In Absentia - adapted

IN ABSENTIA

“Where is he?” Archbishop Emílio Mancini asked, after greeting monk Rufino, the director of the monastery.

“In his cell, Eminence, in reclusion. Father Antonio doesn’t eat and only drinks water for more than three weeks”, said the monk. “I called you because maybe you can dissuade him of this suicidal attitude”.

Mancini raised his eyebrows. Suicide didn’t combine with Antonio’s personality. He remembered the energy Antonio had when he came to Rome as a novice. He was one of his best pupils in decades. No, he couldn’t believe in what the monk was telling him.

The room was in dimness. The hour of the Ângelus was approaching. Father Antonio was standing up, with his back to the door, looking outside through a small window. On the table, close to the wall at the left side of the room, his dinner was intact.

Noticing the archbishop’s arrival, Antonio turned over. Mancini almost couldn’t recognize him. The deep and with dark circles eyes and the thinness of his body, easily shown through the clothes that didn’t look like his, in nothing reminded him of the man he had saw the last time just a year ago.

“Well, I’m leaving you alone”. The monk left, closing the door of the cell behind him.

“You came”, Antonio said and his voice got out as a whisper. “Why?”

“Monk Rufino is worried with you. He told me you want to kill yourself”.

“That’s why you came”, the tone sounding more like a confirmation than a question.

Looking Antonio directly in the eyes, the archbishop asked:

“What’s going on, Antonio?”

Sitting in the rude bed of the cell, the father returned the look of his friend and said:

“He is not going to win. I can dispose of my life. I’m not going to let Him take this decision as well.”

Mancini looked at the priest thoughtfully. It is true indeed what certain philosophers say. The hearts that love too much are easily susceptible to extreme hate and anger.

“I loved her, Emilio.”

“But if you stayed together she would be execrated. Her family, Antonio, would never accept a relationship with a priest, or even an ex-priest.”

“The same way you did not accept it.”

“I thought you would never be able to do that.”

“To do what, Emilio? To love?”

“No. To break your vows, your belief, to live without Him. You were, or better saying, still is one of the best priests I know. You have a deep love for God and you show it in all your gestures or attitudes.”

Father Antonio smiled, lowing down his head.

“I didn’t betray my belief. I believe in love. I just found that He doesn’t know how to love. He is selfish and vengeful.”

Mancini sat down in the only chair in the room. His face was pale. When he learned what had happened with Antonio, the decision of the Council to release him of his sacerdotal functions and isolate him in the Monastery, he deliberately decided to not go for him. He knew how hard that isolation would be for a living soul as his, that practiced his faith in an active way, inside of the communities, among the more needed ones. But he also thought that, at that moment he was being tested, a retired place where he could find himself and the power of the faith inside him it would be very important.

“Your isolation here is temporary, Antonio. And that is for your own good.”

Antonio raised his eyes and, fixing the archbishop, he slowly said:

“Was it also good for me the abortion of our son?”

“I... I didn’t know that ...”

“Of course,” the priest interrupted him, “I sent you a brief, asking you to help me and to let me see her. Brief that you disregard.”

“I thought it was a set back and I couldn’t stimulate you. But ... ”

“How did I discover? It was by chance. That’s how I thought in the beginning. The son of Mrs. Duarte is a monk here in the monastery and I learned through him that Nicola’s father was obliging her to have an abortion because he would never accepted a bastard under his roof, specially from a priest. And a priest who just ran away.”

Slowly shaking his head, Antonio went on: “You were right anyway, Emilio. Nicola was desperate and she couldn’t communicate with me because the actual priest of the parish refused to give her any information about myself. As I haven’t searched for her anymore she thought she couldn’t count on me for anything. I thought it was a wonderful coincidence that the monk here was the son of my ex-householder, but now I know that everything was only part of His plan of revenge.”

“What are you saying? How can you affirm this?” Asked Mancini astonished with the sentiments he was seeing flowing from Antonio.

“After I realised I couldn’t do anything for her I asked Him to find a solution and to not let an innocent being sacrificed for a mistake that was mine only. But it was useless. He had already thought in everything and wished to show me that I had to love only Him and that this love can’t be shared with nothing else. He doesn’t accept rivals.” Standing up and turning again to the window, Antonio continued: “But I will show Him that I’m not a marionette submitted to His oddities. He won’t play with me anymore because I took the wheels of my life.” He said, with the eyes now fixed in the wooden crucifix hanging from the wall.

“No Antonio, no. I didn’t know anything about this, but look on the other side. He also sent me here, maybe to show you that He has not abandoned you.”

Mancini approached Antonio and resting a hand on his shoulders he said softly:

“I have always considered you a son. I never let you alone though some times it could look like so. I love you and I can’t let you destroy yourself like that.”

Without turning, the priest answered:

“If you really love me, let me go the way I’ve chosen. At the moment I’ve turned myself against Him, Emilio, my soul has gone. What is left is a body that is slowly fading. Don’t interrupt this process, my dearest friend.”

“I’m going to look for Nicola immediately, Antonio, and help her in any way I can and I’m also give you a parish back. Your faith will return.”

The bells of the chapel sounded the six hours. Antonio turned slowly and Emilio could notice that his eyes were full of water.

“It’s too late, Emílio. Nicola died on that day, together with our son.”


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