by David Perry
“Jean Claude,” said Vicky with patience, “our sleeping together was not your fault. It was no one’s fault. We wanted to.”
“Yes,” said Bishop Sancarlo. “We acted as adults and we have paid the price.”
“I knew that I could never give either, Gio nor Vicky, the love that my body wanted to offer them. So, I retreated. I gave Vicky, secretly, the one thing she most wanted.”
“The Catholic priesthood,” Lee offered.
Arnaud nodded. “Yes. Then, I realized that the Church would never forgive me, so I threw myself into the arms of Opus Dei, a penance of absolute servitude and nonquestioning obedience. When I found out that Andrea was their child, all the old jealousies and fears came back. I wanted to hurt them. Hurt them both.”
“So, you managed to do the one thing that would cause the most pain to them both. Deny the priesthood to Andrea.”
“Yes,” said Arnaud. “I went to Pope Benedict with stories of a gay affair between Andrea…”
“…and Grigori,” said Lee. “You set them up.”
Arnaud nodded.
“But how did you know about their affair?” Adriano asked.
“From Grigori,” said Lee. “You were one of Grigori’s clients.”
Adriano gasped again.
“Yes,” said Arnaud in an even cadence. “I compounded my sins through lust and coercion. Grigori and I would meet in secret.”
“At the Hotel Britannia,” said Lee. “I saw you once sneaking out, the day we went to visit Vicky. Actually, I smelled you. The cinnamon cologne. Grigori always reeked of it.”
“That was our meeting spot,” Arnaud admitted. “But the day in question, we had stopped our carnal activities. We were meeting there to plan Andrea’s escape.”
“An escape that Grigori blackmailed you into helping with because he had photos of you and him together.”
“Yes,” said Arnaud. “All true. Before I knew about Andrea being the child of Gio and Vicky, Grigori and I would meet regularly. Over time, we actually became quite friendly. My, ah, needs, were quite simple to meet. Actually, I just liked looking at Grigori’s naked body.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Adriano added quietly. “Sorry, continue.”
“At some point, he told me that he had met someone and fallen in love.”
“With Andrea,” Lee said.
“Yes,” said Arnaud. “He was quite conflicted. As you see, Grigori and I share the same desires.”
“You’re both bisexual,” Adriano summed up.
“Yes,” said Arnaud. “When I found out about Andrea’s parentage, I made up a story about him and Grigori. That, too, was a lie.”
“What do you mean?” said Adriano. “You just said that Grigori confessed to you about his affair with Andrea.”
“His love for Andrea,” Arnaud corrected. “There was no affair. Andrea was faithful to his vows. Coming vows. He and Grigori never touched each other, although Grigori certainly wanted to. I remember Grigori once told me, the last time we were together actually, that Andrea was the only person ever to love him just for him, and not for his body. Before Andrea, that was all anyone saw of interest in Grigori. His form.”
Lee started to add, “perfectly understandable,” but thought the better of it. This wasn’t the time for witticisms. Indeed, it was a time for wisdom, world-weary wisdom from the wounded Arnaud. He almost felt sorry for him. Actually, he did. If anyone would live with an eternal penance from all this, it would be the Archbishop.
“I couldn’t have Vicky. I couldn’t have Gio. I couldn’t have Grigori, not really, so I decided to hurt them all through the one person they all loved. Andrea. Then, to make sure everyone knew, I gave an interview to Lady Peg. I knew she had unholy thoughts about me, and I used her too. I used her to spread malice about Andrea and Grigori.”
“That’s fucked up,” said Adriano. “Excuse me, sorry.”
“You are correct,” said Arnaud, flashing a smile.
It was the first genuine smile Lee had ever seen cross his face.
Arnaud went on. “It was… It is, indeed ‘fucked up,’ as am I.”
“Was,” Gio said. “Was. You have confessed all and been absolved.”
“What a crock of shit!” This time Adriano offered no apology. “I’m sorry, there is no forgiveness for such a thing. Christ. Is everyone in the Church this screwed up?”
“A great many of us, yes,” said Sancarlo sadly. “A great many of us, indeed.”
“Does Andrea know?” Adriano asked.
