Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch

by Stefano Pastor

  «You are looking for a statue of a Madonna, or not? It would make a nice impression to the loyals».

  In facts, that was the project of the priest and the vendor understood it. «What do you suggest me?».

  The vendor smiled more than before. «We have fantastic Madonnas, Father. You will not regret it».

  When he started to open the catalogue, Father Anselm remembered the torrid temperature.

  The vendor, however, dried his front with a hanky, removing the sweat, without complaints.

  «How much is it?».

  Father Anselm turned on two big ventilators who had replaced the two little stoves around the altar. The priest remains in front of one of them enjoy the chilly.

  They did not understand anything, neither the plumber nor the architect. The priest also spoke with the construction company, but without success, while the heat grew up. There were thirty five degrees, but the humidity was the worst thing.

  Celebrate the mass had become impossible, so Father Anselm take advantage any moment to go in the sacristy.

  Just one, then that liturgical day would be finally finished.

  When he turned away towards the confessional, watching the lamp on, he could not hide the grimace. Father Anselm did not want to enter in that wooden cube, specially with the heat temperature, but men could do without sins, until he could find a solution?

  First of all Father Anselm stopped in front of the confessional, looking on the empty central nave. He felt a presentiment, an idea, he would see the girl again. In a way he was happy, he had so many questions.

  The darkness further the grave was absolute and Father Anselm was sure that she was there. Although he can not watching her face, because the priest had difficult to imagine her. Maybe Father Anselm was wrong, maybe she came from the East Europe, maybe those men forced her to prostitute herself, for this she do not speak clearly.

  No prayer, this time. «It’s always you?».

  «Yes, Father».

  No hesitation.

  «Who are you?», said the priest. «How I can help you?».

  «Let me get away from here».

  «Where would you go?».

  «I want to go far from to this place. I hate it».

  «Are you looking… the green? Are you looking to stay in the forest between the trees?».

  «Yes, Father. I’m looking it».

  «Are you free there?».

  «There was no need, because I had everything».

  What strange answers! Every time! «What happened to you? Tell me!».

  «They were came».

  «Those men?».

  «Yes, those men. They were came in the forest, cutting trees, destroying the land and then capturing me».

  «And… ?».

  «They hurt me».

  Father Anselm overcome the embarrassment. «They raped you?».

  A long silence. «They take me away».

  Father Anselm, in that moment, noticed an incongruity. The girl talk about himself like a man, maybe the priest was wrong. Father Anselm evaluated the possibility that he was wrong and for a second moment, he could imagine that face.

  «Where was your home? Tell me about it».

  «There was a river on the right, mountains around it and many trees, so many trees with so many animals».

  Too vague. «Are you sure that you have never seen those men before?».

  «I met many men before, but not those men. Men I have met before were always kind with me, they loved me».

  Father Anselm felt the embarrassment again. But this time wanted to understand the situation, he did not want to let the chance run away another time. «So you… Have you met men?».

  «They came to me».

  «And what they did?».

  «What the men do every time, everywhere».

  «You have to be more precise», said Father Anselm.

  «They ask me something. They are looking for answers. They are looking my friendship and my pardon, too. They needed to be reassured».

  «I do not understand».

  «They had desires and sometimes I satisfied them. If I wanted, if they were worthy».

  The embarrassment raise up. «How can you satisfy them?».

  «That was my capacity».

  «Give me an example».

  A long silence. «Giving them a son. They would not daughters».

  Father Anselm remained silent, this time, to not to say wrong words. That dialogue was becoming too absurd. «Are different the men who took you away?».

  «Yes».

  «What did they have different?».

  «They were not part of me. At first I did not notice it, I was convinced that everything was part of me, but not them».

  «They did not was a part of you?».

  «Yes, Father, everything is a part of me».

  «But you said that…».

  «I do not know it, Father. I am here for this problem. You have to explain me it. Why were they not part of me?».

  Father Anselm’s embarrassment grew up, again. Despite good intentions, he repeat the question: «Who are you. In the name of God, who are you?».

  No answers, but nothing moves behind the grate.

  Father Anselm repeated the question: «Who are you?». He added afterwards: «Do you believe to be God?».

  «It is everything. Everything is it».

  «I am not part of you».

  «No».

  He had not called him Father, this time. That could be a bad signal. «I am not a part of you, just like men who took you away?».

  «No».

  «Are you here for this reason? Are you looking answer, just like men who you have never met?».

  «Yes, Father».

  Another question buzzed in Father Anselm’s mind, obsessive, but that question was no longer Who are you? Or What are you?

  «How it can be possible, Father, that you are not a part of me? What am I wrong? Where is the error?».

  Father Anselm’s heart beat constantly.

  «What should I do, Father, to make you a part of me?».

  The priest did not dare answer.

  «I am everything. Nothing exist outside of me. I have always believe that. What am I wrong?».

