The Lawless One and the End of Time

by Lonnie Pacelli

  “Yeah, do you remember how Dad would switch shirts with Paul when he was little?” Anna added. “Dad’s shirt would be swimming on Paul and dad looked like he was wearing a corset in Paul’s.”

  “Or how about the games dad made up, remember super checkers?” Alberto said. Super checkers was just like normal checkers, except that a dice roll dictated how many consecutive moves a player made.

  “Yeah, and remember how you’d cry when he won a game?” Paul said to Alberto. “When he asked you why you were crying you’d say, ‘I’m just so happy for you!’” That one got more laughs, Ida then shared something her kids never knew about Joseph.

  “When each of you were born, your father insisted he be the first to hold you as soon as you came out. He then brought you over to me with tears in his eyes and said, ‘Thank you for giving me the most precious gift I could ever receive.’ He kissed you on the forehead, handed you to me, and kissed me. He so adored each of you, from the very moment you were born.” Ida looked lovingly at each of her kids as she was telling them. Alberto and Anna came over to the couch where Ida and Paul were sitting, and the four just held each other.

  For the next three hours they laughed and cried as they relived wonderful memories they had of their husband and father. The concierge came in and told them their flight would be boarding soon. They packed up, thanked the concierge, and left for their gate for their three-hour flight to Naples.

  The empty bed where Joseph had laid just hours earlier was in the living room. Caleb had stripped the bed sheets, leaving just a bare mattress. He came up to his aunt Ida and hugged her.

  “I’m so sorry, Aunt Ida.”

  “Thank you, Caleb.” Ida had cried herself out, now she was just tired.

  “He died peacefully. The funeral home picked him up earlier today. They’re waiting for your call on arrangements.”

  Ida nodded. “I’ll call them.”

  “I’m gonna go, Aunt Ida, let me know if I can do anything.” Caleb hugged his aunt again.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Paul walked out with Caleb and thanked him again for his help. “Certainly, Cuz,” Caleb said.

  Joseph’s wake was two days later. Hundreds paid their last respects. Ida and her children heard story after story about how Joseph had touched their lives in some way. How he once gave a family free groceries for a month when both the father and mother were out of work. “Don’t worry, you pay me back when you have the money," Joseph would say to them. Then another family told them of how he gave their troublemaker son a job when no one else would hire him. “Joseph was the only one who trusted our son, he set high expectations of him, and encouraged him to succeed. Because of Joseph, our son went on to graduate from college and became a youth counselor.” Ida remembered the boy but had no idea he was troubled, or that Joseph loved and encouraged him like one of his own. At the funeral, Paul eulogized his father, telling everyone about his bedside chat with Joseph, about not letting life get in the way of love. It was a beautiful tribute to his father’s legacy, one which filled the room with smiles, sniffs, tears. After the funeral, attendees were invited to a reception hall downstairs for some light snacks and conversation. Before going, Ida and her three children went up to Joseph’s casket to pay last respects. They just stood there, none of them wanting the moment to end as they would never see him again.

  After a few minutes Paul broke the silence, “There are people waiting for us downstairs.” Alberto, Anna, and Paul all started toward the reception hall, while Ida stayed with her prince.

  “Just give me a few more minutes. I’ll be down soon.”

  “Take your time, Mom,” Alberto said. They left her there with the only man she ever loved, not ready to say her goodbyes.

  The reception hall was arranged in a simple manner, with folding chairs around folding tables with paper tablecloths. Two large rectangular tables in the center of the room held plates of Italian meats, cheeses, breads, and condiments. A bartender served drinks in one corner of the room. Despite the food in the room, the distant smell of formaldehyde permeated the air, a constant reminder that they were still in a funeral home. Paul, Alberto and Anna came down to an already-full room of friends and family. Alberto and Anna made their way to the food table, thanking people for coming. Paul went to the bartender, got a glass of Merlot, and started chatting with several of Joseph’s customers from the supermarket. A handsome older man with silver hair, wearing a gray sharkskin suit which hugged every line of his body, approached Paul.

