by Mark Tufo
“God calls upon us to take our vows deep into our hearts. Our marriage to him goes beyond the mortal realm. We are his brides – his mothers of all that are ill, weary, and less fortunate. We must bring the God-less to his throne. He has chosen us to be the ambassadors of His light and unconditional love. We – “ She pointed at all those present. Her eyes welled up and her cheeks flushed before continuing with her earnest plea, “are His light in the darkness.”
As Miriam continued in her lesson, she was well into the hour that was normally allotted for her time. Isabel’s discomfort was growing to a nearly intolerable state. Shifting in her seat again caused one of the sister’s to clear her throat in agitation, making Isabel stiffen. She would remain still for as long as she could. There were harsh consequences for interrupting lessons or masses of any kind. Bowing her head, she tried to pray for relief and peace of mind to persevere through Miriam’s lengthy sermon.
As she mouthed her final, silent word of prayer, the room began to tilt slightly and Isabel opened her eyes cautiously, picking a place on the floor to stare at. Her hope was that in doing so, it would steady her from the vertigo that was threatening to topple her from her seat.
From the far corner of her eye, Isabel could see the Abbess watching her. The woman’s rigid posture amplified the shadow cast upon the wall behind her which flickered and jumped to the light of the candles.
Beads of sweat formed on her upper lip and her eyes grew heavy and hard to keep open. Isabel could feel the temperature of the room spike and the walls spin around her. She gripped the bench beneath her, trying to with all her strength to keep her composure. The nun beside Isabel took her eyes off of Miriam and this caused the Abbess to fly into a fit of rage, knocking the poor girl next to Isabel over.
Isabel felt the first crack of leather sting at her covered flesh and cried out. In a wave of gasps, Miriam stopped and leapt to her feet, then covered her mouth to keep from protesting or interfering; doing so would only serve in them both receiving lashings.
The girls all huddled as close as they could to the surrounding walls. They knew all too well, the fervor in which the Abbess dealt her punishments. According to her logic, there were no accidental lashes; which meant that if you were caught by the snap of a stray lick of her leather, it meant that God saw your hidden transgressions.
For her age, the Abbess lacked no strength in her swing, as Isabel was finding out now. Falling to the floor, Isabel’s assault continued even as her consciousness began to slip away. It felt as if she was floating outside her body. Her whimpers and cries of pain to each resounding snap against her skin came from further and further away. The room lurched again and she was suddenly back inside her own stinging flesh being carried by the others in a rush to the infirmary. Isabel vaguely remembered Miriam’s cry for the Abbess to show mercy.
“Mother!” She shouted.
“Mother, please! She’s bleeding!” Miriam screamed and pointed to the growing red stain at Isabel’s side.
Even then the Abbess seemed to debate her relent of that final blow as her arm hung in the air. The frigid glare of the tall, imposing frame of the woman above Isabel’s writhing form kept all the nuns clinging to one another until her arm re-cocked at her side. A half-breath later, the women moved like a flock, swooping in to rescue their fallen sister. Lifting her wispy frame, the nuns rushed her down the dark, cold hallway and down the stairs to the infirmary. Little did anyone know, it was here that Isabel would be spending a lot more of her time.
It was here that I watched as the women crowded Isabel, their hands patting and caressing her trembling limbs in meager attempts of soothing her agony. I pressed back against the wall to try blending in and fend off any unwanted attention. It worked for now.
I slid against the stone, moving back to the task I had been tending to before the interruption. I hung my head low; it helped to hide some of my height. Keeping my ear toward the door, I dipped the cloth into the hot water of the basin and wrung it out. The filth of the sick man before me bled into the clear water. I stared into it for a long moment before the limp hand next to me twitched to some fever induced nightmare.
Steam rolled off the cloth as I began to wipe down his arms and neck. The stench of decay already filled the room despite my every effort to keep him, and it clean. Part of my daily tasks were to scrub the stone floor with boiling water, keeping as much infection away as I could.
