children out of habit. I ask myself if it was wise to bring them into the world in its present condition.”
“They will do well. You have given them that. Gianna is a good soul. She is sensitive and seems very happy.”
“She’s in love. There’s a young man in Milan.”
“What is he like? Do you think he is suitable?”
She pulled her eyes away from the road and looked at him.
“Suitable? There’s an old-fashioned word. How refreshing to hear it. Yes, he’s eminently suitable. We’re all quite fond of him.”
“You don’t seem enthusiastic.”
“He’s young, he’s idealistic, and he’s studying to be a lawyer. A friend of Marco’s. He’s not too rich and not too poor; his father is a professor of ethics; he’s handsome and manly, warm-hearted, and most extraordinary of all, he’s a virgin, if you can imagine. Virgin! There’s another old-fashioned word for you. He told her so. He’s proud of it. They’ve decided to wait until the wedding. Stefano was like that too. He’s so much like Stefano it frightens me.”
“Frightens you? He sounds like an answer to a mother’s prayer.”
“It’s a recipe for disaster. What do you think is going to happen to a young man like that?”
“He may be one of those who bring light back into public life?”
“At what cost? I don’t want to see Gianna’s heart broken.”
“Like yours was?”
“Like mine was.”
“Is that fair to Gianna? Doesn’t she have the right to risk a broken heart?”
Anna shrugged unhappily. “He’s also a devout Catholic.”
“He sounds better and better. Is he real?”
“Oh, yes. He’s an exotic creature, but quite real.”
“At one time he would have been considered normal.”
“Those times are gone.”
“Are they? I think they are coming back. In their heart of hearts, most people want fidelity. They want noble spouses who are capable of sacrifice.”
“It’s impossible to discuss this. We’re coming from two different foundations.”
“Anna, if we are friends, may I venture a blunt thought?”
“Go ahead.”
“I think you are being slightly irrational.”
“Irrational! I’m being perfectly rational. They are irrational!”
“I also think you are being scandalously subjective.” She shot him a fierce look. She whipped her eyes back to the road. Then her face thawed and she smiled grudgingly. “You’re teasing me.”
“A little. Do you mind?”
“I could get used to it.”
* * *
“They don’t allow women in the convent”, he explained. “Do you want to do some sightseeing while I talk to the guestmaster?”
She went off by herself, following a group of tourists into the main church.
The little friar was as gregarious as ever, but he had some unpleasant news:
“I’m sorry, Father. We have strict orders. Don Matteo has been sick all summer. My guess is he’s been bleeding too much lately, and they want to build up his health.”
“Can I not speak with him for one minute?”
“Sorry.”
“He has not answered my letters. He must be seriously ill.”
“I hear he is. The prior says nobody gets in to see him except the doctors. News leaked out last year that we have a stigmatist here, and wouldn’t you know it, the tourists started swarming in from everywhere. It’s been good for us in some ways. Lots of prayers going up to heaven. But the prior had to put his foot down. Next, they’ll be tearing poor old Don Matteo to pieces to make relics, he said. It’s time to put a stop to the circus, he said. So, quick as a fox they take him. . .”
The little friar covered his mouth.
“Take him where?”
“Forget what I said.”
“No, I will not forget. Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“I have a right to know. He is my spiritual director.”
“He is? Oh, that’s different then.”
He looked confused. He hemmed and hawed.
“Brother, where is Don Matteo?”
/> “He’s not here.”
“Where has he been taken?”
“I can’t tell you. I already said too much. We’re not allowed to tell anyone. The tourists. . .”
“I am not a tourist. Let me speak to the prior.”
The prior was located with laborious effort and came to the front wicket.
Elijah repeated his request. The prior refused.
Together they played the cycle of insistence and evasion until Elijah realized he was getting nowhere. He went into the church and saw a familiar form kneeling in the back pew.
“Brother Jakov”, he whispered, sliding in beside him.
The giant threw his arms around him and pummelled him exuberantly.
“Father, it is too good you see me! I like it you come back. How you are?”
“Very well, my friend. But I have a problem. I can’t seem to locate Don Matteo. Do you know where he is?”
Jakov’s face screwed up. His eyes filled with anguish. “I not can tell it to you.”
“Why not?”
“Prior says nobody can know it.”
“I am Don Matteo’s friend. He is my director. The Pope wants me to see him.”
Jakov looked unconvinced. “I know it. I remember last time, Father, but now it not can be.”
“You must tell me more. At least tell me if Don Matteo is well.”
“I think it he sick some more. He bleed lots. He old man and they want him go to rest place.”
It was Jakov’s turn to cover his mouth.
“It’s all right. You haven’t told me anything that I didn’t already know.”
Jakov looked back and forth between Elijah and the tabernacle. His immense body reflected the paroxysm of agony in his heart.
Finally, he said, “You should go to Rieti. It’s a nice place there.”
“Rieti? Why Rieti?”
“Listen, Father,” he said, grabbing the priest’s shirt sleeve and tugging, “you go to Rieti. You will like it there. Saint Francis he go there too. Holy place. Holy peoples go there.”
“Holy peoples go there?”
“Holy peoples go there. You go. Nice place. See it.”
“Rieti?”
“Rieti. Hermitage. Pray there. I want you go see Rieti for nice pretty place. Hermitage.”
He gave Elijah a knowing look.
“Thank you Jakov. Yes, I understand. You have told me nothing. You didn’t disobey. I will go to the hermitage at Rieti.”
Father Elijah Page 39
