by Clay Ferrill
“When the son of the Marquise de la Orleans was executed and all records of his life destroyed, she was shamed and never returned to Italy again. Dying a short while after her son in France at her home there. It is said she died of grief and despair, but I now know differently. But everything in its time and place. I pray for her forgiveness even still whenever I think of how tortured she must have been upon the death of her only child. He was erased from all memories eventually as well. But back then the Vatican did not pay artists for their great works for the Church. We do pay today, which was considered wrong then. Something on which I think on and toil with endlessly. How to repair the damages done by the greed of my predecessors.”
He stopped again and studied my downturned face. “Reparations must be made for the sins of our past. Raphael provided his art unpaid. The commissions you hear of in history books on the period and ever since, had in fact been maintained and initially funded, but the wealth there plundered and robbed with no one the wiser. Medici greed. Virtually penniless commissions to the artists themselves. With Giuseppe’s death, it plunged poor Raphael into the depths of poverty few can even comprehend. He would die a while later a broken, empty man in death. Utterly defeated. Beaten. Forever scarred. Hobbled. His talent, cut away from him in his youth, slaughtered by the deliberate misinterpretation of Church law, the death decision made by the voice of God on Earth himself, Pope Leo. A human man. A flawed, very ignorant, self-centered and greedy human man his whole life. A vile man prone to dramatic and shocking evils to other beings with lives to be envied and cherished, not taken and when not taken, utterly destroyed. These are senseless acts of cruelty and the reason why we’re all meeting here today. We must repair the damage if that is possible.”
I looked over at Luigi who was looking at me with shock in his eyes. No, I have not told him that I’m a clone and only legally allowed to live for seven days. 167.9 hours exactly. No more. I have also not told him that tonight will be the last night I will draw breath. I haven’t told him those things because I’m a coward. I didn’t want to break his heart. Well guess what. It’s breaking right now anyway. But I’m not sitting here for me, because I think I know why we’re here and what this all is. I could be out with Adam and Siren blowing shit up and dashing into danger. I’m here for Luigi only. We had both stopped looking at the Pope and were looking at each other. He knows everything I know now. He’s scared, but the expression on his face is telling me that he’s scared for me, when he should be afraid for himself. I can see that in his eyes. The Pope noticed this as well. I close my eyes and ask God for mercy in this.
He paused, seeming to be unsure how to proceed. He pushed breath out in a gruff exhale and then spoke again, his slipper’s jewels catching the artificial sunshine spilling at his feet in the dim room, his head actually kept haloed in light whenever that effect is visually possible. Sending reflective dots of colors dancing as he moved his toes inside the delicate shoes. He danced the dots around, a delighted smile returning to his face. He’s made up his mind now, that expression also clear to me.
“You will not die this night, young priest of the church. Not because your cloned body’s clock has run out its seventh day of life. You are to live your life free from the bonds that tied your head to the killing steak of your past life. When your body slumped in death, hair and follicle were caught in the leather and ripped from your scalp. When Raphael was shown his dead body, Raphael took absolutely everything of Archy with him. It’s not the blood from Raphael’s dark and rusty red paints. We have his hair and that’s where we extracted the DNA. It’s you. Giuseppe. Have no doubt my son.”
Luigi’s head fell against my shoulder and he slumped in his chair and started to fall forward to the table. The Pope raised his hand and the doors opened and a physician carrying a medical bag rushed into the room. “He is hypoglycemic, Cole. Don’t be concerned. This is a condition that he has suffered for a very long time. He has not been managing it well lately. He’s been walking around frantically looking for you all the time and we saw it, but there was no way to intervene without, how you say ‘tipping our hat’. He’ll come around in just a minute.” The physician swabbed his wrist just above the bone and found a vein, pressing the needle into him.
I fucking hate needles, but the smell of the alcohol is making me feel nauseous. I reached out and grasped his still hand and held my breath. His eyes fluttered back and forth under their closed lids and then he slowly opened his eyes. I leaned into him, not caring about the show of affection for him because I am in fact affectionate with him. I held his face in my large hand and kissed his cheek. “Welcome back. You left us there for a minute my love.” Luigi straitened his back and reached for his water while the doctor listened and felt his pulse strengthening again.
