by Clay Ferrill
In a finely-crafted and exorbitantly expensive marble sarcophagus, resting to this day at The Pantheon. To pry open the sarcophagus, some day in the distant future when we are again studied, it will be discovered there are two sets of remains enclosed there. As decreed by Pope Julius II shortly before his death, at the Marquis’ insistence and for significant coin, Giuseppe’s body was dug up and reunited with Raphael’s. By Papal order they rest together in death now.
The funerary and services were some of the grandest and best-attended events in Rome’s long history. Kings and dignitaries from all over the known world attended. See there, even now, the proud flag of France flying over the tomb of their soldier. Their Stallion of God.
Chapter Thirteen
Day Six, Saturday, November 28, 2020
The Pope Speaks Truth
The sound of the voice in my head speaking to me profoundly influenced me. Stirring something in me. Something very warm and urgent … familiar almost but I have never before been so pulled at by a voice. I just nodded yes for him to please, please, oh God above, just let him continue speaking. Raffy. My eyes shot open. I had been so deeply lost in thought. I kissed my palm and put it on Adam’s head. Looked into his eyes looking at me. He had shown genuine sadness at my revelation, but honestly, I know no different to have told him another truth. Facts. Scientific facts. I owed him that truth if he was to protect me when doing the shit we do is so dangerous. He puts his own precious life at great risk for mine and I’m just struggling with that. I stood up and stretched and smoothed my wool cassock.
Two cars were waiting at the bottom of the stairs and I assumed the dark red Maserati sedan was for me because it just looks Pope-ish. As I approached, the door opened automatically. The right car. Heaven forbid he should ever open a door for himself. Though it probably didn’t matter. I’d confirmed with Adam that we would depart tomorrow morning at precisely 7 AM local time and that I would be here on time. He had made me promise twice. I bounded down the steps as quickly and safely as any man weighing 200 pounds and standing just under 6’ 4” tall can. I was excited to find Luigi. I had looked him up on my iPad and studied every detail written there about him when Adam was asleep after telling him about Luigi.
The parallel lines I see in my mind for timelines shows our two lines merging into one. I needed no other convincing, really. Those lines I draw for timeline in my mind are very real and data-supported. Facts. The urge to seize and embrace the opportunity at love with him my singular, and very powerful motivation. I’m going to do what Adam said. I’m going to find Luigi.
His Vatican profile with picture explained that Father Luigi Berlusconi was a master restoration and preservation artist, classically trained in Italy and France. Two doctorate degrees and to undergraduate degrees in Divinity and Roman architecture? Wow. Really smart guy. He’s 26. Specializes in works of the High Renaissance period, and more specifically, the egg tempera-painted works of the frescos of Raphael. Tapping through a few menus, I see that the largest non-public concentration of those prolific works in the Vatican is a formerly-exterior grand corridor now sealed off behind glass to preserve the great works of the artist Raphael. It said Raphael’s arrival on the scene back then had launched the famous trio of the High Renaissance art period with Leonardo da Vinci as the Pope’s Architect and Michelangelo his sculptor. His contemporaries.
I wonder if my Vatican security badge would grant me access to that glassed-in place where I might be able to find him? Cool to see those. Look at these famous glassed-in paintings myself. I’ll start there I decide. I traced my finger along the route I would walk to get there from where I am being dropped off … need to stay out of public view. I closed he interior map of the Vatican and thought of only him on the way there, hoping that my keeping him top-of-mind, the power of thought might just help me find him faster.
I had the car door open before it even finished pulling up to the short staircase, His Holiness’s private entrance. My card key opened the door without a pause. I entered quickly and silently, rushing to the portico and stairs behind it that would path me cleanly to the large glassed-in area of the old “Grand Corridor”, which has been closed off to the public now for over 300 years. I rounded the corner and see no one in what is now an extremely large glass room, vacuum-sealed on both ends. Holding my breath while looking up at the magnificent ceiling frescos, so vividly colored, the bar across the reader turned green and the air seal of the door hissed. The door popped open slightly. I pulled the heavy glass and rubber-lined door open and stepped into the vast room.