“Yes,” said Vicky. “That is why he jumped.”
“Jumped? I thought that must have been faked too,” said Adriano.
“No, that was my sin.” Everyone looked up to see Andrea standing next to the table, a pint in each hand.
“You’ve never sinned a day in your life,” said Grigori, putting down a tray with five glasses, and taking the two that Andrea was holding and placing them on the table. “Every one of us, Arnaud, Bishop Sancarlo, Vicky, me included, has reason to suffer, to be punished. Everyone except you.”
“No, my darling Grigori,” said Andrea, again, with that beatific smile. “I have to thank you all, for without you, I would not have found my life’s purpose, my true calling.”
“What happened that night, Andrea?” said Lee. “Tell us.”
Andrea began. “I remember, I had just come back from visiting my mother in Bagnoregio.”
“Clarissa,” said Adriano.
“My mother,” Andrea added with emphasis, but not unkindly. Vicky stared straight ahead. “As usual, I went to the purgatory board in the Church of San Donato. I’d gone there my entire life and the cards were like old friends to me. But, over the last year, I had noticed more and more strange combinations of prayers. I even mentioned it to Grigori.”
“He became a wee bit obsessed with it,” Grigori added, but not unkindly.
“I understand that,” said Adriano with a glance at Lee.
“Also, at strange hours I would notice strangers coming to the church to pray, and always at the purgatory board,” said Andrea. “I never questioned them—what business was it of mine?—although they didn’t appear to be Catholic, or knowledgeable about how to pray in church. Every few weeks, men would come and walk right to the purgatory board. Also, about this time, Bishop Sancarlo was passing along pray petitions from the Vatican. That was a strange request, but again, I thought nothing of it.”
“I didn’t know why Maltoni was sending the petitions,” said Sancarlo. “But I thought it might have something to do with his childhood.”
“You knew about Maltoni’s connection to Orvieto?” Adriano asked.
“Yes,” Sancarlo said. “One day, he told him about the death of his father, and how it tortured him. He said that the pray cards were for him. Prayers to release his father from purgatory.”
“He lied,” said Vicky. “He lied and made you an unwitting accomplice in setting up terrorist attacks and brothels for migrants. You are not to blame!”
“May I continue?” asked Andrea.
Again, Lee thought, with a directness and certainty that in others might be mistaken for arrogance or anger, but in him, seemed merely correct.
“As I was saying, I would take the cards that Bishop Sancarlo would give me, and I was observing an ever-increasing number of men visiting the purgatory board. I thought it was odd but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It was like the crossword puzzles that La Donna Volsini would leave for me to do. A clue whose answer was right in front of me but just beyond reach.”
I know the feeling, Lee thought. But he said nothing so as not to interrupt Andrea.
“That was November thirtieth, my birthday and my feast day. My mother was coming to Orvieto that night for Mass at Sant’Andrea. Reverend Vicky, Bishop Sancarlo, and I all were all going to be on the altar together. When I got back to Orvieto, there was a fax from the Vatican. I was to be denied the priesthood.”
At this, Andrea stopped for a second, and took
a sip of beer. Out in the bar, a howl arose. Goal.
“Go, Mayo,” Andrea said raising his glass. Everyone else just sat, transfixed. “Becoming a priest was the most important thing in my life. It was my life. I was filled with love of God and knew that was the only way to express such love, through service to God as one of his priests. When I got the fax, I was crushed. I immediately ran over to the Bishop’s residence. Sancarlo was outraged but said not to worry. He said he would take care of it. I tried not to worry, but I was overcome with fear and anxiety. I couldn’t think straight. I walked around Orvieto in a daze. Finally, I had an idea. Perhaps, if I couldn’t become a Catholic priest, perhaps I could become an Anglican priest. So, I went to see Reverend Vicky.”
“You didn’t know that she had secretly been ordained a Roman Catholic priest,” said Adriano.
“No one knew,” said Vicky, her voice squeaking in anguish. “No one except me and Jean Claude. When Andrea showed up at my door, it was already getting dark. He was in a state of spiritual anguish. I called the one person I thought might be able to help.”