  That thing behind the grate thought he was God. A God, at least. A kind of God. Father Anselm stuttered: «You…».

  How could he call it? Was it really a girl? Was the priest wrong, looking at just he wanted? Why did it speak that way?

  One thousand of questions, but one first of all: «Where are you?».

  «I’m here, Father».

  «I know it!». The voice of the priest had become hysterical. «Where are you when… you are not here?».

  «Always I am here, Father. I can not run away. I do not know how to do».

  «Here… In this church?».

  «Yes, Father».

  «And… why?».

  «You took me here».

  «Why you can not get away from here?».

  «Because… I never do it before. I never moved».

  The voice of the priest shaking. «There is the entire world, outside. There are forests, green lands. There is everything».

  «Is that the answer, Father? I must get away?».

  The heart of Father Anselm shake so intense that only the infarction was missing. Neither for a moment he considered the possibility who it could be just a joke. That thing who appeared strange to him to the first time.

  «Yes, get away… Leave the church. That’s the answer, what I suggest you!», said the priest.

  A long silence, almost infinite.

  Then the voice, always the same, without emotions.

  «Thank you, Father».

  This time Father Anselm not moved, neither to look it while exit from the confessional. And after he still sat, deciding to not chase that thing.

  What was it? What the priest had met? Which creature? The Evil? A God… another God? It is not possible, because God is one, he created everything. He create
d men in his own image, in his likeness.

  Or not?

  When the noises external and the whispers became too many until to reach the priest’s hiding place, Father Anselm decided to exit from the confessional.

  The church was full of people and the mass should have begun for so long. Everyone was watching him, but Father Anselm was pale, devoid of energy.

  Was the thing gone? That thing listen the advice of the priest, disappearing forever? Father Anselm look around himself, terrified. If that thing was left here? Where was it?

  The priest went up on the altar, picking all the courage to spoke to the loyals. But he stood still with his mouth open, without words.

  He thought about the mysterious creature and that strange words. All his thoughts were directed at those scenes, repeating the usual questions to himself: Why it came in that church? Who had brought it in the church? Why did he listen to the confessions of loyals? What did that mean?

  The priest checked all the people in that central nave.

  Perhaps that creature was hidden among the people?

  Amazed, perplexed, noted and accustomed faces to see every day. But the priest knew that boy (or girl, or thing), he was sure about it.

  «Are you fine, Father?», said a woman on the first line.

  He could not catch something, something very important. The research became obsessive and his eyes went beyond when he investigated every face in that room, searching in the background.

  Where it was? Where it came from? What it was? It was truly a girl? It was that her appearance?

  Then he saw her and he froze.

  She has always been in front of his eyes. Her face was pale, her lips were red and her smile was very sweet. She widened her arms to receive him, while her long dress fell down softly to the ground: Saint Claire.

  The statue was static, on its altar. In front of her there were the votive candles. The priest went towards her without realized it, while the bustle of the loyals increased.

  It was that the face he imagined. He had no doubt. It was the statue that entered in the confessional. He stopped in front of her, with his empty mind. He had no idea what to do. The paint covered the statue was more ruined then before, in some lacerations you could see the wood.

  He bow down, without realizing it again, towards her. What did he do? What did he promise her? Did she curse his soul?

  «You… You…», he whispered.

  Who knows how many people bow down to her presence, in the last years, asking her help, her pardon, just praise her.

  «What can I do, Father?».

  Her voice was always the same, without any inflection. Yet something was different, the positions were different: now he was the penitent. He would not stare at her, he turned and watched loyals instead. They were more and more astonished.

  So he understood to be the only one who could listen her. That voice existed just in his mind, that she communicated with him in that way since the dawn of time.

  «What are you?».

  «You know it, Father. I’m everything».

  «You are not God. You did not create us!».

  «I believed so. I believed it for more time. I thought I created everything».

  «You are not from this world. You do not know us».

  He hearded loyals move forward. «Are you fine, Father?». Then a voice of a woman: «He was talking with Saint Claire!».

  They confused the priest for a crazy man, but Father Anselm knew that the statue was alive. However, although an old man who talk with a thing of wood it is not a normal thing, he did not care about it.

  «You brought me here», said the voice in the statue of Saint Claire.

  It was just the wooden statue of a Saint. Someone brought it across the sea with a ship. The priest caressed the wood, removing not more varnish from it.

  So the priest reminded the vendor who talk about a wood of the statue, taken by the most famous forests in the world. Initially he could not believe in the vendor’s words. A green land, full of life, with men of another provenance: Amazonia.

  So it was the wooden alive and not the statue.

  «What are you?». Always that question! But that question was wrong. The priest understood it. «What were you?».

  All the loyals surrounded Father Anselm. They were confused. «It’s a miracle!», screamed someone. «It’s the heat. It can provoke hallucinations», said scepticals.