Even from in here I can hear the singing of the choir deep into their morning songs of prayer. His Holiness must be awaking, which is when they sing their loudest. They sing for him. The door sucked shut behind me, sealing me inside the vast space. I looked up and around almost expecting for the air to get sucked out of the room. No pressure change and the bar over the reader is a steady green. The smells in here are … unique. Old. Almost fresh, only slightly musty, but old smelling. I can see my breath as I exhale, yet the colors of this room warm me to my core, wow. This cold otherwise would soon become fucking unbearable. Is it refrigerated in here? Damn cold. I shiver momentarily and hug my arms to my body at the bite of it on my skin and blow into my hands. I’m even wearing layers under this thick wool cassock.
As I browse the paintings slowly, I stop to tilt my head back and stare straight up at the ceiling. On the website it said His Holiness comes here to be alone and pray. I can certainly see why. There is such incredible beauty wherever your eyes land. Such incredible artistry. The floor is a busy un-patterned mosaic mess, dusty, the footprints few. I think this is a temporary floor because the rest of the floors in this palace of God are flawless masterpieces themselves. Master craftsmanship at its finest. The footprints appear to be more concentrated in front of this painting here. I add my footprints to the many already here and look up. As I lift my gaze I stare into the image of my own face.
A man in a red robe that looks a lot like I do anyway. This was painted so long ago though, like four centuries ago. I contemplate them all in a quick scan turning my body to glance over them. This one seems most riveting to me for some reason. The central image is in such sharp focus. I feel calmness when I look at it. Stilling. A feeling that everything will be well and good. Wow. The intentions of Raphael very clear in that first communication. Stunningly beautiful how the folds of the long red robe make the figure that looks like me almost glow in comparison to the other figures depicted anywhere else in here.
Slowly, not letting my gaze leave it, I backed against the opposite wall and lean against it, bracing my hands on the stone rail mound, not letting my back contact the painting behind me. I listen to the faint sounds of the distant choir soften to murmur as they finish. I lower my head to concentrate on that magical chorus of voices, the sopranos of them in such tight unison, their high notes almost unreachable in their range. Weaving magic into the air for your ears.
I have found that on my days here, which are certainly few in number, that there something so wonderful, the choir of united voices praising God above, singing every morning at this time. It elicits such deeply felt emotion in me. My eyes tear as I again lift my gaze at the painting of my face again. I think I know. This is truth. I think I am in fact this man painted here. A version of him at least. The tears roll freely from my upturned eyes as I let them drift to the ceiling fresco above, which is the painting’s companion. Raphael so brilliant in his contextualization of heaven above. Then I see his face there, the angel looking heavenward. I hitch an inward sob in shock. The very image of Luigi.
I was overwhelmed with the sudden, crashing feeling of it. Like a big bucket of truth dropped on my head. I draw lines in my mind with timelines. It helps me to correlate data. When I close my eyes now, my line and Luigi’s line shoot deep into the past. I open my eyes. I believe I see it now. The truth of this. What I’m looking at.
Like Adam said, I am in love with Luigi. I realize th
is. I do. I am so moved by this place and the thoughts of him in here especially. Ricocheting in my brain. I’m imaging this. The very thought of his beautiful face here. I look up again to confirm what I had seen. His face looking up to God in heaven. Yep. Luigi. The quiet stillness of the air in here with no breeze possible.
My exhales releasing puffs of my breath into the air. My emotions are coming out in chopped breaths as I cry silently, wordlessly I chew the air as my thoughts fire trying to put pieces together into the visible timelines in my mind. I am overcome by something I cannot wrap my fucking brain around. I look down at my watch and I’ve been in here for over an hour now. My skin is fucking turning blue. I rub my hands together and blow into my balled fists as I purge various dates and date ranges from the timeline in my mind. I really thought I was right about this. It’s a good hunch that he would be here. Or come here. Hopefully not walking in and finding me a frozen corpse, but I feel like my feet are glued to the floor. I’ve just been standing here staring at this painting the whole time.