Despite all my efforts though, the Black Death would take them; their eyes would grow hollow and sink back, and their mouths would grow slack and hang, allowing their souls to float out.
“Help me.” He croaked.
I shook my head to bring myself back to the present, and looked down at the man lying before me. His grey hair was stuck to his skin, matted beneath the weight of his head and drenched in sweat. Leaning forward, I pressed my hand against his forehead gently before letting my lips make contact with his salty, clammy, damp skin.
“I’m just the Watcher.” I whispered.
His eyes grew sad. He Knew. With my words, came the confirmation of what I was and what his outcome would be. Tears fell from his old eyes and he sobbed in silence. All I could do was kneel beside him and speak comforting words. Interfering was forbidden.
“Peace to you, child” I said, pretending to lead him into prayer, “Your Angel comes. And with him, your salvation.”
It wasn’t long before the man released his last breath. With it, his head grew heavier and I slowly lowered it to the cot beneath him. There was no angel to escort him. He was alone, with no one to lead him out of this world but me. The thought overwhelmed me so much so that I wept quietly while holding his fragile, lifeless hand in my own.
There was bustling, movement, and tending to Isabel in the other room, which was good. She was, at the very least, alive. No one came in to check on this man for many hours. It became my personal duty to finish cleaning him so that he would have a dignified death, and to tidy his sheets. Allowing him to lie in his own filth was something I could not do. The anger seeped in again as the shadows of the room grew longer and night crept in. Where was his angel? He did not emanate evil, so why was it he was not escorted Home?
I had to get out of there. I slid my hand from the skeletal cradle of the dead man’s and walked swiftly out to the fresh night air. Pacing back and forth, I could not contain my emotion and headed out toward the path leading to the garden.
Plagued by all of these mortal thoughts I was suddenly joined by the Lord at my side. He took on his human form and fell into step with me. At the realization of his presence I abruptly pause and begin to kneel when I feel his warm hand on my shoulder.
“Do not kneel Marciel, lest you draw attention to us.” The lord spoke quietly in my ear and when I looked at him there was that same gentle smile on his features which always warmed my heart.
“Yes, my Lord.”
I continued to walk alongside him until we were far from the main house. He paused and I did too, and turned to look into his eyes. The Lord stared back into mine; something no mortal could ever withstand. His eyes saw everything. Every dark corner of your soul was an open book to him. There was never anything unturned. Even to an angel like me it could be overwhelming.
“Your soul is troubled Marciel. Speak to me and tell me what it is.”
I could only follow along and give in to his request obediently. He sat down on a large stone and opened his robe, then pulled out and unwrapped a small loaf of bread. I could smell the sweet dough on the breeze now and I smiled. Sitting down on the ground, I looked up at him sighing quietly to clear my thoughts.
“I feel an evil presence around the monastery.”
The Lord did not speak. He broke the bread and handed me a piece, keeping his eyes on mine which urged me to continue.
“Father Raphael– There is something..” I paused, trying to find the words.
“Familiar?”
“Yes.” I said. “But how could that be?”
The Lo
rd only smiled and ate a piece of his bread. I took a piece of mine and ate with him. We were silent for a long moment before the Lord finally broke the silence.
“There are things that are not your concern. Your Father in Heaven knows all things. Trust him. Obey his command. That is your only concern Marciel. Let the Father take on the burden of worry.”
I felt an instant warmth and relief to his words like something washing over me cleansing the dirtiness of the wicked I felt. I do not know if it was him banishing the worry or if his words actually caused me to let go. But somehow, I felt better and the burden lifted off my shoulders. I could breathe again, and laugh. I felt a longing to be in Heaven once more, but I felt too ashamed to voice the words. So instead, I spoke of all the wonderful things I’d learned during my time on Earth.
We finished off the rest of the night with talk of other things. When the Lord left me, I prayed. I asked the Father to guide me and for strength to follow my task then stood and headed back to the main house.