  “Hello, Paul.”

  Paul didn’t recognize the man. “Thank you so much for coming, how did you know my father?”

  “I came in the store almost every day to get lunch. He was the kindest, most wonderful man. The last time I saw you I think you were about 16.”

  Paul was still perplexed as to who the man was. “I’m so embarrassed but I don’t recall us meeting.”

  “My name is Ed Carloni.” Paul knew that name. Carloni was one of the people who helped fund Paul’s attending Naples Academy. Paul was mortified.

  “Oh my gosh, Mr. Carloni! I’m such an idiot for not recognizing you.”

  “Not at all, Paul. It’s amazing how gray hair and wrinkles can disguise someone.”

  Paul smiled at Carloni and took a nervous sip of Merlot, still humiliated for not recognizing someone who generously funded his schooling.

  Carloni continued. “Your dad couldn’t stop bragging about you. London School of Economics, then Harvard Law, very impressive.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carloni. Your generosity helped me so much, I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “It’s truly been my pleasure, you were well worth the investment.” Carloni got to the real reason he had approached Paul. “Have you taken a job with anyone yet?”

  “No, with Dad being sick I put off looking.”

  “I have a law firm with offices in Naples and Rome. There’s a particularly interesting client in Rome that I’d like to talk with you about. What do you think?” Paul was caught a bit off guard with the question. Carloni apologized for being so abrupt. “Sorry to spring the question on you. You’ve got things to do to help your mom get settled. When you’re ready, give me a call.” Carloni handed Paul his card. “Take your time, I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He kissed Paul on each cheek and headed to the food table. Paul looked down at the card. How peculiar someone would offer him a job at his father’s funeral. “Even in death, Dad supports me,” Paul thought as he looked at the card. He then heard Ida coming, so he slipped the card in his pocket and went over to his mother and kissed her.

  “They just took him to the mausoleum,” she said. “They asked if I wanted to go. I can’t watch him being stuffed into a wall.”

  “You need to eat, let’s get some food.” Paul put his arm around his mother, escorting her to the food table.

  Paul continued to mingle with guests into the evening, occasionally putting his hand in his pocket and rubbing the raised letters on Carloni’s business card. “Who’s the interesting client?” he thought.

  Interesting Client

  2041

  F or the next month Paul focused on helping his mother adjust to life without Joseph while Alberto and Anna ran the supermarket. Each morning they would walk to the newly-constructed mausoleum at Villa Comunale to visit its first occupant Joseph. Ida would bring a thermos of coffee and Paul would carry a folding stool for his mother to sit on. They would enter the mausoleum at one end and walk down along the wall of empty plots until they got to Joseph’s plot, every sound echoing as it bounced off the stone walls and floor. Paul would set the folding stool in front of Joseph’s plot and Ida would sit, pull a cup from her purse, open the thermos, pour some coffee, look at Joseph’s name on his plot, then chat about whatever came to mind. She talked about things that happened yesterday, fun things they did when they were young, what she was going to do later on that day. Paul sat on a bench out of earshot of his mother, respecting the privacy of her chats with Joseph. Som
etimes he’d walk the length of the mausoleum, observing if there were any new tenants since the last visit. One thing he hated about the mausoleum was seeing his mother’s name underneath Joseph’s with a birth date but no date of death. When she died the plot would be reopened, her casket would be put in end-to-end with Joseph’s and sealed shut. It didn’t seem to bother her as she knew her body would be next to Joseph’s for eternity. Paul despised seeing it, a constant reminder that someday he would lose her too.

  After about an hour, Ida would take a last sip of coffee, put the empty cup and thermos back in her bag, wipe Joseph’s name with a tissue, and gently kiss the etched letters. Paul knew the routine, when he saw his mother put the cup in her bag and close the thermos, he would make his way over to her, getting there just as she was kissing Joseph’s name. He would then fold the stool and they’d walk back home. Ida so appreciated Paul’s help, but she also realized that Paul had his own life to live. On the one-month anniversary of Joseph’s passing, Ida and Paul were leaving the mausoleum for their walk back home. It was an unseasonably cool and cloudy summer day, very comfortable for walking.

