The Testimonium

by Lewis Ben Smith

  “Excellent!” Abbasside continued. “I need you to deliver them Friday, and I think we need a complete shipment of accessories to go with them. Food, cage litter, exercise wheels, and anything else you have available.”

  “They will be ready for delivery,” said Ali. “Just name the place and we will deliver the animals and their supplies.”

  “I seem to have lost the address,” said Abbasside. “But I will call you with it by Thursday morning at the latest. I’ll talk to you then,” he said before hanging up.

  The simple code system had been worked out years before. The “supplies” were a huge cache of weapons, some smuggled in from North Africa, but most left over from the Red Brigade cell that Ali had once belonged to. RPG launchers, AK-47s, and even a surface-to-air missile launcher! That would take care of the police chopper that would escort the convoy. Abbasside already had the device he would use to destroy the papyrus scroll—a small flamethrower in the shape of an aerosol can that could shoot a jet of intense flame three meters’ distance. He had only used it once before, on a captured CIA agent, and barbecued the man’s face from across the room in a matter of seconds. The memory of the screams made him feel warm inside. Perhaps, he thought, if there was enough juice left after the scroll was ash, he might use the flamethrower on the American infidel and his Italian whore. The thought only made his heart warmer.

  * * *

  Josh came down to the lobby about twenty minutes after getting off the phone with Isabella, dressed in a pair of cotton slacks and a polo shirt. His parents were waiting for him, and as he greeted his mother with a hug and a peck on the cheek, he saw Isabella over her shoulder, entering the hotel. He greeted her with a more enthusiastic hug.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me along,” Isabella said.

  “Don’t mention it, dear!” his mother replied. “As long as you are part of our Joshua’s life, you will be a part of ours too.”

  “Then I hope to be a part of your life for years to come!” she said, hugging Joshua. “Now, where are we going for breakfast?”

  “I found an American-style restaurant not far from here,” said Josh’s mother. “They say they have Southern-style cooking!”

  Isabella looked interested. “I have only been to New York,” she said. “But I have heard food in the South is very different!”

  Josh laughed. “As long as you like bacon grease, you should be fine!” he said.

  “That and fried chicken!” Ben Parker added.

  “For breakfast?” the Italian asked in horror.

  “No better breakfast when you are up early and in a hurry than cold fried chicken from the night before!’ Josh said.

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “Lead on,” she said. “But tonight I take you lovely people out for a proper Italian meal!”

  The four of them headed for the door. The press was still camped outside the hotel, waiting to photograph Josh and Isabella together.

  “Dr. Parker!” shouted one florid Englishman. “Any thoughts on today’s funeral service?”

  “Yes!” Josh answered. “I wish it were unnecessary!”

  “Are these your parents from America?” the man persisted.

  “Yes, and they are hungry!” Josh replied. “Now please excuse us while we go get breakfast!”

  With that they climbed into a waiting cab and drove off.

  The restaurant was appropriately named Uncle Sam’s Southern Cuisine, and was doing good business on this Monday morning. The waitress, wearing blue jeans and a Western-style shirt, greeted them with a heavily accented “Howdy, y’all!” that set Josh and his parents to giggling. Josh was delighted to see Dr Pepper on the beverage list and ordered one, while his dad got coffee and his mom requested iced tea.

  “I guess I will try the iced tea, also,” said Isabella.

  Their drinks arrived moments later and the waitress handed them the breakfast menu. Josh thought for a few minutes, and then decided to order the biscuits and cream gravy, with some bacon and toast on the side. His dad got the same, while his mom ordered a stack of pancakes with scrambled eggs and sausage. Josh looked over at Isabella, who seemed rather puzzled.

  “What do you recommend, Joshua?” she finally asked. “Aren’t pancakes somewhat like crepes?”

  “They are, but a little bit thicker and differently flavored. Personally, I think that biscuits and gravy are about as good as breakfast can get,” he said.

  “Then I suppose I shall try them,” she said.

  The waitress took their orders and their menus and headed off to the kitchen.

  Ben Parker looked across the table at his son. “Well, Josh,” he said, “are you ready for this afternoon?”

  “I guess I am as ready as I can be,” he said. “I hate funerals so much! And poor Giuseppe was such a good friend. Dad, how many funerals have you spoken at?”

  “Nearly eleven hundred,” his father said.

  “How do you keep from tearing up?” Josh asked. “Every time I try to say out loud the things that I have written about Giuseppe, I can’t stop myself from crying.”

  “I don’t even try,” his dad said. “If I am speaking about someone that I knew and loved, I just cry a little bit and go on. No one will be offended, I promise you that. If anything, just the opposite. It shows the family and friends that you are feeling this loss just the same as they are. One thing forty years in the pulpit has taught me is that it never hurts to remind the church that the pastor is a human being, too.”

  Josh nodded, but it was Isabella who spoke up.

  “That is so different from the way our churches work,” she said. “As a little girl I learned to show great respect for our priest, because he was supposed to be a holy man—someone to be looked up to.”

