The Frontier Saint

Chapter Three

A condition followed Father Guzman his entire life, he was a light sleeper. With so much as the trickling of water running through old pipes preventing a full night's rest. He had no watches or clocks in his room, for the ticking hands were plenty loud enough to keep him wide awake. His curtains were pitch black, always pulled down, as to block out the light from the cathedral plaza. His room was to be completely dark, completely silent, if he was to enjoy a full night's rest. He wasn't afraid of the dark. On the contrary, blissful rest for him entailed complete darkness, complete silence.

Once again, he was struck with the unmistakable interruption of wakefulness. In the surrounding area of the cathedral, city noise was all too common-- even in the odd hours of the night. This time, he was unaware of what the interruption was. He lay half-awake, one eye open, one still closed. He looked around rather insincerely, checking that there wasn't an obvious danger to his person. There were no lights on in the hallway, there was no noise, there was only a the salty glow of white light shining through his window. Indeed, something had woken him up. Still, he knew he was a light sleeper. He ceased his intensive search, and closed his eyes. Then he opened both eyes-- why were his curtains up?

Father Guzman sat up straight, wiping the sleep off his face-- trying to recall the sequence of events before he fell asleep. He specifically remembered having pulled down the curtains, part of his pre-rest routine. He sat on his bed, staring at the window. It wasn't as though the window was going anywhere and yet-- it sat there, hinting. A heavy fear swirled inside Father Guzman's belly-- something was supposed to be seen from that window, something was waiting to be seen by the old priest. Father Guzman looked over at his portrait of Saint Michael the Archangel and started to pray, "Saint Michael the Archangel...Defend us in battle.." as he drifted towards the window, the light glowing ever louder, "be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.." Still he sauntered. Then, he saw it. He looked down onto the illuminated plaza to see a small girl facing the fountain. She had shoulder length hair, she wore pants, some sort of denim jacket, "...May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host.." The girl looked up-- and turned slowly to gaze back at his window. Her expression twisted into a scream, but no noise. Father Guzman gripped his cross necklace, "by the power of God..." The girl slowly, every slowly stretched out her arms in the direction of the window-- in the direction of the old priest, "..cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen." The girl turned quickly-- looking up in the direction of the roof of the direction of the cathedral. Father Guzman looked up in the same direction, but saw nothing, he turned back to find the girl-- who had disappeared. Father Guzman did the sign of the cross, and quickly pulled down his curtains. He walked back slowly.

The old priest turned and made quickly for his office on the floor below. Father Rasmussen peered from his door, watching Father Guzman shuffle downstairs. He quickly put on his slippers and followed. Father Rasmussen arrived to the old priests's office to see him on the phone, "Monsignor Gabriel-- it has started," he said.

Monsignor Gabriel paused, "very well, I'll be on the next flight out of Rome."