  “Paolo, did you call Mr. Carloni?” Paul had told his mother about Carloni approaching him at the funeral during one of their walks to the mausoleum.

  “Not yet.”

  “You should call him.”

  Ida was Paul’s first priority; he wanted to make sure she was well-adjusted first. “You still need help, Mom.” Paul said.

  “It’s time, Paolo. I’m fine. Call him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I’ll ever be. I have to adjust to life without your father. Now’s the time to do it. Call him.”

  “I’ll call today.” Paul gave Ida the only answer she’d accept.

  Later that day Paul pulled the business card from his wallet and called Ed.

  “Hello, Mr. Carloni, this is Paul Ambrosi.”

  “Paul, good to hear from you. How’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s a tough woman.”

  “Yes, she is.” Carloni had known Ida for years through his daily visits to the supermarket. “Tough but loving.”

  “She’d like hearing that.” Paul said.

  “Are you at a point where we can talk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you come by my office tomorrow at nine? I’m just down the street from the supermarket. Same address that’s on my card.”

  Paul hesitated for a moment. He knew that his mother was going to the mausoleum at nine. Then he remembered what she said. “Nine works.”

  “Good. See you tomorrow at nine. Take care.”

  “You too.” Paul hung up. He was excited about the meeting with Carloni, but deep down was concerned about his mother.

  The next morning Paul got up, showered, dressed in the same suit he wore to his father’s funeral, then started making his way down the hallway to the kitchen. Even though he was a grown man he still took three big-boy steps to get from his room to the kitchen. Ida was already up sitting at the table drinking an espresso and eating a croissant.

  “Paolo,” she said.

  “Hi Mom.” Ida already had an espresso ready for Paul. He sat at the table next to her.

  “You going to see Dad this morning?”

  “Of course, I have to tell him about you going to meet with Mr. Carloni. Your dad always liked him.”

  “Can you carry the stool?” Paul took a bite of his croissant.

  “I’ll manage; if I get tired along the way I have a stool to sit on.” Ida said smiling at her bit of wit.

  Paul smiled at his mother’s quip. “Just don’t push yourself. Dad isn’t going anywhere.”

  “I won’t, Paolo. Don’t worry about me, focus on Mr. Carloni.”

  “OK.” Paul finished his espresso. “I wanna get there early and spend some time preparing. Tell Dad I love him.”

  “I always do.” She said with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, Paolo.”

  “OK, Mom.”

  Paul got up, kissed his mother, grabbed his half-eaten croissant and a folder with his resume, and headed out the door for the 20-minute walk to Carloni’s office. Paul had walked the path thousands of times, because the office was close to the supermarket. It was a warm summer morning, so Paul took off his suit jacket to fend off breaking a sweat. He thought about his brother and sister taking over the supermarket, so his mother wouldn’t have to worry about it. He pictured his mother sitting next to Joseph’s plot on the folding stool, talking about what happened that day and reminiscing about their life together. He thought about his buddy Bert and how he had found happiness with Laura. He walked by the supermarket and saw his brother unloading produce in the back. “I’ll stop by later,” he thought, not wanting to interrupt Alberto. He got to Carloni’s office 30 minutes before their meeting time. He lost the sweat battle on the walk so decided to sit in a pasticceria across the street to cool down and think about what he was going to say to Carloni. Paul sat by the window looking at Carloni’s office, thinking about the questions he would ask, but one kept coming to mind, “Who’s the interesting client?” he thought. “Maybe a senator, or some CEO, or wouldn’t it be funny if it were the Vatican!” Paul laughed and shook his head at the ludicrousness of it being the Vatican. Ten minutes before the meeting, Paul saw Carloni walk into his office, and gave him a few minutes to settle in before going over.

  Paul got up from the table, put on his jacket, gave his brow a quick wipe with a napkin, and walked to Carloni’s office. Carloni’s assistant was seated behind a desk in the lobby when he saw Paul enter.