“I made the decision when I decided to have you cloned. We found the unidentified DNA in paint samples extracted from the red robes of The Stallion, as well as Raphael’s own hand-written notes that led us to that paint. In the paint, was his lover Giuseppe’s blood. That perhaps explains the richness of the textures there on that single painting. I was not surprised to see the face I saw when I gazed into your tank hours before your breach into life. I have prayed to see it since I first read the documents I sent to you just a few moments ago. They’re on your iPad. Read them with Luigi at your leisure. There is no hurry. I just ask that you keep them private and between you two only.”
He shifted his gaze then to the doctor, “you may leave us now doctor. Young doctor Berlusconi is looking much restored. Thank you for being on standby. We all knew he’s been pushing himself perhaps too hard.” His Holiness just watched as he gathered himself and leaned onto the table with his elbows. I looked back over at the Pope. Cardinal Mosconi was slumped slightly, the sounds of his breathing loud. Asleep. The room was completely still, the old archivist sitting straight, his eyes blinking.
Is there more? What splicing method was used? Did it really matter to me who my human original was? How are they certain of the DNA exactly? Why should these facts matter to me? Why is His Holiness telling us all of this? To what end? I shook my head to clear the rapid-fire questions forming. I could not will myself to respectfully ask them out loud. I didn’t trust myself not to let the emotion show in my voice. It’s best to say nothing. All questions I could answer myself by reading the new file probably.
I am not to die today. I am eternally grateful for this. Thank you, God. Thank you for my life. His Holiness read that expression and spoke again. “The Church owes a significant debt. we intend to see that debt settled. Come again tomorrow at this same time, you two. Read the files I sent. Two full copies of full lives documented, as best we can. Promise me you will read them then. Speak the words to me.” We both spoke at the same time “I promise to read the full documents Your Holiness.” He smiled at the unison of our voices word-for-word matched. He was happy with our progress today, jovial almost. “Padre Mosconi! Wake up old man. The meeting is over for today. Get to your bed and rest if you’re so damn tired.” The men were in fact only one year's difference to the day, the Pope the older of the two aged men of God. We had been sitting there for over two hours.
Cole Livingston
We had both walked back up the three flights quickly without speaking. I keyed the door open and we went inside. “So. Talk first, or … mess around and then talk? Because we have to talk about stuff I mean it, Boo.” Luigi had smiled at that and turned his head. I’ll get back to his new nickname later, but he liked it. Boo. I laid back loving the sound of his voice. His accent when he speaks English to me is like a slowly flowing river, his words so deliciously annunciated.
“What I have heard today has changed my life completely. Your DNA was Raphael’s closest friend, his lover and husband in their hearts. In Raphael’s lifetime? I can tell by looking at his works these centuries later and with the aging tests having all even confirmed that, the painting of The Stallion? His lover? That painting is in fact his last known completed work for t
he Catholic Church before his death at age 37. Painted with his lover’s blood! That is miraculous. I had thought that only rumor, sure, but it is in fact true after all? I was correct. It means I was correct!”
He then changed his tone a bit to a more serious one, his beautiful eyes fixed in mine. I could lose myself there in their brilliance. So beautiful. “These facts cannot matter to me or to you either though. Your genetic origin or whatever. It is not how-you-say … consequential? That the correct word?” I nodded yes. Tears streamed from his eyes as he finished, overwhelmed. “I am also relieved that you won’t die tonight. And I forgive you for not telling me. You see what happens when I’m shocked by anything that has emotional weight to it. I faint like a little girl scared by a large spider.”
