Father Josephus (short story)

    “God bless you my dear friend. I will miss you tremendously but will see you soon again. Even I don't live in eternity!”

   Father Josephus kissed the forehead of his life long companion Father Lubertus before the undertaker closed the lid of the coffin.

    How long did they stay here together in the Monastery? Brethren for much longer than he remembered; and he made the sign of the cross.

With his hands folded in front of his chest, his thin lips murmured a prayer, then he took his walking stick and followed the coffin. The porters walked very slowly which wasn't an easy task; the diseased was until his death, a very big and heavy man. But Father Josephus who was very old, refused with great certainty the wheel chair some caring soul brought him and they did not want him to lose his balance.

    They crossed the large and impressive chapel where a few ladies from the village sang Latin prayers. Their voices faded on their way to the high vaults where the angels folded their wings round the sound to carry it to Heaven.

The beautifully decorated brass chandeliers that glowed like pure gold and once carried large candles, moved softly when the procession walked by, as if they paid their respect to Father Lubertus and in a promise to look after Father Josephus as long as needed.

   The very few people in the procession pretended not to see the tears that softly ran down the old Brother's cheeks following the many fine lines in his face until they dripped on his habit which turned over the years from bright white to a soft equal grey. The large cross and the rosary at his belt moved with each irregular step. A lady from the village wanted to support Father Josephus and took his trembling hand but he waved her away; this was his very last walk with his friend and he wanted to do it all on his own. The day that he was going to need help, was rapidly approaching, he knew that very well. But now he walked.

   The service at the grave was very simple. After a long life dedicated to the Catholic church with all it's rituals, prayers and hymns, the incense and candles, both Brethren - the only two left in the Monastery that once was home to 200 of their colleagues - decided long ago that if one of them was going to stay behind the service for the other had to be minimalistic.

    The tears of Father Josephus were not minimalistic and he did not care. Everybody was allowed to see his sadness about the loss of his friend. He knew that his age also allowed him to cry, elderly people were more emotional than younger ones. Never could he explain nor wanted he to, the pain in his heart.

   He raised his hand with the blue vanes which shone through the almost translucent skin with the brown liver spots, to sign the porters it was time to lower the coffin to lay Father Lubertus in his final resting place amongst all those Brethren that went before him.

    He tried to raise his voice when he thanked every one for being here and if they did not mind to leave him alone. And yes he would be careful on his way back to the chapel.

The people left one by one, taking their human sounds like coughing, voices and footsteps with them until there was total silence in the graveyard. Even the birds did not sing. Bees and butterflies sat on stones and flowers without moving.

    Father Josephus put his stick against a gravestone behind him before he held the stone next to the grave of his friend with both hands. Then he kneeled, ignoring the pain in his joints and not knowing if he was able to rise again without help. But he needed to do this, he needed to sit next to the open grave in the soft fresh earth that was dug and that now besmirched his habit. But in his grief he did not notice it.

   Very slowly he lifted his hands from the gravestone and folded them in his lap. His restless fingers looked for the rosary, a custom he wasn't aware off, and touched each bead one by one. His lips moved but not in a prayer; all prayers were said over and over again. Prayers from a book, prayers that were the same for all Brethren; no personal words to God and today was not the right day.

    Today, Father Lubertus thought, was the day to look back on a long, very long life with the man he loved and who was more than a brother to him.

Was it a forbidden love? He thought so but could not remember it well. It was as with a long marriage: passion became friendship but in a very special way. You knew each others customs, you knew you could rely on your partner. You knew his words before he spoke them and recognized every emotion. Every step and every move became yours. You breathed the same air and the beat of two hearts was one. If that was forbidden love then the answer was yes.

   A love never to be spoken out loud let alone practised. Both men could say in all honesty that they never sinned against the will of the Catholic church.

But was this also the will of God? He discussed this with Father Lubertus who was like himself, brought up in a Catholic family which offered at least one son or daughter to the Monasteries, something that was never questioned. Not by the parents, nor the children, nor the Prior or Prioress. The children seldom arrived without a lot of money donated by their rich parents. Father Lubertus and Father Josephus were no exception.

   When they were in their twenties with the feelings of healthy young men, they asked each other for the very fist time if celibacy was indeed the will of God instead of the church. The discussions went on for years but became less important with ageing. These were the times you did not leave the Monastery to go back to the world outside; leaving was a disgrace for church ánd family.

    But when the years went by and brethren died and no new young men joined the order, it was if their earlier doubts were confirmed. The world changed, they even heard of Catholic priests being married and how furious the Pope was about this sin. Still, it was too late. Too late to leave the Monastery, too late to speak out loud their love for each other and too late to return home because there was no home any more. Both were extremely old, almost a century!

With all their best will and energy they lived the lives they always lived in an empty cold and deserted building where even their footsteps were not heard any more.

   

  

Photo: @abandonment_issuez (Instagram)

Father Josephus still sat near the grave when the gravedigger arrived.

The hands still folded but the fingers did not touch the beads any more. The translucent skin was white and the blue vanes frozen in a black colour.

The tears of the days before dried and the soft ground from the grave was turned into sand that blew in the wind with the same pace of the grey old habit......

