Love is my Destiny

by Paul Kelly

  “Don’t worry … most of the students are like that for the first few weeks. It will pass and then you’ll be fine. You wait, you’ll see.” He said and Peter shifted from one foot to the other. “By the way, there was a parcel for you this morning in the post, did you get it?”

  Dan looked at Peter with large wide eyes as he waited for his answer and Peter felt the bulge in his cassock pocket before he produced the package.

  “Some letters from a friend,” he said softly and Dan’s eyes widened even more.

  “Good news, I hope?” he said with a grin and his shiny face lit up with pleasure.

  “They were ... they were from Fern... in Scotland,” Peter stuttered his words nervously as Dan’s face adopted a serious mood and he felt uncomfortable for having made his remark, but Peter put him at his ease. “ The person of whom I spoke to you in my confession,” he explained, but the Irish priest dismissed the incident as he wet his lips with his tongue and touched his chins with his stubby fingers.

  “You needn’t say any more, Peter. You know that,” Dan spoke in reassurance, but Peter waved his hand in the air.

  “I want to tell you more, Dan. I cannot keep this to myself and I have no more to confess on the matter. Anything I say about Fern from now on has nothing to do with the sacrament of confession. It is ‘ex cathedra.” he said and his voice was more relaxed as Dan grinned again showing his small square teeth.

  “What you need is a night out on the town ...” He chuckled and Peter smiled and wondered if he had heard correctly, but Dan clarified the matter as he went on ... “It’s not what you are thinking, you dirty young sod,” he said and his eyes twinkled as he spoke. He was being his usual bland self. A night on the town was an evening at a small Italian restaurant, well known and frequented by the clergy and students, since the owner had two sons in the college who were student priests.

  “I don’t think that is what I need right now,” Peter protested politely. But Dan would have his way as he plunked a biretta on Peter’s head and whisked him away by the arm, almost carrying him through the streets of Rome.

  “I’ll introduce you at Roberto’s and then we’ll nip along this evening to have a nice meal. You’ll enjoy it. You will, you know Kiddo.”

  ***

  The evening proved very successful and the family Roberto Palluci were most gracious in their efforts to give the priests and Students a good hearty meal and a pleasant congenial evening’s entertainment and Peter was in appreciation of all the kindness that was showered on him, but his home sickness prevailed. He went into the garden to get some fresh air, away from the smoke and chatter… The crowd, where Dan was exhibiting his expertise with some playing cards and several students were enjoying his deft manipulations as cards disappeared all over the place to reappear in the most unlikely places; usually in the back pocket of a young man’s cassock …

  “You are new here, Frater, are you not?”

  A young girl spoke as she stood by Peter’s side in the garden and he looked up in surprise at the manner in which she addressed him, which made him think again of his student days…

  “Yes, I am,” he said, and he blushed a little as he spoke, lifting his biretta as she drew her shawl around her shoulders.

  “My name is Pia. My brothers are students at the college. May I sit with you?”

  Peter stood up and fidgeted with his tonsure cover.

  “Please do, but I shall have to leave shortly as I have some studies to prepare for my class in the morning.” He made his excuses as politely as he could.

  “But you are a student, yes?” She enquired without having seen his clerical cassock clearly in the dark of the approaching evening.

  “No, I am a priest, but I am here for further studies in theology,” he said, thinking in that moment how pompous this young girl must have thought he was as he spoke and knowing that was just the way he did not feel ... Pia studied him with renewed curiosity.

  “I have an older brother who is a priest, and of course, my two other brothers in the college. They are Frater students, yes …Oh and I have a sister who is a Poor Clare in Brindisi.” she said and Peter raised his eyebrows.

  “You are all in religion then?” He enquired with enthusiasm, but Pia pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders and raised her eyebrows.

  “Not me. I have no wish to become a nun,” she replied as she shivered a little. “The evenings are cold in my country, yes?” she went on as she pouted her lips and shivered again.

  “Perhaps you should go back indoors. It is warmer there,” Peter proposed, but she ignored his suggestion.

  “A little vino would be nice, yes?” she said as she glanced at the bottle on the table and Peter poured her a glass of red wine. “If you wish to tell me about your country, I would be pleased very much to hear,” she continued as she sipped the wine and her shawl fell away from her shoulders. Peter could see that her skin was pale and soft, unlike what he had imagined an Italian woman’s would be and he looked at her eyes. They were dark but not brown; beautiful eyes, pale green and lucid and her lips were of a natural pink colour and seemingly without any appearance of artificial blush and Peter concluded in his mind that she he was indeed, quite an extraordinarily beautiful girl.

  “I would like to stay and talk more with you, but I truly have to go, perhaps we could talk another time,” he said apologetically, as he rose and bowed slightly before her and replaced his biretta twice before it sat squarely on his head.

  “That would be very nice, Frater” she said and corrected herself immediately to address him as Father and not as a student as she continued to sip her wine, but as he walked away from the table towards the door, Peter could feel her eyes were still upon him and he was uncomfortable. He stopped before he went into the street to look back and Pia waved to him and smiled.