I leaned my face to his and gently kissed him there, the salt of his tears moving me. I smiled. “Just the beginning of it I’m afraid my love. I have … done some things. I need to explain.” He smiled. “Start talking. If I faint I can just fall over on the bed.” Over the next few hours we laid there on top of the bed naked after a shower together and just talked. I told him everything. Not only the facts scientifically, but how what I had done affected me emotionally. How it had taken from my spirit almost. Every detail down to the way the cold mercury of the liquid thermite bombs had felt in my hands after the pins had been pulled. “One slip or trip and … boom.” We did, naturally as two young men would be prone to do completely alone, almost sequestered, but so fucking free at the same time. We messed around a little.
Dinner came up in the mid-20’s stainless steel dumb waiter nearly a century old already. Loud and rattling as it got closer and closer. When the bell sounded, I sprinted to the small kitchen naked and lifted the stainless-steel door. That tight metal box full of cooked food, the smells permeated every sense as it wafted into my face. The two large stoneware plates under one large glass dome. Trimmed in what looks like real fucking gold. I rolled my eyes. Something really needs to be done about this elaborate display of material wealth. The church needs to move past all that. Start giving back after near millennia of taking and taking and taking. Churches of God should not obscenely gather wealth into coffers just for the sake of having the material wealth. They’re just objects. Gold just a metal.
I nestled it into the center of the mattress absent any sheets or blankets. Beautiful sight, his messy hair. Luigi sat cross legged waiting, his tattoos are his pierced nipple still a surprise every time I see him naked. “Oh wow … that smell. Wow. What is that?” I lifted the glass dome and rose to set it on the smaller of two built-in dressers closest to me. Before I turned back around holding the large oval of glass, ALSO trimmed in gold, eye-roll, I closed my eyes and just let the smell come at me from behind. I let it be my most important sense and sniffed in slowly. Wow.
I opened my eyes and looked down at Luigi. He had tears in his eyes. “I will paint you just like that Cole. The glass dome was your shield held by your strong, muscular arm, the way your hips are turned slightly away looking down on me. Your nakedness is raw and very powerful. Certainly, you realize this, right? You are, how should I say, a hunk.” He wiped again at his eyes laughing, his shoulders dancing. “The smile on your face just then when I said that is exactly the image of The Stallion of God.” He wiped his eyes again. “I need to paint that. Please say yes.” I looked at him shaking my head yes, now tearing myself.
“Yes. Always. I think it’s safe to say that from now on probably, any question from you to me will come with that exact same answer, yes. So be careful what you ask for. The answer will be yes. I am, after all, Raphael’s Stallion of God. Paint me to your hearts content. I’m not going anywhere away from you. Ever again. You’ll need to meet my friends I told you about though. Adam, and Siren you will love instantly. Adam is married to another man! Married! You will love them and they will most certainly love you.”
He smiled and shied his expression, turning his head away. “I’m not exactly sure, but I think bouncing around the planet in an elaborate private jet with stretched vehicles to optimize your comfort, is, well, sustainable in the long term. But I can’t wait to meet your friends Cole. Seven days old? I still can’t grasp that concept even. You’re this big tall strapping man and just seven days old? You’ll need to explain that to me slowly, too, don’t suddenly shock me. This is most definitely an emotionally-charged topic.” He smiled and smirked his shoulders and I sat cross-legged across from him. I could see my watch on the nightstand. 00:06 GMT. “Eight days old now” I said. He was the first to reach down to the plate and retrieve a roasted veal chop with rosemary and mint jelly dip. He ripped the bite with his teeth and chewed, the grease smearing his lips.
I coughed out a huff at the realization that this exact thing has happened before. The feeling of familiarity just swept through me. Deja vu. I looked back at Luigi as he ripped off another bite of baby cow meat and chewed. In my mind’s eye, our lines intertwined. We dug in heartily. Four chops each with baby roasted carrots and baby favre beans. We both rolled our eyes when we each commented at the same time that everything offered in the fare was an infant of itself. The hot caramel pudding though, with a dollop of whipped crème fraîche, was exquisite. Once it cooled from its original molten lava state anyway. This obsession with shoving hot liquids into your mouth was going to be hard for me to get used to.
