by R. J. Grant
“I’m going to change. Head towards that point jutting out into the lake, about ten kilometers ahead. There is a cove just beyond,” she said, darting to the stairs and leaving me alone on the bridge.
She returned as we reached the point, just in time to ease the controls away from me, and smoothly maneuver the vessel into the cove, dropping anchor. She had changed into a bathing suit the likes of which I had never seen before. It revealed her almost entirely, only serving to accent the smooth curves of her body. Her perfection was transmitted to my hand as I touched her shoulder, running my hand down her back—a softness covering an unyielding form. She had released my carnal nature entirely.
“There is a suit for you in the main salon. Come, this way.” After pointing me in the right direction, she said she would wait for me on the swim platform aft. A quick change later, I was enjoying the cold water of the lake with the most captivating creature I had ever imagined. I had never felt so much alive in my entire life. I watched her body move through the water as if in a dance of ease and grace. When we came together, I lost all awareness of my world.
We made love in an exquisite bedroom cabin for what seemed an eternity. After, I laid on the bed in exhaustion, not wanting the moment to pass. I was content. She was next to me, touching each scar on my body, her fingers expressing a sorrow for each one.
“Adama, will you forgive me for what I have done?”
“Whatever do you mean?”’
“Being here with me, can you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive. I am here with you because I wanted to be.”
“I know that, but I drew you to myself from the first moment I saw your reflection in the store window. Your resistance was most noble, and that made me even more determined.”
“Whatever you did, I am glad you did it. Now no more of this. Come over here…”
I meant every word I said to her, and I mean it to this day. I have no regrets.
The shower was unlike anything I expected on a boat, and was adequately large for two. We dressed and found our way to the galley, where she took cold crab salad and a chilled bottle of wine from the refrigerator. A more pleasant meal I never had with anyone before or since. Finally, without a word, she stood and walked out to the rear sun deck, and I followed, taking the wine bottle and glasses. Her mood had seemed to change to a more meditative state. Was she feeling regret?
“Victorio told you that he was content to leave the Atonement Lot where it is for the time being. Do you think he knows who actually has it?”
“He didn’t say that, but yes, I think he does. At least that was what I guessed.”
Her face grew dark, and her natural smile was gone. It was as if a curtain drew across her. She looked afraid.
“What is wrong? What have I said to worry you so?”
She said nothing for a long moment. I felt my heart drop as the carefree joy of the morning was snatched away from me. I couldn’t help but think, Oh no, not yet, I am not done with the elation. I was not ready to let go. When she finally spoke, the light was gone from her eyes; those deep pools of dark blue had faded and lost their brightness.
“He must not have the Atonement Lot, Adama. It will destroy him!”
I remembered Burtuchi saying something like that when giving me his instructions. What were they both talking about? What part did Del Cielo have in this to begin with?
“Alessandra, what are you hiding? What don’t I know about Victorio Del Cielo and the Atonement Lot?”
“He will bring his world crashing down on his own head if he obtains it. All that he is will be gone forever. He is so close…a little while longer, and it would have been over.”
“You are talking in riddles. I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what is going on.”
“I have said too much already. Just trust me when I tell you that Victorio must never obtain the Seal. Come now, we must go.”
I watched her bound up the two flights of stairs to the bridge without effort. By the time I picked up the wine bottle and glasses to bring inside, both the engines and the anchor motor were engaged. I took a deep breath and resolved that she would tell me no more. We seemed to get back to the patio dock faster than I expected. It is funny how going back always seems faster than going toward some place.
With my collar back in place, she dropped me back at the rectory. I resisted the temptation to kiss her before exiting the car. I stood there looking at her for a moment, and she turned to me, reciprocating my affection. In that moment that her eyes focused on mine, I knew where I had seen that face before, and I felt a chill run through my body. I went to step forward to get back in the car, but my hand never reached the door handle before the car roared from the curb.
Entering the doorway, I shuddered, remembering where I had seen her face. Who was this? Or more appropriately, what was this that I had brought to myself in the bedroom cabin?
The house keeper was dusting in the reception area when I entered. The old witch looked at me and made the sign of the cross, whispering something under her breath again. I was only able to hear a few words, but those had something to do with burning in hell. Vicious old snake, I thought.
I went straight to the cellar records room. The place was just as dank and dark as it had been the other night when I came here with a snoot full of wine. I headed to the back to find the 1948 file cabinet and the St. Andrew School folder. The folder was there, but the news clipping was gone. I felt another shudder, but quickly caught myself. Dinard, he had taken the news clipping. He must have. His child-like enthusiasm for this dangerous game made me nervous. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were starting a scrap book. I’d kill him.
I knew Dinard would be out until at least three o’clock. I would have to wait, damn him. I returned to my quarters, and changed into fresh clothes before going downstairs to wait for him. I knew he had taken it, or rather, I hoped he had taken it. The old snake was still lurking about glaring at me and signing the cross, a ritual she repeated whenever she saw me from that time forward. I had too much time to think and it made me edgy.
