The Misadventures of Cardinal Fratelli, chapter 1

Chapter 1

A Lazy Afternoon.

Spring gently waxed over tall hills. Lucca’s splendid cathedral bathed in sun. Afternoon light flooded through stained-glass, soaking the cathedral floor with blue, yellow and magenta hues. Faint incense smoke hung in the air. Birds chirped outside, heralding new life.

Knelt there before the white, marble, side-altar of St. Joseph, a young, brown-haired cardinal in draping, red finery prayed a silent prayer. No sound disrupted him. Ignoring the sun’s glare, which danced off the golden cross around his neck, he intently concluded aloud:

“Holy Patron of the Universal Church, also pray the Lord blesses the work of my hands. Be a guide and guardian to me. Steady my soul and protect my heart… May the Angels of God watch over me…In Father, Son and Holy Ghost~ Amen.”

After delicately tracing a cross, he stood up with hands folded and began walking down the wide aisle as if in solemn procession. No sooner than he stepped outside, did he trek absentmindedly over a puddle left by morning rain and slip onto the ground. Rubbing his hurt side, dismayed at stained robes, the cardinal muttered, “thanks…”

Still softly grumbling, the cardinal walked beneath shaded trees and crossed a finely-kept courtyard. Calm set over him. Roses spread their petals towards the sun, vines crept upwards and a small, white bird bathed in the stone fountain at its center. Hearing human footfalls, it fled, leaving a sprinkle of water behind.

The cardinal wiped sweat from his forehead and entered into the welcoming shade of his villa. Reminded of his irritation, he removed his shoes, shaking rainwater from them and took off his wet socks before stepping onto the carpet. Suddenly, he heard a sound.

“Father Rodrigo?”

No answer. Quietly, the cardinal tiptoed down the hallway and peered into the parlor where a man’s shadow stood. Then it moved about. He froze worriedly, wondering if some stranger had trespassed into his house.

His hands frantically searched for something and grabbed a walking-stick from the tall vase nearby. He advanced. The man now turned around. He wore a priest’s black cassock. Sheepishly, the cardinal lowered the walking-stick and his lips curled in a slight smile as if pretending he had no intent on hitting the fellow over the head. He asked:

“What are you doing here?”

“Father Rodrigo, before leaving for vacation, sent me here to replace him as your secretary…”

The cardinal replied, “It would have been nice if someone told me…”

“I am Father Arnold,” said the priest, “and you are His Eminence, Cardinal Fratelli?”

“Yes, of course.”

Arnold bent to kiss the cardinal’s gold ring then took notice of his mud-stained garments. He paused, taken aback, and said, “Well my first order of business should be to bring those dirty robes to the maid…then I’ll make tea.”

“That seems very good.”

Fratelli changed into clean garb, this time being very cautious about where he stepped. He paced down the hall careful not to don the wet shoes he’d just removed and instead, wore house slippers. They were old, well used; a dull-red and barely fit, yet were preferable to soggy feet.

          He and Arnold sat for some time, sipping hot tea, enjoying the lazy afternoon and talking about various subjects including this wonderful weather. Then they switched to the topic of the cathedral and its parishioners.

         “They are very nice,” Fratelli explained, “The old ladies sometimes bake me bread but I don’t need more food, so I give it to the poor when they aren’t looking… I always take a little taste though so when they ask me if I liked it, I’m not lying when I say I do. Very gracious the people of Lucca are. I am actually in the middle of writing a letter to the faithful now.”

       “Oh yes, I read it,” Father Arnold replied and quoted: “”Dear brothers and sisters in Christ…”

        There was a long pause.

        Fratelli straitened in his chair, responding, “Well, there’s going to be more!”

        Silently, the two put their teacups down then dutifully headed for the office downstairs to sort through piles of paper and letters. Papers and such tended to pile up at the week’s beginning, sitting even longer since they had been gone all morning for prayers and Holy Mass.

        Arnold recovered Fratelli’s “Letter to the Faithful” beneath one of the piles, handing it to the cardinal. He took it and sat down, diligently resuming his letter. After writing two more lines, he raised his head at a bird’s song. Beyond the arched window, a blue-feathered bird hopped from branch to branch and kept singing.

Fratelli longed to be out there, strolling amongst little creatures and taking in their beauty. The roses must be in full-bloom and wonderfully fragrant by now… However, he shook these lovely musings from his head and continued working. A few more lines were written.

He stopped again, asking Arnold, “Maybe I can describe the beauty of God’s creation in the letter. Tell about how His Sacred Face is revealed in the world…?”

“They’re your faithful,” Arnold replied.

“No Father, they are just on loan to me.”

The cardinal’s amber-colored eyes flashed with inspiration. Happy, he kicked up one leg like a young boy. Arnold murmured something about immaturity. Almost hearing, unsure, Fratelli asked him what he just said.

“Nothing, Your Good Eminence, just keep writing.”

An hour passed, significant work was done and Cardinal Fratelli had just finished his letter. He looked up hearing horse-hooves upon pavement, seeing a shadow fall beneath the door.

“Come in,” he said boldly.

In stepped the Monsignor Barolo, a smile between his high-set cheeks and a flush to his pale skin. He lifted his majestic, draping garb off the floor as if the floor were dirty and bowed with due reverence. Then suddenly forsaking formality, he laid a heavy hand on Fratelli’s shoulder and spoke:

 “I’ve traveled long to see you, Your Eminence… I thought you would’ve invited me.” 

Eyes glinting, he added, “Fratelli, I went to a fine banquet the other night. Wish you could have been there…the wine tasted so good and there were women dancing. Oh, how the women tempt us!”

With disapproval, Fratelli shook his head and replied, “Well, I don’t have that problem…”

“Why don’t we do things together anymore- like we used to?” the monsignor asked.

“Sorry,” Fratelli said meekly, “I was so busy.”

“You can never be too busy for old, dear friends!”

“Oh, yes you can.”

He sat beside Fratelli. The chair creaked beneath this obese man, causing Fratelli to glance apprehensively. They talked for some time, outright ignoring Father Arnold who sat arms crossed, softly huffing. Finally, he said:

“Your Eminence, why don’t you fetch your letter and read it for Monsignor?”

Fratelli began to stand then halted. He turned replying, “That is your kind of work-not mine.”

Arnold nodded.

“Oh, yes…yes,” he agreed, beginning to stand.

Instantly, Fratelli waved a hand at him saying, “Never mind, sit down, I’ll get it…”

Once Fratelli left the room, Monsignor Barolo peered at Arnold, his expression inquisitive.

“I wonder about that one,” he states.