  “Mr. Ambrosi?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Carloni’s been expecting you. His office is just down the hall, last door on the left.”

  “Thank you.” Paul walked down the hall, reaching Carloni’s office. He was sitting at a small round table with two chairs looking at his phone and sipping coffee. His crisp white shirt perfectly pressed, black shoes shined to a mirror finish, not a silver hair out of place. Paul quietly knocked on the open door.

  “Paul, good to see you again.” Carloni got up and shook Paul’s hand. “Can I get you something?”

  “Water would be great, thank you.” Paul settled in the chair at the round table, sitting on the edge of the seat, back straight, Carloni got a bottled water from the fridge in his office and sat down across from him, legs crossed, relaxed in his seat.

  “How’s your mom today?”

  “She’s good. She goes to the mausoleum every morning to see my dad. This is the first morning she’s going by herself.”

  “She’s a tough cookie,” Carloni took a sip of his coffee.

  Paul opened his folder and handed Carloni his resume. He already knew Paul’s credentials; he just scanned the resume for any interesting tidbits.

  “Debate club--handy skills for a lawyer,” Carloni continued reading, “Perfect GPA at both LSE and Harvard. Volunteered at a homeless shelter. Tutored other students. You’re the full package.”

  Paul looked down, embarrassed at the compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Carloni.”

  “It’s Ed.” He wanted to make Paul feel a bit more at ease.

  Paul looked up and smiled. “Then thank you, Ed.”

  Carloni continued the discussion he started at Joseph’s funeral. “Remember the interesting client in Rome? Well, it’s the Vatican.”

  Paul was mid-sip of his water and did all he could to keep from choking when he heard Vatican. His joke was now reality. “The Vatican. What’s your statement of work?” Paul asked, trying to stay cool despite being surprised about the mystery client.

  “Ever since the Archdiocese of Boston sex abuse scandal over 40 years ago, the Catholic Church had been defending cases worldwide, some legitimate, some fabricated, but all taking up time and resources. In 2030, Pope Pius XIII personally engaged in the issue, hiring our firm as a global general contractor to qualify law firms, manage caseloads, provide assistance on cases where needed, and report directly to Pius X
III on the status of cases, particularly those where the abuse was confirmed. Pius XIII was determined to clean up abuses in the church until his death in 2040.” Carloni stopped to take a sip of his coffee while Paul sat across from him on the edge of his seat taking in every word. Carloni continued. “The next pope was elected by the elector cardinals who took the title Pius XIV, adopting the name of his predecessor, to symbolize the continued annihilation of abuse in the church. We continued as role of general contractor with the transition and meet with Pius XIV monthly to report on cases.”

  Paul was familiar with Pius XIII and XIV, and knew about the abuses in the church, but had no idea Pius XIII and XIV were so involved. On one hand, he was happy the church was taking such a strong stand against abuse but was also disappointed the church had so many cases to deal with in the first place. Carloni revealed to Paul what he wanted him to do, “Paul, I’d like you to be on our Rome team working as liaison to our subcontract law firms in the United States. You would be based out of Rome and travel about once a month to the United States to review cases, certify subcontract law firms, and raise issues back to the Vatican. We have an office in Boston, so Harvard would be a plus. You’d be part of the team that gives Pius XIV monthly status reports and advise him on actions he should take. How’s it sound?”

  Rarely had Paul been caught speechless in his life. Working with the Vatican on high-profile cases, advising the pontiff on actions to take, traveling to the United States every month. Paul tried to think of a downside but couldn’t come up with one.

  “Awesome,” Paul said.

  “Great,” Carloni said. “I should let you know there is one particular requirement the Vatican insists upon.”

  “Here comes the downside,” Paul thought to himself.

  “Are you a practicing Catholic?”

  Paul was born into a Catholic family and went through all the tollgates required of Catholics, but as an adult church meant weddings, funerals, Easter, and the occasional Christmas Eve midnight service.