  They were disturbing him at the worst time, so the priest tried to move them all away.

  «I was everything», said the statue. «My roots was extended for miles, everywhere. I generated life and my branches standed out against the sky, covering the entire forest. My trunk was grew for a millennium».

  It was a tree. But not a simple tree, but the tree of the life! Something like a real God.

  «Everyone respected me; everyone loved me; everyone prayed me. Anybody ask me favours and they were part of me, as a family. They were not like strangers who came from far away to destroy my home and my forest. They did not understand who I am. They did not bow down to me. They buried my trunk, cut my branches and they divided me! They took me away on the boats!».

  Father Anselm was anxious. «Why you did not stopped them?», said the Father. «Why you did not say them who are you?».

  «For what reason would I have to do it, Father?», said the voice. «I did not understand the word sin. I learned it listening to you».

  Father Anselm stammered. «I… am…».

  «I understood that I was wrong and for that I was punished for it. You revealed me the right way».

  The priest cried while loyals talked about the possibility to call an ambulance. Someone stared at the disturbing statue.

  «I thought I was everything and it was not real. I thought I did everything and I was wrong here, too. There is a world around me who is part of me not yet. This is the purpose of my existence».

  «No!», screamed the priest, scaring even the loyals. «You can not do it!».

  «I have always been fixed, Father. I did not believe that it was necessary. I was convinced that everything was part of me already».

  Father Anselm got up quickly and dropped the votive candles. That horrible word resounded in his mind: Again!

  Loyals were increasingly worried. «Father, how are you?», said a woman.

  «I did not talk about it before!», screamed Father Anselm.

  «Yes Father. This is the only answer and I thank you for explaining it to me. I knew you were a wise man».

  The statue moved, in front of him. Like an animated object descended from the pedestal. The paint fell continuously, uncovered the wood.

  When the loyals realized it, the screams began behind the priest.

  «Stop it! Stop it! I command you!».

  Father Anselm took the little crucified Christ and protracted it towards the statue. Then he realized that was wooden, as the statue, it came from the same place of the statue. Father Anselm opened the hand and he dropped the little crucified Christ toward the ground.

  «No!», screamed Father Anselm, backed again. The statue was on the ground, but it did not walk again. The wood contort itself and the statue began to walk. It seemed to be alive.

  The screams behind the priest increased, then they became hysterical. Someone started screaming for despair.

  Father Anselm found the courage to turning toward the loyals. They were hidden behind the benches, which they also seemed alive. Branches appeared from the benches, as many snakes and they took the people’s leg. The heat was grown and the humidity too.

  Someone of the loyals succeeded to escape toward the altar, to protect themselves, but the statues Christ and Saint Joseph were alive too. It was all useless.

  Someone went to the entrance, but it was closed. The ginormous door was blocked and the two portals were welded together, became an unique solid layer. Saint Francis came down from the pedestal, too.

  «I am so many, Father. I am so many and only one, many then the trinity you pr
ay. You divided me in this way and I thank you. I will soon be really all, everything».

  The screams were atrocious. They prevented him from listening and thinking.

  «It was getting inside of me!», screamed a woman. «It was inside of me!».

  It was right. That horrible branches pierced muscles of the people. While the benches were agitating, the human life mixed up with the vegetal life. There was an absurd fight in front of the priest. That chaos of humans and plants seemed to be fused into a single mass.

  Father Anselm was trembling with fear, while the statue was behind his back. The tears near the eyes. He would not to pray his God. «Do not hurt me! Please, do not hurt me!».

  That insufferable voice was without humanity. «How can you think that, Father? You are so important for me. Do you want to be part of a God? Are you alone, without me?».

  The priest was petrified and he stuttered. «Begone, please. Begone and do not kill me!».

  The priest did not dare turn around. He did not have the courage. He knew he was no longer a statue. It had grown up.

  «Sure, Father, I will follow your advice. Finally I will walk, everywhere, and I will thank you forever for this».

  He felt the humid wood come in his body, but the priest could not scream. It was not painful so far.

  «Why?», asked the priest.

  He felt the wood fused with the muscles and his conscience disappear. He was invaded by a strange peace and his fear was vanished.

  «Because I want to move. Because I need to see the world. Because just in this way you will be part of me, everyone».

  And while the screams go off little by little, God took possession of all his new loyals.

  June 2010

  WATER

  Translation by Talida Mantegna

  It was not yet eight o’clock, and now darkness reigned over the city, the lanterns wrapped up everything of a sad yellow aura that the shops’ signs broke at times, throwing bright spots on the street still wet by the afternoon downpour.

  I came back home, like every night, and I was tired, only dreamed of the moment I would sit down and Guido was waiting for me, his caresses, the little gentleness he spotted me and I could not do without them anymore. I was glad that Guido worked as translator and had the opportunity to work at home, this made our life much easier and, in the last few days, he had become a fantastic cook, much better than me.