Peter was kept en Prison; boot earnest prayer for him was made to God by the church.
[He moved through like a centurion rising to the very foot of the altar, standing before the great cross before kissing his thumb and bending on one knee.]
O God, ye sanctified thaes day by th' martyrdoom o' yer apostles Peter ahn Paul; grant thaet this yer church may follow en all things th' precepts o' those through whom she received th' fundamentals o' oor religion. Through.
[And turning, he faced the blind, taking both hands in his.]
Peter ahn John went oop tae th' temple at the hour of prayer, th' ninth hour.
Ah have nae silver ahn gold, boot ah give ye what ah have. Th' angel said tae Peter, "Dress yerself ahn follow me."
"Do ye love mae Peter? Tend mae sheep." "Lord, ye ken thaet ah love ye."
Sae thaen ye ar' no longer strangers ahn sojourners, boot ye ar' fellow citizens wit' th' saints ahn members o' th' household o' God, built upon the foundation of the apostles ahn prophets, Christ Jesus bein' the cornerstone himself.
[Anderson's recount was a fresh breath in the asphyxiation that was the Church's constant silence. Make time for quiet moments as God whispers and the world is loud, his shepherd had oft reminded him in his youth. Yet the sound of silence roused his restlessness and spurned his thoughts to places he would rather not tread.]
We would be with Il Papa John Paul about this time... Walking to the Baldacchino... meeting down at the grotto.
[Lifting a sightless gaze it was obvious he was reminiscing of more gilded times.]
[He touched his palm to the other's cheek, closing his own eyes for a moment to envision the sounds of the Basilica; the smell of the Archives; the benevolence and warmth that always greeted him on the door step of his Holiness' chambers whenever he gained audience during the summer days in Rome.]
[Not an inch of recoil. Not even a flinch as he was touched. Maxwell was staring into nothingness, but the baroque architecture and the scents of incense were intense in his mind.]
I can still hear the Schola chanting... and Grandioso L'organo shuddering my insides.
[Reaching up, he brushed his own brow as if he felt something missing there.]
[Fingertips brushed as light as ghosts on the ends of where lashes would have been, tracing down the edge of a sharp cheekbone.]
..Et's nae gone. Ye migh' lang fer et...Boot et's righ there wit' ye.
[A slight grimace--he knew Maxwell had once been looking forward to that. The time of the year must have made it more difficult to stomach that they were in some godforsaken place...Surrounded by non-believers and heretics.]
[It was better than being dead. The crusader had to keep reminding himself. Yet another part negotiated that Hell might just have been a little more lenient. He was beginning to forget the things that mattered more to him. Beginning to forget what it was like...
...To be in complete control of every aspect of his life and the lives of myriads below him.
For Anderson, Maxwell ridding himself of those desires would have been seen as a blessing. For the Archbishop it was like losing a limb.]
Things were far worse.. Before you came, Anderson.
[It was shocking, to say the least, that his icy ward could even come to admit such a heartfelt thing. The priest had fought so long, so hard for him to even get him to give an inch that he just...Couldn't come to bear with the thought that perhaps the reason he was offering this statement like a last testament to his will was because he was giving up.]
[It did not occur to him right away that he may have let something... remotely endearing slip past his lips. Yet in it's most detached form, those words were true. Maxwell was floundering and on the brink of death numerous times before Anderson had arrived.
And When he did, the priest found but a withered shell of a man. Hardly a man but more of a ghost. Anemic and macerated. The epitome of a soul in famine. Since that day, Anderson had tended to his lost little lamb till he was a glimmer of the regal Prince of the Church he had left behind... before Midian had taken that crusader from him.
Dipping his brow solemnly, curls of gold tresses cascading over Maxwell's shoulders, his sublime lilt dropped to a hush.]
I was brought into our world with nothing.
I went with nothing.
...Something in me wants to believe there is... something.. anything I might have.. now that I am in this world with you.
[Another shock trilled through his seven-foot frame, shaking him to the very core. Tremors of tension lined his throat, which made it difficult for him to swallow, let alone breathe. He wanted...To express...To say something that might facilitate warmth and kindness, but the shepherd felt strained, even weary, despite his so-called fortitude. The moment he'd crossed over from Midian, it was deeply ingrained in him.
