The Angel of Milan

by R. J. Grant

  “You are wise for a priest, Adama,” he said, with a chuckle. “In answer to your question, no, I see only visions, no more, no less.”

  “Has Father Dinard told you anything of the things I wish to know?”

  “No.”

  “Then we can proceed. Here is my hand.”

  “Very well. Do not speak, and do not ask any questions. I will tell you all that I see,” he said while taking my hand.

  This time, his grip was gentle, and he seemed at ease. I tried to clear my mind, and focus on Del Cielo.

  His face turned questioning, and he remained silent a long moment.

  “Victorio Del Cielo, how interesting, Adama. Victorio Del Cielo… Victorio Del Cielo… Aerrlion… Victorio… Aerrlion… Del Cielo… Nothing more, there is a void around this man. Something else, yes… a woman, perfect in form. I see you with her, Adama, you have been with her.” Again, he chuckled.

  His breathing increased, and he was stressed again. A look of surprise came upon his face, and his brows became hooded over his eyes. “She stands with Victorio Del Cielo.

  “She holds something in the palm of her hand… a golden coin, perhaps… I cannot read the inscription. The coin, it is, yes…it is holy…my God! It falls from her hand…into the hand of an angel with wings spread wide over its head… The angel stands before an Egyptian obelisk…a Greek temple…Trajan’s Column… Death and sorrow surround him!” He abruptly pulled his hand away from mine, rubbing it as he sat back in his chair, exhausted.

  “Are you alright, Rabbi?”

  “A moment, please,” he said, out of breath.

  If Dinard had indeed told him nothing, then this Rabbi was a legitimate visionary. There was no probing for clues, no statements of the obvious. No assurances that my long-departed mother forgives me and still loves me. What a crock of crap those types of proclamations are. It should come as no surprise to anyone that their mother would forgive and love them always. Finally, the old man came around.

  “I am alright now. The visions take much from me these days. It was not always this way.”

  “Rabbi, what is Aerrlion?”

  “It is a name. Your Victorio Del Cielo has another name, Aerrlion.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, I only saw another name. It was very strange. I clearly saw him, but I could see nothing else around him no matter how hard I tried. That has never happened before.”

  “Does that tell you anything about him?”

  “No, nothing. I can only tell you what I see, no more, no less. My visions provide no inner meanings. The picture is what it is and nothing more. However, the woman with the holy coin…such a wonder. This is the object you seek, and she is the possessor of it, that is a certainty.”

  Alessandra! Could that really be? Was that the reason she became upset when I told her Del Cielo seems to know who has the Lot? Why was she so fearful? What role did she play in this? I had a flood of questions, and while the puzzle now began to have form, many pieces were still missing.

  “Rabbi, you said the coin fell from her hand to an angel with wings spread high. He was standing in front of an Obelisk, a Greek temple, Trajan’s Column, and death and sorrow surrounded him. What does that mean? Trajan’s Column is in Rome; is the coin in Rome?”

  “I did not see Rome. I saw Trajan’s Column. All I can tell you is what I see.”

  “How can all these things be in the same place? I think you got some wires crossed there, Rabbi.”

  “Adama!” Dinard exclaimed. “I know this place!”

  “How could…? Never mind, out with it, where is such a place?”

  “Cimitero Monumentale!13 The cemetery here in Milano. It is entirely filled with some of the most magnificent examples of Italian sculpture and large, ornate tombs. Why, it even has a Jewish section. Adama, I definitely remember seeing a scaled down version of Trajan’s column there once!

  “My apologies, Rabbi. You stand vindicated.”

  Dinard was ready to go off to the cemetery immediately, and I had to remind him that it was now night and very dark in the cemetery. Our chances of finding the right angel in the dark were very slim. Not to mention the fact that it was after visiting hours, and I doubted he could climb the gate. Morning would come soon enough. He reluctantly concurred, particularly about climbing the gate.

  “Father Adama, what will you do with the object, if you find it?” the Rabbi asked.

  “I don’t know, Rabbi. For the first time, I really don’t know. Is there anything more you can tell me?”

  “I told you all that I saw.”

  We stayed a while longer with Rabbi Rabinovici, and shared pleasantries over a glass of Dinard’s medicine. I warned the old man not to discuss what he had seen with anyone, as it could be dangerous. Without going into detail, I explained that a number of people had already been killed over this, and it would not do to get involved. He seemed to appreciate the warning of danger, and assured me that the vision would die with him.

  When we left the apartment, it had indeed grown dark in the streets. Dinard was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “What’s the matter, Father? You seem quite distracted by your thoughts.”

  “I was just thinking, I must meet this perfect woman who has seduced you. You would do well to eat more like me, and maybe such beauty would leave you alone.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. This is what had him so distracted? Then he broke into loud laughter.

  “Come, Adama, we must get back and I will fix you a large sandwich to take to your quarters tonight,” he said seriously, before breaking into uncontrollable laughter again.

