by V. Cobe
CHAPTER 17
The Black Cloak
Since the beginning, he proved to be different. And it wasn’t just the hair color or how it had suddenly and unfathomably changed: what he knew about the religion of the Institution had always been much more than what a boy his age could possibly know. There were classes in which teachers themselves doubted what they taught when he expressed a different opinion. Sometimes no one understood what he meant at all. Some called him strange, others colorful. For most he was still ‘the red one’. But whatever the name, everyone knew who he was.
“We praise Thee, O God. We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.” The skinniest chorister of the choir opened his lungs and released the falsetto in the air.
“All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father everlasting,” added the other choristers.
“To Thee all Angels cry aloud, the Heavens, and all the powers therein.”
“To Thee cherubims and seraphims continually do cry,”
“Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts,” sang all. “Heaven and Earth are full of the Majesty of Thy glory.”
The opening mass of the last period of the school year ended that morning with the light of a high sun entering through the stained glass windows of the monastery’s church. Only the five candles on the credence were lit.
When the chanting died, everyone sat and waited. The red and gold haddock of Zalmon glared as he proclaimed the final words on lust.
“It is the poorest who gains the most. It is he who will have the best of Heaven, when the Lord rewards him for all the poverty and suffering that he went through on Earth. So you should not fear neither poverty nor suffering, for God is always watching all the sacrifices you are made to do. Never turn your back on a beggar.”
Mother Zilá, sitting in the front row of pews with her eyes closed, nodded with hands clasped at her chest.
“If you can, do not live in wealth. You must not squander in material or adorn with material. But use this wealth you may have to help those most in need. Help the hungry. For one need not starve to win the favor of the Lord; only embrace suffering and the simplicity of Christ’s life in our own lives,” he concluded. He grabbed a golden chalice and drank eagerly its voluptuous wine. “For the Faith.”
“We are the Faith.”
The dozens of students rose from the wooden pews and spread through the aisle, some already whispering to one another enthusiastically, toward the outside of the church.
“Let’s go,” said Jaala. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Alem stood and followed him, accompanied with Lael. They passed through the lateral church arches, the heavy wooden doors, and out to the sunny outside.
“I didn’t do anything this vacation.” Lael sighed. Two second-year boys ran past and nearly stumbled in front of him. Tall and full-bodied, his long and blond fringe fell in front of his light brown eyes like a relaxed tree branch.
“At least you left this place,” said Alem, sighing.
“That man is crazy. He has to be,” Jaala said, disgusted. “You’ve been here for what, five years?”
“Seven.”
“Seven!” marveled Lael. “You never left?”
“Never.”
“Since you got here?”
Alem nodded.
Jaala replied, “The pig doesn’t allow it.”
“Jaala!” Lael blushed and looked around to see if anyone had heard. “You can’t say those things….”
“It’s the truth. What’s up with him? He won’t let you go anywhere, Alem.”
“It’s only for a few more months.”
They sat on a small green hill beneath an oak tree, away from the main building doors. Jaala lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I still think we could—”
“No,” cut Alem. “I’m not going to sneak out. I can’t break the rules of the monastery, let alone Zalmon’s. As much as I’d like to….”
“You’re locked up in here wasting your youth. There’s a whole world out there!” exclaimed Jaala.
“It’s only for a few more months.”
“But think of all you could do during that time. Girls, concerts, the beach. Now’s the time! We could spend the weekend playing video games.”
“Not even your parents want me at your home….”
Jaala looked down; Alem was right.
Many people wondered why the boy hadn’t gone straight to the bonfire after such sorcery, the changing of his hair color. Others justified the decision as ‘an act of mercy’ by the Institution. An act of mercy to a boy who had just gone through hell.
“I don’t care about my parents. You can stay there secretly.”
“Don’t insist, Jaala.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Lael said.
“You see, even Lael is with me!”
“I couldn’t be locked up here for that many years,” commented Lael.
“And he only can because he’s dumb,” fired Jaala.
“Leave me alone.” Alem got up and put his backpack on his back.
“There, now you’ve upset him….”
Hazael emerged breathlessly in front of them.
“I just found out that the sister from Saints and Miracles will be asking for a project due the end of this week!”
Alem passed by him and ran to the main monastery building. He climbed the stairs to the dormitory floor and locked himself in his room.
Sometimes it seemed like no one understood. It was normal; no one knew what he had gone through. No one knew what it was like being tortured for days and escaping only to find out that the only person you had in the world was gone.
He couldn’t just bite the hand that fed him when he had nothing. The monastery was all that remained, and Zalmon was his protector. Besides, he couldn’t risk being sent off, months from graduating. It would be stupid. If he were expelled, he wouldn’t have any place to go.