  ***

  Peter did not want to return to the college without Dan but the Irish priest was holding court in the corner of the Taverna surrounded by first year students. Father Dan was a popular figure with everyone and in particular with the students and Peter was convinced his bohemian attitude to life had a lot to do with his popularity.

  “Last swig coming up,” Dan called out as he swung his sixteen stone from the chair and Peter escorted him home.

  Chapter Forty Six

  “FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME, IF YOU DO NOT WAKE UP AND PAY ATTENTION, I will have to ask you to leave the class.”

  The Magister spoke with authority and Peter looked startled. The teacher was talking to him ... Peter stood up as the other student priests looked away to commiserate the reprimand.

  “I am sorry, Father. I will endeavour to ... I will try ... I am sorry,” he said as he sat down again when the Magister nodded his acceptance of the excuse and the class continued in the study. Peter was well aware of his dissipation, but knew there was nothing he could do about it, as every day became worse and he tried in vain to enter into the spirit of the lectures, however the more he tried, the more confused and tortured he became and he retired to the chapel after the conclusion of the lessons.

  “I can’t go on ... I just can’t go on,” he insisted, pleading for mercy from his God on his knees. “If You truly wanted me here, You would give me the means to persevere. I can’t do it ... I want to do it, but I can’t. I simply can’t.”

  Peter stayed in the chapel for a long time, but there was no end in sight of the tunnel into which he had been drawn. He had never asked for further studies. He did not want to be a Doctor of Theology... He had never aspired to become other than a simple Parish Priest, but his bishop had other ideas of Father Peter Flavio Spinelli’s worth and Peter prayed every hour for peace of mind when he wasn’t studying ... and when he was expected to be studying, his mind was elsewhere and his heart was in Bolarne.

  He sat in class daily and although the Magisters expounded thei
r theories on the Godhead and the Trinity, he saw only their lips moving in his lonely world of silence and of pain, but he heard nothing…

  “I am a sham and a hypocrite,” he murmured.

  “What was that you said, Father Spinelli?”

  Peter shook his head as if to steady his thoughts.

  “I am sorry Father, I was thinking aloud, that’s all,” he apologised and the Magister frowned as he returned to the blackboard.

  “If we all thought aloud, Father, we would get nothing done. Would we? Please try to concentrate and if you need further time, I can see you after the class is dismissed.”

  Peter rose to his feet and bowed.

  “Thank you Father,” he said and sat down again.

  Chapter Forty Seven

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Dan barged into Peter’s room.

  “Come on ... Get that dog collar off, we’re going out,” he giggled as he stood before Peter dressed in a shirt and tie, looking anything but a Roman Cleric, with the sleeves of his tight-fitting jacket finishing half-way up his thick sturdy arms.

  “Out, where?”

  “Never mind …Get this tie on and don’t ask any more questions.”

  “But I am in class today, Dan. All day…”

  “You may think you are, but you’re not. The lesson has been cancelled.”

  “Are you sure?” Peter enquired, but Dan was impatient with his reluctant friend.

  “Of course I’m sure. Old whats-is-name, you know, your tutor had some bug or other and the classes are cancelled until further notice.

  Toscanini told me half an hour ago.”

  Peter was confused.

  “Toscanini, Toscanini,who’s he?”

  Dan still held the tie in his hand.

  “He’s that bright spark who is always top of your class. You know, old know-all with the big hooter and the jug ears.”

  Peter clicked his tongue on his upper palate.

  “Tamborini is his name and he’s not like you say he is, he’s very clever,” he said but Dan ignored his explanation.

  “Come on, Kiddo, you’re wastin’ time.”

  Peter adjusted the tie with reticence and reached for his biretta.

  “Put that damn thing down. You’ll look a proper Charlie wearing that with a collar and tie.”

  Peter returned the hat to its hook on the wall.

  “Force of habit, I guess,” he said smiling. “Where are we going?”

  “Never you mind, just follow me.”

  Dan helped him on with his jacket and both men left the seminary. It was 10.0 am. and they walked together into the city of Rome; the larger one in complete defiance and self-assurance, with a determined look in his eyes, but the leaner of the two kept looking for someone to denounce him as a traitor to his calling.

  “You are a priest ... Why aren’t you dressed like one,” He waited for someone to shout out, but no-one took the slightest bit of notice of the black-clad duo in the apparel of a long forgotten fashion … A veritable Laurel and Hardy pair.

  “Dan, where are we going and why should we be dressed as we are?” He asked but Dan did not answer his companion as he pursued with his questions. “People will think we are ‘up to tricks’ or something.”

  Peter could imagine the jeering crowds as they followed them through Rome screaming for an explanation, but Daniel Farne, priest of God strolled on in silence, in his comic attire until they reached the Bistro, where the fat priest halted suddenly, puffed out his cheeks and mopped his brow with a red handkerchief.

  “Dear God, it’s worse than a day’s work, getting you out of that place,” he gasped and his wide wet eyes twinkled as his chins shook.

  “This place will do,” Dan went on, “It’s quiet and they’ll get us something to wet our whistles.”

  They sat down on some white wooden chairs in the street outside the Bistro and Dan summoned the waiter with one wave of his large hand.