“We’re not priests any longer, are we.” Not posed as a question, Luigi turned his head to me and nestled his head on my chest while spooning the warm pudding into his face ravenously. “Even if it means I step away from my muse and obsession, Raphael, almost the sole subject of my entire life so far … I would do that if it meant that we could stay together. I’m Ok with that. I have to think of that as what it is. God’s will. But I never really wanted to be a priest anyway, Cole. I angled and plotted and worked my way to get to where I am as a scientist in my own right, but now, there isn’t another scholar alive on the planet that knows more facts about Raphael than me. Facts, Cole, are science. I now have facts. You just took me. I can feel that from you again even right now Cole. Your hunger. Well it’s THAT that I can’t step away from. You. I can easily step back from the alter of God as a priest. I have, in fact, just done that in telling you this actually. That’s all it really takes. Resignation. I’ve been thinking about it since the minute I first met you. It was always a one-or-the-other outcome. I choose you.” Spoken clinically almost. The double doctor.
“I love you Luigi.” We both inwardly chuckled as our shoulders danced “and I will never, ever tire of hearing you say that to me my love.” Messing around is now a favorite passage of time after we profess our love for one another, hence the giggling. As it should be.
The next day came upon us quickly and neither of us had taken time to read the shared file the Pope sent to us about Raphael, as we had promised. We discussed it, a lot actually, and while Luigi was more hesitant about what he might discover, I again thought back to yesterday when the Pope was speaking to us so honestly and openly. Nothing shocking or revelatory other than my human original. A very brave man he had been. A loving man. The church wanting to formally apologize for what happened to him in his original life. I have to look at this scientifically because that’s what’s inside my brain. I believe I know what we’ll learn today and it’s going to shock him horribly. It’s really that clear to see to me. Big breakfast was my weapon against his hypoglycemia. Fresh-Squeezed blood orange juice. Two glasses, I had insisted. I have an iPad with a robot voice. I asked it.
There’s a reason for this and I just pray we learn what that is in just now under 10 minutes. Luigi had to run back to his rooms as I chose another suit and dressed. Same shoes. I will never let those leave my sight as God is my witness. Not sure why I recognize the name on the label, but Boss. Another silk glove for me to wear. Now this beats a cassock any day of the week. Even the eighth day of the week. Pale gray. I chose a dark navy silk-trimmed Henley t-shirt with a tight collar, also Hugo Boss. I could get used to this. Minutes
later Luigi reappeared wearing a suit with his hair knotted in a leather string, dripping, glasses perched on his face. Very elegantly scholarly. The caramel colored t-shirt a mock turtle, matched the color of his eyes perfectly. He just looked so reserved and calm. Not a speck of paint smudge anywhere on him. I like those smudges. They each have a story of Raphael and to listen to him speak, well, magic to me now.
He is a passionate scholar, my Luigi. The iPad was tucked under his arm. He hasn’t read it. It beeps its alarm as he takes my hand and we walk down the three flights of stairs to a much warmer than yesterday vault system. All glass was clear as far as the eye could see. Vast libraries, centuries worth. Ancient scrolls. A vast labyrinth of glassed-in rooms came into view as we descended the last half of the staircase slowly. Our steps downward slowed to match and we froze looking out over a virtual sea as far as our eyes could see. Somewhere inside there is a single flame burning … somewhere, its reflection playing off the flat faces of glass, reflecting forward toward us. Both frozen in place, in awe. The Pope was already seated and the only person in the small anti-room. Table gone. Three equal chairs.
We walked in and sat down and scooted our chairs closer to him so he would not have to speak loudly. He looks tired. He nodded to me to start. As agreed.
I reviewed everything with Luigi and His Holiness, looking to him several times for His Holiness’s nodded confirmations to continue my additional review of Giuseppe’s extensive renewed records. I presented facts as a science, my face fixed and firm in countenance, lacking all emotion. Until I described, just as written in the hidden records of the time, Giuseppe’s death scene. Both men were crying helplessly at the retelling. I had to share their profound grief as well. I am a man and it broke my heart too. I explained to them that I had now read every single word written about him or concerning him. Reviewed every record.