Affection..While he gave it freely....At times he found it difficult to receive, especially from the man in front of him. But for the sake of sanity, if nothing else, he clasped his fellow clergyman's hand firmly, slowly lowering in front of him on his knees.]
[He moved through like a centurion rising to the very foot of the altar, standing before the great cross before kissing his thumb and bending on one knee.]
O God, ye sanctified thaes day by th' martyrdoom o' yer apostles Peter ahn Paul; grant thaet this yer church may follow en all things th' precepts o' those through whom she received th' fundamentals o' oor religion. Through.
[And turning, he faced the blind, taking both hands in his.]
Peter ahn John went oop tae th' temple at the hour of prayer, th' ninth hour.
Ah have nae silver ahn gold, boot ah give ye what ah have. Th' angel said tae Peter, "Dress yerself ahn follow me."
"Do ye love mae Peter? Tend mae sheep." "Lord, ye ken thaet ah love ye."
Sae thaen ye ar' no longer strangers ahn sojourners, boot ye ar' fellow citizens wit' th' saints ahn members o' th' household o' God, built upon the foundation of the apostles ahn prophets, Christ Jesus bein' the cornerstone himself.
Amen.
Reply
[Anderson's recount was a fresh breath in the asphyxiation that was the Church's constant silence. Make time for quiet moments as God whispers and the world is loud, his shepherd had oft reminded him in his youth. Yet the sound of silence roused his restlessness and spurned his thoughts to places he would rather not tread.]
We would be with Il Papa John Paul about this time... Walking to the Baldacchino... meeting down at the grotto.
[Lifting a sightless gaze it was obvious he was reminiscing of more gilded times.]
Reply
...Aye. Ah remember et well.
Reply
I can still hear the Schola chanting... and Grandioso L'organo shuddering my insides.
[Reaching up, he brushed his own brow as if he felt something missing there.]
Hah.. I might have even received my pallium then.
Reply
..Et's nae gone. Ye migh' lang fer et...Boot et's righ there wit' ye.
[A slight grimace--he knew Maxwell had once been looking forward to that. The time of the year must have made it more difficult to stomach that they were in some godforsaken place...Surrounded by non-believers and heretics.]
E-et's nae sae bad, es et? Bein' here?
Reply
...To be in complete control of every aspect of his life and the lives of myriads below him.
For Anderson, Maxwell ridding himself of those desires would have been seen as a blessing. For the Archbishop it was like losing a limb.]
Things were far worse.. Before you came, Anderson.
[The horrors he could recall.]
Part of me is at ease for that blessing.
Reply
[It was shocking, to say the least, that his icy ward could even come to admit such a heartfelt thing. The priest had fought so long, so hard for him to even get him to give an inch that he just...Couldn't come to bear with the thought that perhaps the reason he was offering this statement like a last testament to his will was because he was giving up.]
Enrico....
Reply
[It did not occur to him right away that he may have let something... remotely endearing slip past his lips. Yet in it's most detached form, those words were true. Maxwell was floundering and on the brink of death numerous times before Anderson had arrived.
And When he did, the priest found but a withered shell of a man. Hardly a man but more of a ghost. Anemic and macerated. The epitome of a soul in famine. Since that day, Anderson had tended to his lost little lamb till he was a glimmer of the regal Prince of the Church he had left behind... before Midian had taken that crusader from him.
Dipping his brow solemnly, curls of gold tresses cascading over Maxwell's shoulders, his sublime lilt dropped to a hush.]
I was brought into our world with nothing.
I went with nothing.
...Something in me wants to believe there is... something.. anything I might have.. now that I am in this world with you.
Reply
Affection..While he gave it freely....At times he found it difficult to receive, especially from the man in front of him. But for the sake of sanity, if nothing else, he clasped his fellow clergyman's hand firmly, slowly lowering in front of him on his knees.]
Ah'd give ye mae life, ef ye asked fer et.
Reply
Leave a comment