CONDEMNATION - MARCIEL
When I arrived, there was a rush of people walking in and out of the front door. Confusion was high as I watched the faces of those that passed me. I stopped and asked one of the men what was wrong and he shook his head, pulling his arm from my grasp. I looked upward into Isabel’s window and saw in the candlelight behind the half drawn curtain, the silhouettes of a couple people bustled back and forth.
My first instincts were to run with unnatural speed, or to push my wings through the frail human flesh, to fly like the wind to her, my charge. Without my wings, I couldn’t do that. I was just a human, to them. All I knew was that something was horribly wrong. I knew it instinctively. I made my way through the crowd to see Isabel being held against her bed. She appeared to be convulsing and the smell of jasmine was so strong it that I nearly choked on it. The crowd that gathered around her whispered among themselves and I shoved through them until I was standing bedside.
Father Dulante looked up at me. The worry on his face caused my heart to sink. I turned to look down on Isabel again and saw that there was blood everywhere. Panic rose up in me and I felt helpless.
“What do I do?” I yelled. The more she flailed, the more those crimson droplets flung onto the vestments of the priests holding her down.
“She’s having a seizure!” cried Miriam.
“Strap her down!” yelled Father Raphael, who now shoved his way forcefully through the crowd.
It was an instant sickly feeling that overcame me. My body pitched forward and I knew he was there before he even opened his mouth to speak. I spun around and came face to face with the priest whose eyes were dark and cold as they stared down at Isabel. The pitch darkness of his eyes was a void and looking into them was the equivalent of falling into the pit of Hell, itself. I had to get away from him. With all the commotion it wasn’t easy but I managed to pull back and get to a safe distance. The two nuns who were standing off to one side, looked at one another as if doubting Father Raphael’s orders but quickly moved to obey them. They came back carrying two leather cuffs attached to straps that were used for some of the mental patients or surgical patients that they had to tend to. Working silently, the two women shackled Isabel’s biceps and ankles down.
Once Isabel was cleaned, we could see the wounds were on her wrists. I felt the world spin around me. These wounds were too perfect. Grasping her hand gently in my own, I turned it to get a better look. There was one on each wrist in the space bound by the hamate, the triquetrum, the lunate, and the capitate. It is said that only those few that experience true stigmatic symptoms receive the wounds in the correct location. The excitement around me became muted, and like a distant pulse Father Dulante’s voice came through the pounding of my heart in my ears.
“Marciel!” he shouted, grabbing my attention.
“What? Yes? Sorry.” I stuttered.
“Bandages, please?”
I turned on a heel, disoriented and dazed. This was a new sensation for me. I didn’t know what to do. My path seemed unclear once more. I ran for the hospice room and grabbed the bandages. On my way past the kitchen I also took a bowl with some clean water and jogged back to Isabel’s room. I nearly dropped the bowl at the vision before me as I came to her doorway. Father Raphael was sitting beside her, staring into her face with a cold, empty smile. It disappeared as soon as I could focus my eyes again and the priest looked up at me.
His hand lifted and fingers curled inward, beckoning me to come near. My knuckles whitened as the grip I had on the bandages and the bowl tightened. It was a struggle for me, being what I am, to come near such a vile creature. I knew in my pure heart there was only blackness in his.
Father Raphael looked like an average man. He stood at about 5 foot 9 inches and so I had to look down at him as he spoke which seemed to agitate him even further. His long black hair was always impeccably tied back and neat. Ironically, he had an angelic complexion, fine and beautiful, like a painting. To look at him, one could fall into his dark eyes if they were not aware of the evil permeating within.
He was an older man of about maybe forty or fifty years. It was hard to tell. When his hand touched my shoulder I had to restrain from jerking back. The evil inside him burned my skin and caused me great pain. Flesh beneath the cloth sizzled and blistered so that I could no longer speak, lest I give it away. When he leaned in, I could smell the thick sulfur rolling off his malicious whisper.