  Somehow, I knew I had not heard the last of this…

  Where the Dead Things Are

  10 Finally, it looked like my search for the Atonement Lot was about to bear fruit. Regretfully, it was also beginning to look like I had slept with a brutal killer. Oh well, birds of a feather…

  If Alessandra really did hide the Lot in the cemetery, then she must have killed Crochi to get it. The only thing hindering my conclusion was the method by which Crochi was killed. I couldn’t imagine her overpowering the man with such butchery.

  I had a fretful night waiting for morning to come before going to Cimitero Monumentale. A consolidation of several city cemeteries, the Monumentale was placed outside the city, but now the growing metropolis had reached and enveloped it. Walking from St. Andrew was out of the question. We would have to go to the piazza and take a taxi. I recalled having seen pictures of the place many years before. It is actually a tourist attraction for those visiting Milan. I personally had no desire to go there, my opinion being that the place was a paramount display of Italian mellow dramatics. To each their own, I guess.

  I was up early to shower and dress. A sixth sense told me to carry the HK inside my waste band. I had learned long ago not to ignore little premonitions of trouble.

  I found Dinard downstairs talking to the old snake in the parlor. He was giving her last-minute instructions regarding the setting out of lunch for the others in his absence. The moment she saw me, however, she repeated the sign of the cross several times to make her point. She quickly stormed out of the room, mumbling hell and damnation again while looking over her shoulder at me. Dinard was a bit taken aback by the display, but managed a smile, asking me what that was all about. Not wanting to stoke his fire, I told him she just didn’t like me.

  “I would say she takes great displeasure in you, Adama,” he said, in an understated manner.

  “Never mind the old snake, she is full of venom. Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes, most assuredly.”

  “What have you got there in the canvas bag?”

  “Why, tools, of course. It is just a small pry bar and…some sandwiches and two apples.”

  What else could I have expected? We were obviously going on safari as far as Dinard was concerned. I wasn’t sure about the necessity of the pry bar, but the food may very well prove critical
if his lunch bell rang.

  We walked down the avenue towards the piazza to get a taxi. We were only a few hundred feet from the rectory door when that sixth sense slapped me in the back of the head again. I turned around to see the old snake hurry down the rectory steps, and down the avenue in the opposite direction.

  “Wait a minute, Father.”

  “What is it, Adama?”

  “Look, the house keeper. She seems to be in a terrible hurry. Where do you suppose she is off to?”

  “My, my, I have never seen her move that fast before. I cannot imagine what would send her out when she only arrived a half hour before.”

  “Did you tell her anything?”

  “No, of course not… No, wait, I did! When I asked her to prepare lunch, she asked about my lunch bag. I told her we had important business at the Cimitero Monumentale and may be out all day.”

  “Do you recall when you were mugged by those two priests, and that I told you there was a spy in St. Andrew? I think we have found the spy—an Opus Dei spy.”

  “Well, there is nothing we can do about it now. What is done, is done. Let’s get there and be out of there quickly!”

  With traffic, we were in the taxi a good twenty minutes and still hadn’t arrived at the cemetery. I couldn’t help but think that if Alessandra were driving, we would have been there ten minutes ago. When we finally did pull up to the front, we were standing before Famedio, the main building that dominates the entrance courtyard. It is the whos, who of Milan, or rather the who was.

  To be interned in the Cimitero Monumentale, you must be either famous or wealthy, preferably both. Entering into the cemetery beyond, you are overwhelmed by large tombs of every architectural style, ornately decorated with magnificent sculptures. Personally, I find it rather morbid, but Northern Italians seem to thrive on such things.

  After walking though the Famedio into the main avenue within, Dinard and I just stood there. Where to begin? It was daunting, one tomb next to another for what seemed to go on endlessly. We were looking for a combination of a winged angel, a Greek Temple, Trajan’s Column, and an Egyptian obelisk. In this jumble of stone, it could take all day. My excitement of finally closing in on the Atonement Lot was fading fast.

  “You’ve been here before; where did you see Trajan’s column?”

  “Adama, I have no idea, it all looks the same now,

  but let’s stay with Trajan’s column or the obelisk. Either one should be tall and stand out. For the rest of it, I don’t know. All these tombs, while different, still look the same.”

  “I think you are right about that. Every mausoleum within sight just seems to say “mine’s bigger than yours.” Left or right, Father, what do you think?”

  “Right, but don’t ask me why. It was just my first thought.”

  Off we went, observing one morbid scene after another. Now, do not misunderstand, the sculpture was indeed marvelous, but the artist would have been better served to create for something other than the dead. This is not the place to bring young children unless you want them up all night, every night, with nightmares.

  We found several obelisks of the Egyptian style. Each time we hurried towards them only to find nothing of the remaining images around them. Winged angels were even less productive for the search. Even those with their wings over their heads seemed to be in very high demand. If Burtuchi wanted Grigori, this was certainly the place to come.

  Dinard was lost to the abandon of the search, but I was not at ease. All the time we walked, I was keeping one eye over my shoulder. The old snake had surely run to tell someone the news, and I doubted we would be left quietly to our business. A few times I thought I saw a suspicious character between the stones, but it had so far turned out to be a false alarm. The longer we stayed there, the more opportunity we gave others to find us, and possibly the Lot…

  Suddenly, Dinard slapped me on the arm. He was pointing a short distance off to none other than Trajan’s Column. The reality was that it was much smaller than the one in Rome, maybe twenty feet high, but nonetheless, it was a good representation.