The windows beaming in bright sunshine carrying the swirling particles of ancient dust that my big clumsy feet kicked up. That distracted me from thought of timelines. I turn to stand into the light from the sun and can actually feel it warm on my face. I look into the clouds of undulating and fluttering particles and by themselves, incredibly calming how they almost weightlessly float through the sun’s rays. I wipe my eyes and sniff in the snot threatening to drip, my breath still thick in the air. Forceful clouds. I speak my truth aloud in this sacred, quiet, and beautiful place. I’m frustrated and it’s fucking cold in here. “I’m in love with Luigi. That’s your plan, right? So then why aren’t you helping me find him?” Microphones and cameras are literally everywhere in this place.
The sound of the door sucking closed drew my again wet eyes to him. I coughed out a big smile, surprised, huge cloud of my breath shot straight out of me. Standing at the door he had heard me speak as clearly as if he were standing right next to me in this quiet place. Moving toward me quickly, his paint-spotted smock flying open to reveal the clean black cotton cassock and Roman collar underneath, the priest of God dropped his lunch box and metal water bottle loudly on the floor and ran straight to me. The entire air of the space moved with him now in it. Like it came to life. Brighter with it. The whole room.
We did not speak. Our mouths moved over one another’s with such desperate urgency that I even lost my balance when he slammed into me, almost dizzy. Overwhelmed with happiness to once again be holding him. Ahhh. I am not ever letting go. Both of my hands on the sides of his beautiful face, I kissed his smashed-together lips passionately. I pulled back to look into his eyes and we both began laughing through tears as a vent of our shared happiness at finding one another here in this place. He is just as surprised as me. It’s the very first place I looked for him, and today, his first pass through to look for me. The echoes of this closed glass chamber made it sound as if it were an entire choir of laughter and the echoes of our laughs were making us laugh even harder. Hundreds of years have passed without ever hearing the joyful sounds we make. We quieted then and looked around us. No more breath in the air. It’s warmer in here now. He fell into me and hugged me tightly, his body warm and fragrant. I kissed the top of his head and just absorbed his warmth.
I looked again up at the painting, his head turning to look at what I was looking at. He smiled against my chest “oh yes, him. The Stallion” he said laughingly. “I believe that is the artist Raphael’s friend and lover, but I can’t prove it. That in fact was the original title of this central work, though. It was changed in record the day of his death by Pope Leo the fifth. A classic sadist as it turns out. Raphael had just painted and painted with very thin layers. Such an intense and intimate level of detail for just one image. We’ve layered it like we have all of his paintings now. Single layers mostly. Not this one painting though. 26 layers we counted.” I smiled at his face “so then you didn’t paint my face on his body?”
He laughed hardily at that shaking his head no. I held out my hand and his eyes followed my extended finger pointing up to the ceiling fresco above it. “And then paint your own face there?” Still laughing against my body, he turned his face into mine and opened his mouth against my neck and spoke into me. “It is uncanny, the resemblances, I know. I’ll give you that. I … I love to you, Fa. Um. Cole. Since I first saw you. It was like I was looking at this painting. It hit me instantly and very intensely.” I pulled him in more closely and rested my chin on the top of his head. Thinking, I drifted forward in time mere days from now, two to be exact, to my death. I would know his love in my short life, but he would know grief, far too soon, of that profound and life-altering loss that is death of someone you love.
I pushed him back and held him at arm’s length and fixed him in the eyes. “We have so much shit to talk about Luigi, you and me. There’s ale in my room. We can order up some food using the stupid waiter thingy. Dumb waiter. There are … well, serious things I need for you to know. Given how we feel. A very serious conversation. Are you free now? Beer? Food? I know it’s still early, but …” he lifted a small paint-splattered walkie talkie from his smock’s pocket and keyed the mic button. A grunt answered. “Nom mi sento, padrone. Devo andare a sdraiarmi. Potrei stare meglio più tardi oggi …” as Cole shook his head no “… ma probabilmente non fino al mattino.” Cole’s head shaking up and down. Yes. The rest of the day. Letting the button go, the response a quick two-clicks in the speaker meant it was acknowledged. “I have the afternoon off? Yes, I am free now! And I didn’t even lie! I am nowhere near my normal self! I’m fucking happy!”
