Piece#1_Different

      

Different

A nun snuffs candles hanging behind me on the back wall of the church. With every extinguished candle, tall dark figures blanket the frescoed walls, travertine columns, and gilded ceiling and domes overhead. I wrap my stole tighter around my head like I used to do as a boy when night fell, and toys turned into monsters. The nun moves around the church completing her chores for the night, extinguishing candle after candle. I watch as her grey habit hangs loosely around her aged body made frail from years of service. Her matching wimple crooked on her head. She walks again past me, holding a lantern, dangling perilously beside her. She walks slowly as she takes in my figure, looking at me, this man, hunched over, kneeling alone in the dark. I turn away from her squinting stare, brows furrowed in disapproval. If only she knew why I was kneeling there, she’d throw me out in an instant. Looking down at my own dirt stained pants, I can feel her eyes moving over me, taking in my unshaven face, and unruly hair. She raises her lantern up closer towards my head causing beads of sweat to build up around my brow, threatening my vision. It’s hot but I don’t move.

Me:

Nun: Tutto Bene?

Me: Yes.

She steps back into the aisle relieving me of the torturous lantern. She doesn’t ask any more questions. Probably assuming by now that I was just another dumb American and a waste of time. Whatever trouble I was in, she was no longer interested in helping. She walks down the aisle and resumes her path towards the altar.

Nun: Il signore. Perdonarmi. Il es un criminale, un valgara, un zingaro.

 For the most part I understand nothing. Except I could have sworn that that last word I heard her say meant, “gypsy.”