Burtuchi always accused me of having a photographic memory, but as I had tried to explain to him many times, it was actually the ability for total recall. It was not infallible. I had to see the picture again; maybe I had mistaken the figure I saw. The image was very small in the background. Maybe it was my own desire to find something that made me see her in that image. If the woman I had seen in the picture was indeed Alessandra, then she was anything but a natural woman. I shuddered again. If that were true, then what the hell had I been holding so close to me? Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe the wine had affected by perception.
It was after three now, and Dinard had not show up yet. My patience was at an end, and I started pacing around the place like a cat. Had I missed him? Did he slip in the alley door to the kitchen? I hit the kitchen doorway at almost a trot. There he was in all his glory, coffee and a pastry in each hand.
“Good afternoon, Adama,” he bellowed from the far end of the room. “Is something wrong?”
I suppose from the look on my face he saw that I was not at ease. I forced my countenance into a pleasant smile.
“Ciao, Father Dinard. Is it possible to speak with you a moment?”
“Of course,” he replied, walking towards me. I did all I could not to grab him by his fat cheeks when I asked the question in as sweet a tone as I could muster.
“Father, did you take the newspaper clipping out of the folder downstairs?”
“Oh yes, I thought it would be best to remove it from the damp cellar and keep it safe in my quarters.”
My emotions ran from one end of the spectrum to the other as I peered into his eyes. At once I was relieved that it was he who had removed it, and then in a fraction of a second, a huge disappointment filled me. You see, I am no better than any other man. We all seek and hope for a glimpse of the unseen. Things that transcend faith—miracles, if you prefer that word. The funny thing is, even if
we witness a miracle, it is not long before we question our own witness of the event.
“Will you please go and get it? I need to see it again. I may have overlooked something.”
“What?”
“Del Cielo’s assistant, the woman, Alessandra. I think she is in the picture.”
His eyes lit up.
“Certainly, Adama, I’ll be back in a minute!” he said, almost bouncing out the doorway.
“Help yourself to a coffee and pastry!” he yelled over his shoulder from the hallway.
“Father, just please get the newspaper clipping.”
As promised, he returned immediately.
“Here it is, right here in my pocket,” he said, while taking it out and unfolding it to hold up for me. Looking at the unfolded clipping, my heart dropped. One of the wrinkles of the folds he had created in the yellowed, dry newsprint actually broke the paper. It ran directly through the face of the woman I had suspected of being Alessandra. The small image was destroyed.
“Father, look at the clipping. Your fold runs through the woman’s face.”
“Oh my, Adama, I am terribly sorry about that, but look, the whiteout face of Del Cielo is still clear.”
“Nothing is clear, unless you mean that a misprint probably caused by dust on the print roller is clear.”
I wanted to step away, but I couldn’t help thinking what level of havoc the man might cause if left to his own devices in the Vatican Archive. The thought caused me to place my hand on his shoulder, and laugh before turning away. Maybe it was just as well.
Strangely, I knew I would have been disappointed no matter who was in that picture. If it were her, I would have lost a part of my soul. If not, I would have lost my glimpse of things unseen.
Of Myths, Legends, and Other Facts
9 I was in a funk for the rest of the afternoon. The letdown after the most wonderful morning I had spent in a very long time, and Dinard’s incompetence handling the news clipping, made my mood entirely black. It must have been obvious to those around me. No one ventured to have small conversations with me, and I sensed that I was being avoided. As for Dinard, whenever I happened to look in his direction, he had the guilty look of a puppy dog who knows it has done something wrong.
All of a sudden, I saw Dinard quickly make a dash from the rectory. I couldn’t imagine what had brought about his manic behavior. However, in honesty, at that moment I really didn’t care. I stayed in the parlor for some time, reading the papers, but secretly brooding about the events of the day.
Having exhausted the newsprint, I started up the stairs to my quarters to continue my brooding in private and wait for supper. Behind me, Dinard bounded through the front door like a steam engine, breathing hard, but chugging along just the same.
“Wait, Adama! I am terribly sorry about the newspaper clipping, but I thought you had no further use of it.”
“Just don’t tell me that you were putting it in a scrapbook!”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. What’s on your mind?”
His voice dropped to a whisper, and he drew close to be heard.
“I wanted so much to help you with the recovery of the Atonement Lot. However, I find I am of little use in the endeavor, so I thought about what else I could do. Now, please do not be angry with me. I know you see Del Cielo as nothing more than a man, but I have a friend who may be able to tell you more about him.”
I thought, Here we go again, but remembering my own witch hunt earlier with the news clipping, I entertained his request. My better judgment told me not to, but what the hell? I needed a diversion right now, anyway.
“I am not angry with you. Please go on. Who is it you want me to meet?”
“Why the blind Rabbi, of course!”
“Blind Rabbi who?”
“Rabinovici.”
An Italian Jew. What a mashugana bunch these were. You would have thought that between the Dominican Inquisition and Hitler they would have been all but gone. It just goes to show you that the chosen people will not be put aside by the hand of man.