We left the way he had come in, him stooping to pick up his metal Doctor Who lunchbox and pulling the leather out of his hair. We walked swiftly toward the staircase down to the next less-traveled level and then all the way to the opposite end of the complex two buildings from here where my apartment is located. We looked at one another excitedly and he very adorably hitched his steps faster, almost running to keep up with my long urgent strides. I take very long strides, not prone to scurrying or shuffling my feet. I pressed my thumb into the reader and the door popped open. We rushed into the room laughing, Luigi pushing on my butt to move me forward faster and came up to his robes and feet and stopped short. Our eyes lifted to his as Luigi shrunk behind me, trying to be invisible. Not working. His Eminence?!
We froze. He smiled briefly and rolled his eyes waiving his hand in a circle in the air. Then gathered himself and his heavy robes and pulled them aside as he turned around. Italian’s and their expressive hands. His slippers were actually jeweled. He turned to walk to the only chair, shuffling his feet across the old tiles and turned slowly to sit down. His shoulders raised and lowered with a deep relaxing breath, his hands on his knees aged and shaking slightly. No fancy hat, no jeweled crown, just a man in fancy robes and bedazzled slippers. Sitting in my private apartment. It was really weird to see Luigi’s posture match my own as I almost stood straight at attention as if standing for inspection by a superior officer. I was flabbergasted. His Holiness’s eyes crinkled as he smiled widely at our shared reaction, one priest obviously trying to copy the other.
“I would have a private word with you two. No need for formal audiences. Just talk. Father Coleman, young Father Luigi Berlusconi the brilliant artist and soon-to-be architect? I hope? Would you mind spending a few minutes with me?” I looked into his face smiling and nodded, looking back at the door. Luigi bowed slightly, weird. Am I supposed to do that too? I bowed like a dork and knew instantly it was wrong and that expression showed on my face. Luigi walked back to the door and closed it. I don’t know how to act so I watch Luigi. Just like him, I just stand there with my hands folded behind my back looking straight forward at the wall. The feeling in the room now seems tense, rigid. Suddenly. I study Luigi’s face and then it dawns on me. He thinks we’re about to be reprimanded or punished or worse, to him anyway, excommunicated and separated from his life’s work and his
church. He’s an expert on the artist Raphael and is known for that expertise worldwide and The Vatican is the central most place where his art is still on display. I think he’s only a priest because it was a guarantee of access to the Raphael paintings.
“I was just watching your reunion in the glass corridor and rushed here. Well, I was driven here very fast on an electric cart they won’t let me drive anymore. You two are … well, first, as a human man, I must admit that you are perfect together.” He raised his hand to still any objection to the comment and pinched his eyes shut, resolute. He only says what he means and that is well documented. Like he expected an objection? “I knew it when I watched your eyes first meet that morning outside in the garden after Father Coleman was introduced to the Council for the first time. Oh, how he paced there so nervously, riddled with self-doubt, I suspect. Unfounded. He was brilliant. It is now, to me, quite evident that you two are in love.” Again, his hand raised to stifle objection. Nodding his head yes, “this pleases me. As a human man, this pleases me greatly. You don’t need to ask for my blessing or forgiveness. You have them, both of them. But I get ahead of myself.” We looked at each other and then back at the Pope. His warm smile as he looked at the two of us standing there. Love in his eyes. Tension in the room just melted away. Our shoulders relaxed at the same time and we let out the breaths we had been holding.
“Cole, I have sent you detailed files. We, us three souls, have a required viewing tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock. The Archive Vaults and the same room you have been studying in, Cole. Some things that you two need to see. Things for you two to know only. For the time being. Very precious things. I would like you both to join me for that and I must insist. We’re uncovering some long-held property that doesn’t rightly belong to us and we seek reparations. I would like for you two to see these things regardless.” He fixed me in the eye “and you need to return the iPad you took, Father Cole. You can do it then.” He smiled at me and I smiled back, but I had just been scolded. He stared silently at my immediately downturned face.