“She called me,” said Archbishop Arnaud. “I was expecting the call. I was relishing the call. She asked me if there was anything that could be done, and I told her that I was the one who had convinced Pope Benedict to intervene and prohibit Andrea’s ordination. Then, I told her why.”
“He told me he had found out that Andrea was my son, and Gio’s.”
“I still didn’t know,” said Bishop Sancarlo. “Once Andrea left me after getting the fax, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I prayed.”
“Not very effective this time, dear Gio,” added Vicky with more than a touch of malice. “At any rate, I suddenly knew that everything would come out. It would be the end of my ministry as an Anglican, the end of Gio’s career. And if I tried to turn the tables on Jean Claude, that, too, would backfire. All the other secret women priests would be destroyed. It was a double bind no matter how I approached it. Finally, I made my decision.”
Everyone waited. It was Andrea who picked up the slack.
Lee shifted in his chair. Once more in emotionless control.
“We laid it before God. We said Mass.” At this, he laughed slightly. “I have to admit, it was a very strange Mass. I was angry, confused, hurt, fearful. And, I could tell that both Vicky and Bishop Sancarlo were distracted as well. But I thought it was only because they were worried about what I had told them. After Mass, they told me.”
“Vicky told both of us,” Sancarlo interjected. “That was the first time I knew the truth…”
“…that Andrea was your son,” said Lee.
“And that Arnaud was behind it,” added Adriano.
“No.” Grigori spoke up for the first time. “No. That was me.” He squeezed Andrea’s hand but couldn’t bring himself to look in his eyes. “I, ah, I…”
“That’s all right, Grigori. I’ll tell them.”
Lee blinked. Again, Andrea’s smile cut through the miasma surrounding the table like a fog-piercing beam.
“After Mass, Vicky told both Bishop Sancarlo and me the truth. I was their son and that Archbishop Arnaud was using that information as a way to hurt them. I was devastated, and so I called Grigori in Rome and told him what I knew and that’s when he confessed about his relationship with Arnaud.”
“I just blurted it out,” Grigori moaned. “I had given Arnaud the ammunition he needed to destroy Andrea.” He couldn’t help but glare at Arnaud as he said it.
“That was the last straw,” said Andrea simply, like someone reciting a recipe. “I felt like Jesus betrayed by Judas. With a kiss. I went back to my apartment and put on my robes, the ones that my mother had made for my ordination the coming week. I don’t remember much of anything else, until I was standing on the cliff at San Giovanale. I waited. I knew that Grigori would come. I had told him to meet me at San Giovanale so we could talk. It was a lie. I was so angry. I wanted him to see me jump.”
“I borrowed a friend’s motorcycle and rocketed up to Orvieto,” said Grigori. “I made it in forty minutes. I drove right to the garden at San Giovanale and saw Andrea on the cliff. I screamed, ‘Don’t!’ but he ignored me. He jumped.”
Andrea took a deep breath, smiled again, and took a drink of his beer. For a while, no one said anything.
“But you didn’t die,” said Lee. “Why?”
“Like Floriano, I lived,” said Andrea. “I lived! It all happened so quickly, and in an instant. Like the near-death experiences you hear about on TV. As soon as I was airborne, I understood everything. The meaning of the purgatory cards, the meaning of the numbers. Coordinates. The strange men coming into the church. Also, I understood why Arnaud and Vicky and Bishop Sancarlo and Grigori all had done what they had done. They did the best they could but they didn’t do it to hurt me. I was filled for the first second of my jump with an incredible clarity, and then, with an incredible grief, for I realized that I had committed a mortal sin.”
“Suicide,” Lee said simply.
“No.” Andrea took Lee’s hands in his own. “Not the giving up of my own life. That is the secondary sin. I had given up on God. I had given up on me. I had abandoned hope. And, in that moment, I was filled with an incredible sadness and then in a second moment of incredible clarity. I saw my true calling.”
“To be a priest,” Adriano said.
“No.” Andrea smiled. “I realized in that instant that I needed no ordination by a church or a bishop or a religion. No one needs that. I was ordained the moment that I found hope in that fall. My calling is now to help other people to not lose hope, to keep them from falling from or jumping from these cliffs. All cliffs. My great grandfather, Vicky’s grandfather, jumped from the Cliffs of Moher in despair after the First World War. Maltoni’s father killed himself with a gun beneath the bridge at Allerona. His mother threw herself from the walls of Orvieto. Luca almost did. I did jump, and somehow miraculously lived. My life now is devoted to keeping others from such despair.”