  Brother Ben nodded. “Understand, my dear girl, I am not saying that those who dedicate their lives to serving God and the church do not deserve respect!” he said. “But, at the same time, when pastors and priests are idolized and put up on a pedestal, and then make a mistake, or get trapped into sin, it devastates the faith of those who think of them as holy men! I cannot tell you how many times I have dealt with people who abandoned God and the church because they saw their pastor do something wrong. I am not apologizing for or excusing men of the cloth who forget themselves, especially if they hurt someone else in the process—but everyone has bad moments. Even my sweet son here has been known to swear in Latin when a big fish gets away!”

  Everyone at the table chuckled, and Josh’s mom spoke up. “Now, Isabella,” she said, “are you going to be all right today? I know you are speaking at Dr. Rossini’s funeral as well, and you knew him much longer than our Joshua did.”

  Isabella smiled wistfully. “Giuseppe was like a second father to me,” she said. “Today is going to be very hard. Fortunately I am not scheduled to speak for long. I know there will be tears, but I will finish anyway. It is the least I can do for him! He was so kind to me when I lost my own dear papa, and my husband, Marc.”

  Josh’s dad nodded. “He sounds like a kind and good man,” he said. “I would have enjoyed meeting him. Louise and I will be among the congregation, and we will be praying for both of you.”

  Isabella looked at him quizzically. “How does that work?” she said. “Praying for someone, I mean. If God knows someone’s need, why do we have to ask Him to help them?”

  Ben looked at her gravely. “That is an excellent question, and you are not the first person to ask me that. You see, as Christians we have a relationship with God. Every good relationship depends on communication. We talk to God about our needs, our hurts, and our lives not because He is unaware of them, but because He is our friend and guide. He wants to hear from us, just as any parent wants to hear from their child on a regular basis. And I do believe that prayer works. I have seen more healing, more spiritual renewal, and more miracles wrought because God’s people joined together in prayer than I could begin to tell you about!”

  “Fascinating,” said Isabella.

 
About that time their food arrived, still steaming hot from the kitchen. The waitress placed their plates before them and whisked off to refill their tea glasses. Isabella started to pick up her fork, but Josh took her hand. “Dad,” he said, “would you say grace for us?”

  “Gladly,” he said. Parker took his wife’s hand and reached across the table to take Isabella’s, while Josh reached across to link hands with his mother. “Dear Father,” Ben began, “thank you for this delicious taste of home in a faraway land. Thank you for keeping our son and his lady safe through this dangerous ordeal, and thank you for the remarkable discovery they made! We lift up the souls of those who perished, and the hearts of their loved ones, for your eternal comfort and love. Be with Joshua and Isabella as they speak today at the funeral of their dear friend. Continue to be our friend and guide, and bless this food to our bodies, and our bodies to your service, Amen.”

  After the blessing, they picked up their forks and dove in. Josh was pleasantly surprised to find that the food really did taste like what he would get at a typical roadside café in Oklahoma or Texas. He had worked up a good appetite by swimming, and tucked in with a vengeance. Isabella sniffed the gravy suspiciously, then carefully cut a small piece of the smothered biscuit off with her fork and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed.

  “Josh! This is delicious!” she said. “What is this gravy made from?”

  “Flour, milk, bacon grease, and black pepper,” said Louise. “It’s a simple enough recipe, but if you get the proportions wrong, it can come out pretty awful. How does it taste, Josh?” she asked.

  “Not as good as yours, Mom,” he said. “But not half bad either!”

  “I must admit I am surprised,” Isabella said. “But it is a good surprise!”

  After breakfast they returned to the hotel, and Josh called Father MacDonald.

  “Hello, lad!” the Scottish antiquarian greeted him. “Are you ready for today’s sad duties?”

  “As ready as one can be for something like this,” Joshua said. “When and where do you want us to meet?”

  “Come on over to the museum’s boardroom about noon,” said MacDonald. “The two of you can ride with me to meet the family. Also, we need to speak with Drs. Guioccini and Castolfo about the rest of the week. Dr. Henderson will be arriving this afternoon in Rome, and will be here tomorrow morning for his first look at the Testimonium. Also, Simone Apriceno’s family has arrived, and I thought you might like to meet them as well.”

  “That sounds good,” Josh said. “I’ll run up to my room and change into my suit and see you around noon. I am nervous about this, Father Duncan, but I am glad you will be there to help shepherd me through.”

  “Commemorating the departed is never an easy task, lad,” said the priest. “And it is all the harder when you are speaking about someone you cared for. But Giuseppe was a good man whose life enriched all who knew him. Not only that—you and I both know that he died in a state of grace and now rests with the Father and his holy angels. That is a source of great comfort and strength.”

  “You sound like my dad sometimes, Father,” said Josh.

  “I shall take that as a compliment, lad!” the Scotsman replied. “I shall see you in an hour or so.”

  Josh changed clothes and combed his unruly hair, looking at himself in the mirror as he did. He was not a vain man, but not guilty of phony humility either. He was generally satisfied with the way he looked, although at times he wished his face was less angular and his nose a tad smaller. He had dropped weight since coming to Italy, although he was not sure how. The food here was wonderful, and he had always had an enthusiasm for eating. All in all, he felt at least that he was not embarrassing to Isabella when they went out in public. He wondered if she looked at herself in the mirror and nit-picked her figure flaws. Probably not, he thought, since she had none.