   The wind and rain are also in control of the Monastery which grandeur is fading like the voices that once sang their religious songs and that stopped when the angels folded their wings round the soul of Father Josephus.

Word of thanks: the photo of @abandonment_issuez (Istagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Ricky!

Links: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @abandonment_issuez and his YouTube Account

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen

The End (short story)

   "Ah bellisisma mio... when you are young you don't think about the end!
Life is endless, the end is for Vecchi, old people. The people of whom you think are antiquato, not living in the reality of today. Who are of no use to the world, who cost a lot of money because they do not work anymore. Useless Vecchi, uh?
But you are so wrong, you make an errore!! Did you ever think we were young too? Can you immiginare that we were bambini? With little hands and feet, large brown eyes and theehtless little mouths, depending on the amara and care of our parents? Bambini that were taught to eat and walk?
   For you it is not so long ago bellissima. You only think it is a long time ago because you have been living your life in a very fast ritmo, as if your life would be over soon. So typical for the young people. You are rushing through life and act at the age of fifteen if you have seen the whole world. If you know it all, if there are no sorprese left for you anymore. You are telling us that we need to shut up!
Do you know the espressione inglese "The youth is waisted on the young"?

   Mie scuse bellissima, I know I am a bit harsh on you and I should not because I have been young too. And I too thought that I was wiser than my parents, let alone my grandparents! In fact my grandparents were wiser than my parents! And of course my parents were wiser than I was but I did not understand.
  It is good that you do not think about tomorrow or next year. You need to be young and energico. Your youth is one big rehearsal for your adult life. Aaaahhh.... discovering the little secrets of amare: to kiss and make love. Yes, I am smiling when I think of that time. There were so many hidden corners in the barns of the vineyards that surrounded the little villagio! Noi Italiani have warm blood uh? And the sole is always shining!
And the girls were so very bella! When we were picking the grapes under the warm sole we could not always resist kissing one of the beautiful girls and we promised to see each other again where the adults could not see us. We did not think of our parents as people who did the same when they were young and who knew all the nooks and crannies! You will be surprised to hear that I was caught with Fabia, but too late! She was pregnant already as we found out not long after.
   Are you shocked bellissima? Did you not know that in my villagio half the population was fathered this way? Well, here you are bellissima, you think you know it all but this is still a sorpresa!!

   Today in this modern world it is not a shame anymore, you do not even marry. But I had to marry Fabia and it turned out to be a very good marriage. We got 9 children, il pastore told us that we need to have as many as possible children as good catolici. And we obeyed but also often prayed for money to raise all these children. That is why our youngest Leopoldo moved away from the villagio. He did not understand the rules of the church.

   Aaahh bellissima..... Leopoldo..... he was quite a character! He did it all his own way. He walked days and days to start a new life in a city! But he too grew wiser and one day he returned to start his own business in the villagio in these beautiful hills of Tuscany. It sounds if the villagio was large enough for a new business but that was not the fact. He came back just after Severino, the owner of the Funeral Services, died. Yes, he was not immortal either!
   Leopoldo did not talk about his life in the city, we always thought he must have left a big segreto behind. But he must have had a good income because he paid the widow of Severino a good sum of money.
But the poor donna who was as old and lifeless as the customers of her late husband, did not know what to do with so much money. We still don't know who inherited it or where she spent it on. One of the segreti of the villagio. Maybe you will find it one day??

   Leopoldo was a gentile undertaker who never married. Angry tongues said he was still married but left his wife in the city. Others said he murdered his wife and was now an undertaker to punish himself for what he had done. But the truth was never revealed.

   Leopoldo was not the only one that left the villagio, many others left too but never returned to live here again. The villagers grew too old to work in the vineyards and there was no one to buy the yards from them.
Our villagio became a forgotten corner where Vecchi looked after each other.
And all these Vecchi, once young and beautiful, returned to their babyhood: they were teethless again, walking was very difficult and tripping over was normal, like being toddlers. Some lost their speech and muttered and drooled like bambini. Again they lost control over their muscles and needed large nappies.
   You see bellissima, slow down your pace, you will be back where you started even before you realise you lived a life.

   It was after the last but one old villager died, that Leopoldo left the villagio again. Indeed was Leopoldo the last survivor of generations of persone, he left without a trace. And I could not follow him because I was bound to the cemetery together with everybody else that was buried here.

   We watched him parking his beautiful old coaches which served us all followed by famiglia and amici.
Once we walked behind them ourselves and all were carried here in the same black coaches with the carved ornaments on top, the pillars with the gold painted crowns, the large wheels that rolled through the dust, the coachman sitting at his high place, guiding the black cavalli to the church for the last farewell.

Photo: @glory.of.disrepair (Instagram)

   Leopoldo did not look back. He crossed the cemetery, stood still for a moment as if he wanted to say addio to us. We saw his lips moving but did not hear words. Then he walked away, we could not stop him and returned to our graves after he was only a tiny black spot, disappearing behind a long forgotten vineyard.

   It is here where my story for you ends, bellissima. "



Word of thanks: the photo of @glory.of.disrepair (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Mathias!

Link: please visit the beautiful Instagram account of @glory.of.disrepair

Note: the story is pure fiction! A figment of my imagination!

Helen