He took out a cardboard box under his bed, opened it and looked for an old photograph of his mother.
She was grinning with him in her arms, and he was no more than two or three months old. The red of his hair almost overshadowed everything else. Except his mother’s smile. One day I’ll explain everything to you. Why you can’t come home with me, why you’re safer here. But now mom needs you to stay here, okay? That day hadn’t arrived and never would.
No one understood why she was killed. He was with them on that. The escape to Sun’s Farm was certainly related. But then nothing else made sense. The explanation from the Brigades explained nothing: Bethel had come across a Transgressor who killed her and threw her into the river, where her body was found. Onesimus, the uncle Alem never met, had come to the city to identify the body and attend the small funeral at which Rhode and Ezekiel were also present. Alem missed that final farewell while locked up in a filthy dungeon.
That abduction too seemed poorly explained. The Investigation Brigade had questioned him for only a few hours and after two days of investigation had concluded that a group of Transgressors invaded the monastery, taking advantage of a weakness of the Order Brigade, to practice wizardry in the ancient forest. The gardener was involved and had been taken to death.
Alem still remembered the screams of the man when the Brigade placed a gray sack over his head and dragged him into a van. It was he, according to the Brigade’s report, who had led Alem to the dungeons, which had been thought to be abandoned for decades, and left him at the mercy of the wizards who were hiding there. Alem hated living there, close to where it had all happened. But what could he do? He was a minor, had nowhere else to go and no one else apart from the bishop to rely on.
No one thought about this anymore, everyone had already forgot. They thought he had forgot as well. But he never did.
Three knocks sounded on the door. Alem put the photograph back and pushed the box under the bed.
The door opened and Sister Sara’s face appeared, framed by the habit’s hood and a blonde fringe.
“Bishop Zalmon Costa wants to ta
lk to you.” Her voice was barely audible, so softly she spoke. “He’s in the Blessed Wood Salon, waiting for you.”
Alem nodded, and the nun disappeared.
The Blessed Wood Salon was on the west area of the third floor, near the central tower. Alem didn’t need to walk far to get there.
His godfather was sitting in the back, in one of the two high, red and gold chairs facing a small side porch, but the sun was still on the other side of the monastery and didn’t shine there. He had a glass filled with some drink in one hand.
Alem approached him, and his steps echoed through the dim hall.
The bishop turned his head to Alem and told him to sit.
“My dear godson.”
“Good morning, bishop.”
“Were you busy? I’m sorry to take you away from what you were doing.”
“It’s—” Alem couldn’t say more before the bishop interrupted him.
“You’ll excuse me also if today I am a little melancholic. It’s strange to me that this is your last term here. It seems like it was yesterday that you entered here with your mother….”
Alem sat and waited for the bishop to say what he meant to.
“Well, but it wasn’t, was it? And now you’re a grown man.”
He took a sip of his drink.
“We need to talk about your future.” He looked Alem in the eyes. “Do you know what you want to do?”
“I… I want to follow the Institution.”
“Good. The Institution has had an eye on you for some time now, too. Partly my fault.” He sniggered. “I can’t get tired of boasting about you to the curia. Now they boast about you as well. You’re the best student who has ever gone here, you know?”
“Reuel—”
“Do not pass on all the credit to the man who sheltered you during the first years of your life. The merit is a lot more yours.”
Alem blushed and said nothing.
“Everyone knows you inside the Institution. Of course, the fact that you’re the son of a former minister helps. They’ve been waiting for you for some time now; they think you’ll be a magnificent addition.”
“Waiting for me?”
“Yes, of course. You certainly didn’t expect that the Institution would let such a brilliant student escape. Tell me… where would you like to work?”
“Um… maybe on the street. I don’t want to be locked in an office all day.”
“I’ll pass that on. But get ready, it’s a tough road. It’s worse than any college you could attend. You’ll need to study intensively and work at the same time. You’ll have to dedicate yourself one hundred percent to the Institution.”
Alem smiled and nodded.
“Rest assured, bishop.”
In the middle of the night, someone knocked on Alem’s door. He rose from his bed, sleepy, and opened the door to find Jaala with an excited smile in front of him. Behind him were Hazael and Lael, apparently upset.
“What are you doing here at this hour at night?” he whispered.
“I told him we should all be in our rooms; if someone catches us, we’ll be expelled!” said Lael, his hands almost ripping off his blond hair.
“Don’t be so tragic, no one here will be expelled,” said Jaala sharply. Then he looked deep in Alem’s eyes and spoke as if he was saying the most important thing in his life. “Alem, we found something….”