“I know you watch me.” He said.
I tried to swallow and shake my head. Did he know? No. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?
“What do you mean, Father?” I managed to stammer out.
Father Raphael only smiled and I felt his hand lift from my shoulder. I closed my eyes for a moment as he stepped behind me to get my bearings again and was immediately brought out of it by his voice hissing in my ear once more.
“Know your place.” It said.
I felt my breath stretch my lungs and I realized I had been holding it but not before a whisper was quickly added to that last warning.
“Angel.” It hissed out slowly and I thought my ears drums were on fire.
I spun around but he was gone. I imagined it. I had to. It was impossible for him to know my secret. To know God’s secret! I heard Isabel moan and I left those thoughts behind to tend to her.
As I dipped the clean rag into the water I kept looking over my shoulder before wiping the blood from Isabel’s skin. Fear was not something angels knew in Heaven, but here on Earth, I did. I was panting when I felt Isabel’s hand touch mine. I let out a small, choked out yell and caught myself. Wiping my brow with the back of my hand, I laughed and smiled looking down at her. Giving her hand a squeeze to try and reassure her, I shrugged sheepishly.
“I’m jumpy tonight. I thought we’d lost you.” I said.
It wasn’t a lie. I don’t think I could’ve pulled off a lie right now to save my own wings.
“How long have I been out?” she asked.
“Six hours.”
She seemed so lost. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and keep her safe but I knew that I couldn’t. Lowering my eyes to the rag again, I continued my task of cleaning and bandaging her wounds.
Isabel moved to sit up quickly but was stopped by the leather binds. A look of confusion was quickly filled in with a look of anger then hurt. She tipped her head to the side and leveled her gaze at me as if trying to read me and figure out was I the one who tied her up.
“No, it wasn’t me. Father Raphael ordered it. You – you were having a seizure.” I said but I knew it was a lie.
“I demand you untie me. Untie me at once!” she was starting to grow irate the more she pulled at the binds and the more she could not free herself.
The shouts brought back the nuns who rushed in and to her side. The two sisters urged her to lie down and rest.
“Rest, dear” the one said while the other chimed in.
“Yes, Isabel, you’ve had a long day. Rest and get your strength back.”
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br /> “I’m not resting until you untie me!” Isabel demanded once more.
Father Raphael was suddenly at the door. My hand squeezed tightly around the rag dripping into the water. The two nuns stood upright instantly and lowered their eyes in silence. Isabel stopped and watched them, brows furrowing before turning toward Father Raphael again.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Untie her. She is no harm.” Said Father Raphael with an air of disregard, and then he disappeared around the corner, again.
The two nuns worked on each side of the weak woman to free her. Isabel pulled her arm away from them and rubbed out the pain with a wince. The two women looked at each other, then me, before slipping out into the hall without a word.
I could feel the anger welling up in Isabel. I knew that it was aimed at Father Raphael. Just as I would speak, Father Dulante entered and I could hear his sigh of relief.
“Isabel. You’re alright.” He said.
Her smile was weak but bright, none the less. Father Dulante sat on the edge of her bed, offering her a cold cup of fresh water.
“I bet you’re thirsty. Are you hungry at all?”
Isabel took the mug and drank it, savoring the water like a fine wine before she answered.
“I’m starving!”
We all laughed and I stood up to excuse myself. I had much to write tonight. I had almost forgotten that I needed to record this event. With a hasty, fumbling apology, I picked up the dirty rags, bandages, and the soiled water then retreated down the corridor toward the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Father Raphael slip back into his room.
I slammed the bowl down onto the kitchen’s heavy table and caused two of the workers to jump. The surface of the table cracked. I know they heard it but I didn’t care. I’m sure I was the lesser of their worries with Father Raphael lurking in shadows and dark corners. I muttered another apology and headed to my chambers, dropping the rags off in the laundry heap on the way.