A peccato meo munda me [Blot out my transgressions] -2/4
Pete doesn’t give a damn of religion and monks and Popes and Gods. He’s been forced by his father to deal every other week with the monks, to help both the village and the monastery . Most of all he can’t stand the monks: in his opinion, they all think they’re better than common people because of their contact with God and some other bullshit. They always treat him with arrogance whenever he goes at the monastery to deliver stuff made by the people of the village; he also hates their avarice when they have to give him the food and the medicines for the village, every week the quantity decrease vaguely but he notices, oh yes, he notices, but to prevent a major drama he shuts up. And they also pretend that poor people like Pete and his family offer some money to secure a place in heaven! Lies! It’s just for them, to live in luxury! Where is the Christian charity? Didn’t God or Jesus tell everybody has to help the neighbor and live in poverty?
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Pete sighs for the whole trip from the village to the monastery, he’s always sighed and he’ll keep sighing until he’ll finally be free to ditch religion.
With his oxcart he arrives at the main door of the monastery, and after a nod at the guard monk he can get in, (not) ready to face the ruby nose and round stomach of monk Julian, the pantry attendant; luckily for him the monk is not there yet, for once, so he can try to work on his patience and not risk to bite the other’s head off at the first word he says.
Waiting for the drunk monk to arrive, Pete looks around, ignoring the boring grey stones and brown wood of the entrance, paying more attention to the arches of the porch and to the nice garden of the cloister. There’s only a tiny monk between the plants, bended down to take care of some plants, a basket a few feet away, giving his back to Pete.
Pete is going to look somewhere else when he notices the little monk turn and head to the basket to put whatever he just picked. It’s the apparition of an angel that wants to try to convince Pete to believe in God again, there’s no other explanation. The guy stares in awe at the features of the petite monk, he wants to seal them in his memory with fire, from the reddish hair to the cherry lips to the pale skin.
“There’re only two crates of zucchini, a barrel of olives and three generic medicines available, I’m sorry,” the monotone (and not sorry) voice of monk Julian informs Pete, startling him; the guy was so focused on absorbing every particular of the young monk in the garden, that he didn’t even think of some harsh comment about Julian’s avarice.
The round monk leaves without another word, letting Pete load the oxcart without any help; his eyes wander more often than not to the little monk, who’s still busy taking care of the plants.
Once he’s done, Pete doesn’t want to leave the monastery yet, he needs to know at least the monk’s name.
‘Now or never,’ he thinks, before heading to the cloister. Approaching the monk, Pete can faintly hear a soft tune, some music possibly muttered by the monk himself.
“Erm…Excuse me, Father?”
The young monk looks up with his clear eyes, not singing anymore: Pete notices he’s blushing madly, but he himself is a close call.
“I-I’m not a Father, I’m a simple novice…” the monk stutters embarrassed.
“Oh…ehm, well, I…I just wanted to know if there’s something I can help you with?” the tanned guy asks tentatively, “I-I already prepared the cart and…I was wondering if there’s more stuff to take to the village or…if you need something…” he adds, fidgeting with his worn out hat.
“N-No, it’s okay, thank you…” the short monk says, looking everywhere but Pete.
“Okay…ehm…have a good day, err…what’s your name?” the brunette asks shyly.
“Patrick,” the other replies in a tiny voice.
“Have a good day, Patrick. Praise the Lord,” the guy says, cringing a bit at what he just said and turning to leave the monastery.
Pete returns fast to the oxcart, embarrassed at extreme levels, muttering “oh my God” like a mantra.
“Hey,” somebody shouts, “what’s your name?”
The brunette is already sitting on the oxcart, harness in his hands; he turns and sees the young monk looking at him, holding his rake nervously. He replies, “Pete,” before waving goodbye and heading back to the village.
The main door just closed behind Pete’s back, so he can’t see monk Michael pop out of nowhere, hit Patrick’s head and look at him angrily, scolding the poor boy, “Why are you shouting? Work in silence!”
“Sorry, Father…” Patrick replies instinctively, fighting the urge to rub the hurting spot on his head.
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Pete and Patrick don’t know it, but they dream of each other that night and for the following nights, the first in the crowded bedroom of his house, the second in his solitary cell.
On one hand there’s Pete, who has become a professional of getting off in silence: he doesn’t want that his siblings or parents wake up and punish him for sinning. Nobody has ever made him feel that way: sure, it happened that cute girls and boys stimulated his fantasy and he ended aiming for relief in his lower region, but he’s pretty confident to have fallen for Patrick at the first sight.
Patrick, on the other hand, has always lived secluded in the monastery, surrounded by older brethrens; the Masses were the only chance for him to see other people, but he had to pay attention and pray and sing, and once they were over he had to return in the boring monastery, back to his repetitive activities. He was literally shocked when he became aware of how that unknown guy of the village who delivered and collected goods made him feel, it almost scared him to notice how his body reacted, and not being able to get some relief was almost painful.
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A week passes. Pete doesn’t want to admit it, but for the first time he’s waiting impatiently to enter the heavy wooden main door of the monastery; on the other side of the walls Patrick can’t wait to see the familiar oxcart and the dark haired guy in the driver’s seat.
The heavy door opens. Patrick is casually in the garden right when Pete hops off the cart to deliver supplies.
They spend weeks stealing glances and smiling shyly at each other.
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