“All right, when can we see him?”
“Anytime. He is not only blind, he is also ninety-five years old and doesn’t get out much. He is always thankful for a visitor. I have just come from him. I wanted to be sure that it would be alright if I brought you by. You see, he doesn’t like priests.”
“I don’t blame him, there are very few that I like, too. For the most part, we are a pious pain in the ass.”
“Well, in this case, since you are a friend of mine, he said it would be alright, provided I didn’t make a habit of it.”
“How did you come to know him, and why would you trust what he tells you?
“I have brought him bread and a few creature comforts over many years. We are friends.”
“‘Creature comforts’? If I know you, Dinard, the creature comforts come in a bottle, don’t they?”
His broad smile took over his round face like a Halloween Jack-O-Lantern.
“Adama, when you are the Rabbi’s age, you will think of it as medicine, nothing more.”
I was not optimistic that this old, blind Rabbi would be able to provide any useful information about Del Cielo. If the man doesn’t even get out much, and he is blind besides, what could he possibly know about Del Cielo?
I explained my concern to Dinard, but he was unmovable on the subject. He assured me again that Rabinovici would be able to tell us something.
We agreed to go to Rabinovici’s home that evening. Dinard was happy with that, being able to pack a few necessities for the old man. I was sure that he was not telling me everything there was to know about this old Rabbi, so I pumped him until he spilled his guts.
Apparently, he had held back most of what he knew of the old man, given my skeptical nature. I came to find out that this particular Rabbi was somewhat of a mystic in his community, a Kabbalist. In Kabbalah, the functional structure of the sephira (enumerations) channels Divine creative life force, and reveals the unknowable Divine essence to creation. In other words, he was a psychic.
I was not taken aback by this; mystics are not unknown to Catholicism, either, considering Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross, to name just two. Their visions and insights are not to be taken lightly.
However, don’t ask any of them to pick a winning race horse; they can’t do it. Their visions, or foresight, are limited to things of a more spiritual nature.
In general, I thought most psychics were a bunch of horse crap. They say they are going in cold, but usually their first pronouncements are obvious. “Oh, I have an older male that is making his presence known. Has your Father passed?” The guy he’s talking to is sixty-five years old if he is a day. Hell yea, his father is dead. However, just in case the old man is still hanging on, he quickly goes to Grandpa or a favorite uncle.
No, it’s bunko to me. Even the ones who can acquit themselves of not having some knowledge of the deceased are suspect in my book. Just who is it they are getting the information from, and why is grandpa still an old man on the other side? In any event, we would see about Rabbi “Rabinovici.” If he used one of those filthy spirits as a guide, I would have nothing to do with him, and I told Dinard the same in no uncertain words.
Supper was another one of Dinard’s culinary delights—red snapper with chili, tamarind, and lime sauce. I told him in front of everybody that if the priest thing doesn’t work out, there is always the restaurant business. Smiling, he wagged a finger at me.
Within an hour, he had the kitchen cleared and shinning, and we were off to see the Rabbi. The address was only a few streets over from St. Andrew, so we had a chance to walk off the snapper.
It was a dingy building bordering on squalor, but I was not that surprised knowing there were many poor in the parish. The stairs creaked as we made our way to the third floor in almost darkness. Dinard’s knock on the door brought almost an immediate response.
“Come right in, Father, come
in, my friend.”
Well, he seemed to know who was at his front door. A good sign for a psychic.
I did not expect fine furniture, but I was surprised at the austerity of the place. Of course, the blind man did not require the visual aesthetics that the sighted take for granted. There were a few chairs and a single arm table in the room; it was almost totally dark, other than the twilight of the setting sun coming through the small window.
“Father, turn on the lamp for you and your friend. It must be getting dark by this time. Please sit; I did not expect you back so soon.”
“Rabbi, this is Father Adama, the man I told you about. He has questions about an object he is seeking and those who are also interested in the same object. I told him you may be able to help.”
“Maybe, Father, maybe. Come here, Adama, take my hand.”
Dinard nodded to me to do as I was asked. I approached the old man and held my hand out for him to take. He reached directly for it and grabbed tight. He never let go, but still was thrown back in his chair. His grip tightened to a point I didn’t think he had in him.
“Oh, what have we here? I see, yes, I see.”
He let go as suddenly as he had taken it. He seemed to struggle with his breathing for a moment. Dinard did not seem the least bit alarmed. I assumed he had witnessed this before.
“What do you see, Rabbi?” I probed.
“I see blood and brutality. To this man, I will say nothing... However, I also see truth and a noble heart, and to that man, I will tell him what I can. Take my hand again, let your mind relax, and focus on those things you wish to know about. Are you willing to do that?”
As I said before, psychics are not people I ever put my trust in. Their proclamations hardly ever reveal useful information, and the source of their utterances are suspect. However, this was a devout Jew. Their law is quite specific regarding the avoidance of sorcery and oracles. It was unlikely he would commune with an unclean spirit.
“Speak the truth to me, Rabbi, do you have a familiar spirit guide?”