Devil at the Vatican (BL)

Chapter 28

Another new thing that Elio experienced was that he understood everyone. It didn't matter if they spoke Italian or English, it all filtered through his mind with absolute clarity. Apparently Petru was fluent in Italian, but Marcel was rather rough with the language.

The port the ship pulled into was definitely not made to accept large passenger ships, but they managed to dock and everyone climbed out. While waiting for their luggage to be brought up from the cargo hold, Elio wandered over to a wooden stand where a vendor was selling jars of lemon marmalade. 

"We have the best lemons in the world in Cinque Terre," the vendor said, a short round man with a wide forehead and receding hairline. He scooped a bit of the marmalade onto a piece of dried bread and put it in Elio's mouth. 

The flavor was a familiar one, but much more vivid and interesting. There were other lemon merchants along the harbor, selling lemons, lemon pastries, concentrated lemon extracts, salves, etc.

The vendor noticed he was looking elsewhere and chimed, "My marmalade is the best! You won't find anything better."

Elio smiled and paid the man a nickel for a jar. The vendor examined his American money for a moment, bit it, and then smiled in acceptance. 

"It's delicious," Elio said back to him.

"You speak Italian?" the vendor asked with utter delight. "You are fluent!"

"Stay away from this one," a woman Elio recognized from the ship said. She sauntered near them and then walked away, shouting, "He brings death! Stay away!"

"Crazy woman," the vendor scoffed, turning his attention back to Elio.

Elio introduced himself. He could feel his mouth forming the foreign words, but it still came too naturally for him to fully realize the difference.

"I'm Antonio," the vendor said, shaking Elio's hand.  "It's a pleasure to meet an unfamiliar face. Are you traveling with family?

Marcel approached them with the luggage. Elio picked up his travelling case and simply waved at Antonio in farewell. He had to be careful around Father Marcel, especially with this strange growth of his powers.

"Where are we going?" Elio asked Marcel as they and Petru began walking towards the local village.

"There is a small parish up the mountain," Petru said. "We shall stay at their rectory, and then secure transportation to Rome in the morning."

It took the ship so long to figure out how to dock, it was almost sunset. The town they entered was pretty small and exposed. Elio could see much of it just from the harbor. Colorful square buildings were clustered together on a steep cliff. Candlelight twinkled from the windows. The town had mostly descended into darkness by the time the entered the main square. 

Petru took the lead and Marcel and Elio followed him.

"Are you familiar with this town?" Elio asked him.

"I am," Petru said simply.  "It's not usually this... quiet."

They took a narrow cobblestone path that led to stairs into the woods. A short hike uphill led to a small courtyard and church. In the middle of the courtyard, which was lined with various colorful flowers, was a statue of a man with his arms outstretched, wearing a robe with a cord tied around his waist. There was a boulder in front of the statue, and Petru knelt in front of it with the sign of the cross and a small prayer. 

"Saint Francis of Assisi," Marcel told Elio, before following Petru's lead to kneeling before the statue.

Elio had a thought of doing the same, but his knees locked. He could walk on, but he could not kneel.