  “Two coffees, please,” He ordered in Italian, smiling at the waiter as he spoke and the smartly dressed youth took a small pad and wrote the order... with a look of anticipation. “I suppose it’s too early for something stronger?” Dan enquired… squinting to avoid the sun rays as he went on talking in Italian and Dan’s easy flow of the language amazed Peter.

  “I didn’t know you spoke Italian so well,” he said and Dan mopped his wet brow with his colourful sudarium.

  “Well, I have been here nearly two years now and you pick it up here and there.”

  “What did you say to the waiter?” Peter blushed. “I should be able to speak Italian as my father was born here, but I’m afraid I only gathered a few words when I was little. My father always wanted us to speak English in the house.”

  “Italian extraction, eh…?” Dan muttered as he pushed his red hanky up his jacket sleeve, with great effort and patted it into position.

  “Well, I didn’t think you were Chinese with a name like Spinelli,” he scoffed and Peter laughed.

  “My father never ever felt that we would need the language. He never spoke it to my mother either,”

  “It’s a very smooth running tongue and easy to pick up. You’ll get the hang of it before long and you’ll be gibbering like a native.”

  “What did you say to the waiter? You haven’t told me yet?”

  Dan stroked his chin in his usual manner and grinned.

  “Nothing of importance,” he said and pulled at his left eyebrow between his forefinger and thumb.

  They sat in the sun and drunk their coffee without further conversation…until Dan drained the last of his drink and ordered another.

  “Now then, Kiddo, how are you feeling today?” he asked with concern in his face and Peter looked into his cup as he spoke.

  “Don’t bother about me, Dan. I’m being silly. I shall be all right in time,” he said in a weary voice and Dan sighed.

  “I wish I could believe you, I really do wish that ... What on earth are we going to do with you Peter?”

  Dan clanged his cup to his saucer as he stared into Peter’s eyes and Peter looked pale and small besides the man who persisted with such enthusiasm regarding his interests.

  “How old are you, Peter?”

  “Twenty five,” he replied and Dan looked puckishly at his friend.

  “I could give you a few years, you know that? I was a late vocation.

  I remember you coming into the seminary, just as I was ready for ordination. I remember you well, for all that it was only a short time that we were together, you handsome bugger, but we didn’t have much to say to each other in those days, did we? Rules wouldn’t allow it ...Stupid bloody things.”

  Peter smiled and drained his coffee, as Dan crossed his sturdy legs and studied his fingernails, before he continued to ruminate.

  “I remember you well, Peter though I don’t expect you even saw me.”

  He grinned again and covered his comment of apparent humility. “I’m so small and dainty am I not… “ He went on and they both laughed again, but Dan’s unction was taking effect and Peter’s heart was lighter, if only for these few moments, as his large friend picked a grout from his upper lip and dabbed his mouth daintily with his serviette... keeping his pinkie in the air, as all well bread and genteel folk would. “I’m thirty seven now,” he sighed and his lips tightened, “I was married when I was your age.”

  Peter dropped his cup into his saucer with alarm and stared enquiringly at his companion.

  “I thought that might wake you up,” Dan retorted with an impudent grin across his broad face. “Yes, I got married when I was twenty two.”

  Peter sat in silent amazement as Dan continued his story.

  “Two years of married bliss. Life is so short, isn’t it?”

  Peter wanted to say someth
ing appropriate to the occasion …but words failed him and he sat in awe and in silence, as Dan called the waiter again and the young man brought two cognacs on a silver tray.

  “That’s more like it young man. My mother would be pleased with you.

  ‘Good on yuh,’ she’d say.”

  The waiter frowned in confusion, but shrugged his shoulders when Dan put a large tip under his saucer and he hastily removed the cups and saucers to renew them as Dan poured his brandy into his cup and wiped his index finger around the inside of the glass before popping it into his mouth.

  “T’isn’t a good thing to waste anything…” he murmured ... and the men, in their out-dated suits, sipped their drinks in the cool fresh air.

  “Have you had enough of my Irish patter?” Dan enquired as he studied the empty glass before him and his apologetic demeanour seemed to be out of character as he continued talking. “I’d like to tell you more, if I may?” He laughed and his face radiated warmth that illuminated his whole countenance and he puckered his lips to the glass, to kiss the memory. “I met a girl when I was eighteen…She was two years younger than meself, (he diverted to the Irish idiom). Our lives were as different as chalk and cheese. I was from a family of eleven, all brought up on a farm, knee high in cow-shit and she was the only child of a Dublin Banker.”

  As Peter listened to the story that was unfolding before him, he felt less frustrated and more at ease with the man who sat beside him and Dan continued, but his voice had lost its joviality and he looked a little sad.

  “Daddy never wanted her to marry me,” he went on with raised eyebrows as if he couldn’t have cared less what Daddy wanted... “I was too rough; a red-neck, he called me. I didn’t have the finances that he wanted in a man who would become his son-in-law. I suppose now I can understand how he felt and he was right to a great extent, but I loved his daughter ... Oh God, you’ll never know how much I loved that girl.”