  “What do you think, Adama? Is that Trajan’s Column or not?”

  “If it is not, then I don’t know what is.”

  We hurried off to the base of the column. It was located in the middle of an open circular pathway—a most convenient setting. This made it possible to walk around it from all sides to look for the other images the Rabbi had seen. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a Greek Temple, and the obelisk was off to the other side.

  “The angel? Do you see the angel?” I asked, turning left and then right.

  “No, Adama, the angel is missing. I see some cherubs blowing trumpets over there, but no large winged angel anywhere in sight. Do you think there is another Trajan Column in here?”

  “It may be possible, but I think it is unlikely. Compared to everything else I have seen, this column seems to be unique. Let’s look around here from different points of view. Maybe the old man’s images are not entirely in perspective.”

  I didn’t believe my own words myself. The visions of true psychics do not have tricks played on them by what they see. We were missing something, but what? I looked for a higher vantage point to view the area. Seeing no one around, I jumped up on a plain marble slab that sat on top of a rectangular vault raised only about five feet above the ground. It was a better view point.

  “Adama, get down! If someone sees you we will be thrown out of here without ceremony. Please, Adama!”

  “Just a moment. I want to see if we are missing something.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Okay, there is nothing that I can see as far as our angel is concerned. This is frustrating.”

  I looked down at my footing to jump off the tomb to the pavement, and almost tripped over my own feet. Right in front of me, as clear as day, the name was cut deep into the top of the marble slab—Del Cielo! Here they all were—Francesco, Adalina, Ricardo, Anjelica, Amramo—the list went on. All of a sudden, it was obvious what the Rabbi had seen. I held my arms out above my head, waving them and yelling.

  “Dinard, what do you see?”

  “Get down, you are mad!”

  “No, not until you tell me what you see!”

  In that moment, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

  “Adama, I see the angel!”

  “Does everything line up? Step back, do you see the column, obelisk, temple, and angel all in place?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, stepping back almost in a stumble. “Now, please, get down from there!”

  I jumped down, and taking him by the arm, I brought him to the marble slab that covered the vault.

  “Look at the names, my friend. All Del Cielo, here they are!”

  “But there is no angel, not really. There was only you swinging your arms like a mad man.”

  Then it hit him. Del Cielo, Gregori. He had a look of astonishment, as I am sure I mirrored. His expression began to change from wonder to pensive.

  “Adama, angels don’t die. This is a grave, a place of death.”

  “I’ll tell you what I think, my friend. If we were to open this tomb, we would find it empty. Stacks of empty boxes put here with full funeral services. Mourners, priests administering prayer, maybe a bishop for the renowned Del Cielo family… All pomp and circumstance for show.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, I do. Now we have to get to work. The Atonement Lot must be here somewhere, either on or near the tomb. Help me search.”

  We looked high and low around the vault. I explored all the seams with my folding knife to see if it had been wedged into a crack. At one point, a group of tourists walked by with a tour guide. Dinard and I took on the priestly part of praying determinedly at the site. When they moved on, we looked again over every place we had already searched, and were starting to give up.

  “Father Dinard, I think we are skunked; there is nothing here. Unless we come back with shovels to dig, there is no p
lace left to look.”

  “Do you think someone has gotten here ahead of us?”

  “I doubt that. We only found the location of the angel by accident. No, it is just not here. Maybe there is another interpretation of the Rabbi’s visions.”

  I placed my hand on the top corner of the marble slab while I thought about the Rabbi’s visions. Without looking, I mindlessly picked at the edge of a recessed brass facer bolt that secures the slab to the top of the tomb. No, it couldn’t be…no, not that obvious. I turned slowly, not wanting to loose the thrill of my discovery too fast. My heart fell; it was in fact just the ornate head of a rounded bolt recessed into the slab. Just the same, there were three more, were there not? Looking at the four bolts across the slab, it was obvious that one was different. One was the Atonement Lot set in the bolt recess. Dinard stood by in great disappointment until he heard my voice.

  “I’ve got it Father! Here it is, right under our noses and in plain sight, look!”

  He hurried over to where I was standing, and placing his hands on the top slab, looked over the top of the vault like a little boy looking over a fence.

  “This one, look here. See the inscription?”

  I took out the folding knife and gently, ever so gently, pried the edge to raise it above the recess. Somehow, I knew that my fat fingers would not be able to secure the edge, and I didn’t want to pry the edge any harder with the knife blade.

  “Father Dinard, do you have long fingernails?”

  “Long enough, Father, just give me a moment now.”

  He was pressing his enormous belly up against the tomb to get close enough to get his finger at the right angle above the Lot. He was struggling and breathing hard, making me very anxious. All of a sudden, he popped it out, and it started to roll away from us. I resisted the temptation to slap it down as you would with an ordinary coin, and instead ran to the other side of the slab to catch it as it rolled off.

  “Gotcha.”

  I gave it to Dinard to hold in his hand. I knew he would be completely fascinated. As he studied it, I explained the inscriptions and the design element around the edges.