  Several blocks away, Isabella was looking at herself in the mirror at the same time before dressing for the funeral. She was generally pleased with her appearance, although she could tell that her face had a few more lines on it than it once did, and the occasional gray hair showed up in her dark locks. But she still thought her figure was decent, although she sometimes wished she were a little more long-waisted and a bit smaller up top. She wondered if Josh ever thought about how he looked in the mirror, and shook her head. She doubted it. Men never worried over their looks.

  They met at the museum at noon, skirting around the crowd of protestors that had gathered outside. They were fewer in number than on Sunday, but the same three groups still clustered together—the Christians, the Muslims, and the atheists waving their signs at each other. There were a few journalists as well, but the mob of reporters had shrunk considerably—world events were moving on, and the revelation of Pilate’s report was now general knowledge, more to be debated by pundits and theologians than to be covered by newscasters. Josh was frankly relieved.

  Father MacDonald was waiting for them in the now familiar boardroom, wearing his formal black frock and clerical collar, his gray-white hair impeccably combed and groomed, and a copy of the Bible in his hand. Castolfo and Guioccini were also there, as well as the Rossini siblings, Andrea and Guillermo. They shook hands and exchanged somber greetings. Josh was glad to see Giuseppe’s children, although he knew how hard this moment must be for them. He spoke for a few moments, offering condolences, and then joined Isabella with the two members of the Antiquities Board.

  Castolfo greeted him. “You look quite distinguished today, Joshua. I am sorry it is for such a regrettable occasion.”

  “I only clean up when I absolutely have to, sir!” Josh said. “Field khakis are my favorite attire.”

  “Spoken like a true archeologist!” said Bernardo Guioccini. “You’re a credit to our discipline, young man. One of your colleagues from America will be arriving later today in Rome—have you met Dr. Henderson before?”

  “Yes,” Josh said, “I sat in on a couple of seminars he taught at a Classical Archeology workshop a few years back. The man has an impressive reputation, and the expertise to back it up.”

  “We have suspended work on the Testimonium today and tomorrow in order to pay our respects to the memories of those we lost Friday,” said Castolfo, “but Dr. Henderson does want to take a peek at what we have been laboring on, so he will be coming down tomorrow morning at ten for a first look. Dr. Apriceno’s funeral is not until three, but I will be attending the funeral of our fallen security guard at ten AM. His own parish priest will be conducting the service, so I was wondering if you and Isabella and Father MacDonald would be willing to meet Dr. Henderson here and show him your find? I am sure that he has many questions for you.”

  “I would be glad to,” said Joshua. “Two funerals in two days are more than enough for me.”

  “I agree,” said Isabella. “I sent some flowers to the family of Signor Luccatori, but I think it would be disrespectful to intrude on his family and friends when I did not really know the man very well. I have never met Dr. Henderson, and would like very much to do so.”

  “Count me in,” said MacDonald. “I have to conduct Simone’s services as well, but I can be here for an hour or so.”

  “Excellent!” said Castolfo. “By the way, here comes Dr. Apriceno’s family now.” He nodded to the rear of the room, where a middle-aged man and a teenaged girl were entering. He crossed over to meet them.

  “Signor Apriceno, I am sorry to see you again under such terrible circumstances!” he said, taking the man by the hand.

  “Thank you, Dr. Castolfo. Simone always spoke very highly of you,” he said.

  “Is this her daughter?” asked the board president.

  “Yes, sir, this is Lucretia,” replied Simone’s ex-husband.

  “You look much like your mother,” Isabella cut in. “I didn’t know her for very long, but we became quite close in that time. I am so sorry for your loss.”

  The young Italian woman nodded gratefully. She was much like her mother, somewh
at stout in build, but with a pretty, honest face. When she smiled, Josh was strikingly reminded of Simone. “Thank you, Dr. Sforza,” she said. “The last time we spoke, my mother told me you were the kind of woman she hoped I would be when I finished university.”

  “That was sweet of her, but I think you would do better to imitate your mother. She was one of the hardest working and most dedicated scientists I have ever known,” replied Isabella.

  “That she was,” said Ricardo Apriceno. “The stupidest thing I ever did was leaving her. I hoped that someday, we could be reconciled, but we were both too busy—and now it is too late.”

  “She still wore the ring you gave her—the one made from a Roman coin,” said Isabella. “She was wearing it the day she died.”

  Apriceno smiled. “That does give me some comfort,” he said. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  For a moment, Isabella relived that horrible moment in the parking lot, when she saw the smoking, severed hand with the ring still on it, lying on the asphalt. That was one detail she would never speak about. She nodded to Signor Apriceno and then headed back over to visit with Giuseppe’s children. She was far more comfortable with them, having known them for several years.

  The group visited for a while, various individuals rotating from one conversation to another, until Father MacDonald called for everyone’s attention. “All those attending Giuseppe’s service, there are three limos waiting to take us to the church,” he said. “Family will go in the first car, museum and team colleagues in the second, and all other guests in the third. We will leave in a few moments.”