“We didn’t find anything. You found it,” corrected Hazael.
“Oh no, what’s coming now?” said Alem.
“You have to see it with your own eyes. What I discovered…. Alem, what I discovered is very serious.”
Alem rolled his eyes.
“Seriously, don’t even start.”
“You can’t talk about that,” whispered Lael.
Alem maintained Lael’s tone.
“There are no Transgressors in the monastery. Not after my kidnapping. The bishop tripled the security.”
“If this doesn’t convince you that they’re still walking around, I’ll stop nagging you. Let’s go.”
Jaala took Alem by the arm and dragged him to the corridor. With effort, he led the group through the building to the ground floor.
Lael complained constantly, and Hazael suspected he had already wet his underpants.
“This way,” whispered Jaala, and turned at a corner.
They passed an arch at the end of a corridor in the staff zone. Alem, Hazael and Lael were already completely lost.
“We are right next to the church,” Jaala whispered. “Don’t worry.”
Alem wondered how Jaala knew those monastery areas prohibited to students, but said nothing.
After a bit, Jaala stopped, and the others stopped behind him. The wide lobby was decorated with red and gold crucifixes, paintings of angels, carpets and small furniture. Jaala approached a cabinet, leaning against a wall, on which an orange jar was placed and bent down to open one of its lower doors.
“I discovered this by accident. See with your own eyes.”
The others leaned forward and peered over Jaala’s head at the two open doors of the cabinet. Hazael was wild with curiosity, and Lael wild with fear, but Alem had low expectations. And rightly so.
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing there,” said Hazael.
Jaala peered into the cabinet and looked confused.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” asked Alem.
“It was there. I swear I saw it! They must’ve taken it already, believe me.”
“Shh!” urged Lael.
Jaala lowered his voice to a whisper but remained ruffled, as if he wanted to speak but his voice did not come out.
“A cloak was there. A black cloak.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lael.
“That was banned decades ago! You shouldn’t joke about these things,” said Hazael.
“I’m not joking! There was a black cloak there.”
He fiddled and rummaged through the cabinet, sticking his head through its doors in search of the cloak.
“Black cloaks haven’t been manufactured in years,” continued Hazael.
“They’ve been manufactured by Transgressors, you dork.”
Voices sounded, and a door slammed.
“Who’s there?” asked a nun.
Lael jumped. They rushed out of the lobby with Jaala in front and ran like their lives depended on it.
“Some brats are lurking around. Come here!”
Soon they reached the church. Their eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness that was only broken by a faint light from the moon through the stained glass windows.
As they were crossing the aisle in front of the ghostly altar, a whisper reverberated through the church.
“Amen.”
Alem stopped, and Lael collided with him.
“What are you doing? Come on!”
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“Yes, the nuns are right behind us!”
“No, I mean now…. Did you not hear… ‘Amen’?”
“Hurry up!” whispered Hazael enthusiastically from a door across the church. “Fast!”
Lael passed Alem and ran to the others.
“Amen.” Again the whisper, again the echo.
Alem looked to another side door, from which the sound seemed to have come; though at the same time it seemed to have come from everywhere. In the darkness among the wooden pews was a man with the darkest and longest hair that Alem had ever seen. The man moved to the side toward the door, and before disappearing through it, knocked down a huge vase on a stone pillar without effort.
Alem jumped at the sound.
“Oh, now you’ll see!” cried the nun.
“Alem! What are you doing?” Jaala was near a panic on the other side.
But Alem had his gaze locked onto the shattered vessel. In the middle of the dust and shards, a coiled dress was illuminated by the moonlight that pierced the windows. He ran there and picked up the dress, not taking his eyes off the door through where the strange man
had disappeared.
“We have to go!” shouted Hazael. “They’re right behind us!”
Not letting go of the piece of crumpled clothing, Alem turned and ran as fast as he could behind the others.
They climbed stairs and sped through halls and corridors until they reached their rooms’ floor. Lael disappeared into his, Jaala was next and then Hazael, not before casting a glance at Alem, as if to verify that they were all safe.
Alem entered his room violently, turned off all the lights and threw himself under the sheets.
What madness, this can’t happen again!
After a few minutes of immobility, he figured they were safe and uncovered himself.
The dress, with a pattern of green and orange flowers, was eaten and dirtied by probably years of dust.
Alem fumbled with it, thinking of the long-haired man. He wondered who he was and how he would’ve gotten in. The monastery continued to be an unsafe place, apparently. Jaala was right.
In the dress, in a small hidden pocket, was a crumpled paper, yellow with age. It read:
_________________
St. Matthew’s Square, No. 3 – Friday, 1 p.m., Tjiq
