The Hammer of God

21

T he sound and smell of frying sausage and eggs elbowed its way into Samuel’s senses, coaxing the semi-conscious boy awake. He sat up quickly, eyes closed, wincing from the numbing aches in his shoulders, face and neck. The tantalizing aroma faded, replaced by a severe pounding in his head, and throbbing pain in every muscle in his body.

Samuel groaned, and fought the urge to cry.

“Ahhhh, little one, you’re finally awake,” said a barely familiar Italian voice. “And just in time.”

Samuel took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. Even his eyelids hurt. The light in the room was dim, but still more than his corneas were prepared to withstand, and the rush of light increased his headache and set his eyes a flood.

“I thought you’d never wake up,” said the man, who Samuel finally recognized from the alley.

“Where am I?” asked Samuel, groggy, grouchy, wiping away the tears.

“You’re in the home of Luciano Delphi, as my guest.” Samuel shook off the fog and sat up further. The headache softened, his vision adjusted, and he scanned the small, sparsely furnished apartment with bare walls, except for a crucifix, what looked like a photo of Luciano’s family, and a picture of the Pope. He slid down off the tattered, brown plaid couch, but shooting pains and cramps in his legs sent his head swimming and he flopped back down.

“How long have I been here?” Samuel groaned, looking out the front window at what appeared to be a clear afternoon sky.

“Close to two days,” Luciano chuckled. “I was getting afraid you might never wake up. You woke up several times screaming, but fell back to sleep each time. That fight in the alley must have really shaken you up.”

Samuel remembered the fight, which was the reason his muscles ached and throbbed so badly. He thought he was going to die right there in the alley, when Luciano mercifully showed up and saved his life.

Luciano placed a plate of Italian sausage and eggs on a small wicker table with matching chairs. “Come, my friend, sit and eat.” Samuel ignored the pain and quickly took a seat in front of the steaming plate. Luciano laughed and mussed up Samuel’s hair. “Tell Luciano your name.”

“Samuel, Samuel Napier.”

Luciano boomed again with laughter. “I like it. It’s a fine name for a fine boy.”

Hunger replaced the pain in Samuel’s legs, as he stared at the steaming plate like he hadn’t seen food in six months. Luciano sat across from Samuel, the food on his own plate twice that of the starving ten year old. Samuel snatched up his fork, saliva swelling behind his lips.

Luciano tapped the table with his sausage-like fingers. “Mind your manners, little one. First, let’s give God His due.” Samuel slowly, reluctantly, put his fork back down and bowed his head. He listened as Luciano prayed, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel God’s presence. He felt far away, he felt betrayed.

“Amen,” finished Luciano.

Without saying a word, Samuel shoveled eggs and sausage into his mouth like a mad dog, gagging several times. He finished so fast he looked up at Luciano, ashamed. But the Italian just laughed, prepared another plate, poured Samuel a large glass of orange juice and resumed his seat.

“Slow down little one. We have plenty.”

This time Samuel took his time, but as he ate, a thought hit him. “Do you have a phone?” he asked, anxiously.

“Sorry, Samuel, but alas, Luciano has no phone. I make most of my calls at the phone center in the middle of town. Most people around here do.”

Disappointed, Samuel chewed slower, but soon brightened and felt encouraged. Although he was still far away from home, he had managed to escape his captures, and couldn’t help but feel relieved that soon he’d be back home.

“I have to get to the American Embassy,” he told Luciano, eggs falling out of his mouth.

“So you told me back in the alley,” said Luciano. “Tell me, what’s going on?”

Samuel washed down his breakfast with a long drink of juice, rested back in the wicker chair, and told the Italian everything, beginning to end. He stopped several times to wet his dry throat, but covered each detail to the obvious chagrin of Luciano, who interrupted along the way with verbal Italian bursts that Samuel was sure amounted to total amazement.

“But why would priests and nuns do such a thing?” Luciano ranted.

“Why?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out for myself,” said Samuel. “All I know is that I have to go to the Embassy, so I can get home.” Luciano stroked his beard, stood and paced the room, finally resting a hard gaze on Samuel that sent a shiver through his tiny body. “This is very serious, Samuel. To lie on the holy ones of the Church is blasphemy.”

Samuel’s eyes welled up. His lip quivered. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Luciano’s face softened. “If what you say is true, little one, then you are still in grave danger. Whoever took you is still looking for you.” A sudden knock at the door startled Samuel. Luciano opened it, and a beautiful olive skinned woman strolled inside, all smiles and kisses for Luciano. “I see our little guest is bright-eyed and awake,” she said, walking over and giving Samuel soft wet kisses on each cheek.

“This is Dianora, a good friend, who volunteered to watch over you while I ran errands several times. She took good care of you.” Samuel thanked Dianora, unable to take his eyes off her. The dress she wore clung close to her body, accenting every curve. Braless, he could make out her thick dark nipples, which caused a twitch between his legs.

“Our little friend’s name is Samuel, and he has quite a story to tell,” said Luciano. “We must get him to the American Embassy later tonight.”

“Tonight,” chimed Samuel. “Why not right now, right away?”

“Because the people looking for you will have the Embassy watched.

It’ll be much safer and easier to get you there under the cover of darkness.”

It made sense to Samuel, but all the same, he wanted to get it over with. He wanted to go home.

“Listen to Luciano,” said Dianora, her eyes sultry, penetrating. “He won’t lead you wrong.”

Samuel resigned himself to waiting and turned his attention back to the plate in front of him, while Luciano and Dianora stepped outside to talk. A few minutes later, Luciano came back inside alone.

“Dianora will drive us to the Embassy later tonight. We’ll hide you on the floor in back of the car and rush you inside,” said Luciano.

Samuel could barely swallow his last bite. He jumped from his seat and rushed over to Luciano, crashing into the husky Italian, almost knocking him down. Tears filled Samuel’s eyes and he cried. “Thank you,” he said, sniffling. “Thank you very much.”

“Now, now, little one,” said Luciano, his own voice raspy. “We’ll have none of that. Get cleaned up. We don’t want to take you home dirty, now do we?”

Samuel finally let Luciano go and wiped his eyes. The Italian pointed him to the bedroom. “There are clean towels on the bed in my room, and the bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll clean the kitchen, and then we can play checkers and chess while we wait.” Samuel, excited, skipped down the hall. He found the towels on the bed as Luciano instructed, and noticed a group of pictures on the nightstand. One was a photo of a much younger Luciano, standing next to a gray haired woman Samuel guessed to be his mother. Samuel smiled. Soon, I’ll be home with my mom.

Samuel turned to head for the bathroom and glanced out the window.

His eyes fell on a sight that sent his knees shaking. Sister Bravo and Father Sin exited a black Mercedes across the street, and were headed toward Luciano’s building.