Michelangelo_s Notebook

PACEM

Slowly Sister Benedetta unwound the rosary she kept on her right wrist and clutched it in both clasped hands. She stared at the stone and whispered the old prayer of the popes that had amounted to the young woman’s last words before she threw herself into the sea:

“It is sweet music to the ear to say:

I honor you, O Mother!

It is a sweet song to repeat:

I honor you, O holy Mother!

You are my delight, dear hope, and chaste love,

my strength in all adversities.

If my spirit

that is troubled

and stricken by passions

suffers from the painful burden

of sadness and weeping,

if you see your child overwhelmed by misfortune,

O gracious Virgin Mary,

let me find rest in your motherly embrace.

But alas,

already the last day is quickly approaching.

Banish the demon to the infernal depths,

and stay closer, dear Mother,

to your aged and erring child.

With a gentle touch,

cover the wary pupils

and kindly consign to God

the soul that is returning to him.

Amen.”

The wind grew louder as it swept through the trees, answering her, and for a single moment of peace, the faith of her childhood returned and she felt the joy of God once more. Then it faded with the rolling gust and the tears flowed down her cheeks unchecked. She thought of Bertoglio, of Filomena and the child. She thought of Katherine, and she thought of the man, the arrogant unholy man who had done this to Katherine and brought her to this end. No prayer of popes for him, only a curse she’d once heard her mother speak so many years ago.

“May you rot in your tomb, may you burst with maggots as you lie dead, may your soul rot into corruption before the eyes of your family and the world. May you be damned for all dark eternity and find no grace except in the cold fires of hell.”