“But why didn’t you die?” asked Adriano. “What kept you alive?”
“My vestments,” said Andrea with a chuckle. “The ordination gown my mother had made me. Evidently, halfway down the cliff, they caught on the branch of an olive tree growing out of the rock. It stopped my fall for a few seconds. Then, it ripped and I fell again, hitting the small roof over the Chiesa de Crucefisso.”
“Yes,” said Adriano. “We saw the broken tiles.”
“And the broken tree branch,” added Lee.
“Then, I fell to ground. I was pretty beaten up, and, as you can see, I have a limp that will be with me always. Grigori found me, got me to the hospital. Luke saved my life. I was unconscious for about ten hours.”
“But the body,” Adriano interjected. “The news reports mentioned a body on the Rupe.”
“The morgue.” Lee snapped his fingers. “You substituted the body of the vagrant mentioned in the newspaper.”
Grigori nodded grimly, and Lee noticed a look of displeasure on Andrea’s face. “Yes. Luke and I lugged the body through the back streets, dressed it one of Andrea’s cassocks, and then threw it from the cliffs at San Giovanale. It was good enough to fool the carbiniere.”
“And, of course,” Adriano added, “Luke was the one doing any autopsy, so it was a fairly easy deception.”
“Vile,” Andrea said, shaking his head. “Vile. So many people have been disgraced and degraded because of my weakness. My vanity.”
“That’s why you buried him from the Duomo,” Lee said, looking at Bishop Sancarlo. “It wasn’t because of your love for Andrea. It was because Andrea insisted.”
“Yes,” Andrea said. “His mortal remains deserved the highest honor Orvieto could afford him.”
“So, that is who is buried in your grave?”
Andrea started to speak, but just nodded in confirmation.
“What happened next?” Adriano kept them moving along.
“When I woke up, everyone was there.” He motioned a
round the table. “Also, Don Bello, Marco, La Donna Volsini, and my mother. Everyone, except Archbishop Arnaud, of course.”
“I was not yet part of the conspiracy,” Arnaud added quietly.
“I told them what I had figured out about the coordinates from the purgatory board, and they conspired to save me.”
“Save you? But you were already saved,” said Adriano.
“No,” said Grigori. “Saved from Maltoni. As soon as Andrea revealed what he had realized about the purgatory cards, I knew the key had to be Maltoni. Especially after Bishop Sancarlo told us about Maltoni’s seeding the box with prayers, supposedly, for his father. We knew then that the only way to catch Maltoni, and prove our suspicions, was to lay a trap.”
“So, I had to stay ‘dead,’” said Andrea. “Grigori used his connections with the military to smuggle me out of Italy, and he convinced Archbishop Arnaud to convince the Vatican to replace Bishop Sancarlo.”
“I was, and still am, filled with guilt about the sins that led me to betray Andrea and Vicky and Gio,” said Arnaud. “Whatever years I have left will be devoted to doing penance.”
“Of course, Your Eminence,” Grigori added with an unctuous bow. “That’s what did it. Not the folder of photos I had of us naked in your Vatican apartments.”
“Yes, well.” Arnaud lapsed into silence.
“Wow.” Adriano shook his head. “Just wow.”
“Andrea,” Lee prodded. “What now? When do you go back to Orvieto? Maltoni is dead. The terrorist ring has been revealed. You can return now with your family.”
“Return?” Andrea looked genuinely puzzled. “I can never return to Orvieto. If I did, this entire operation would be revealed. More to the point, my work, my life, is here now. When I jumped from that rock, I found freedom. Tonight, this dinner, is my goodbye to most all that I was, and where I was. In Orvieto, I am dead. My family here”—he motioned around the table—“and my mother in Bagnoregio, sometimes, they can come to visit me here but only in secret. But my vocation now is here.”
“Alone?” said Adriano. “Why are you punishing yourself?”
“Not alone,” said Andrea. “Grigori and I will live here together.”