The Hammer of God

28

F ather Tolbert exited the taxi on Via Condotti, and joined the mix of tourists and locals taking in the Roman favorite pastime of passagiatta, strolling along the streets people watching and window shopping.

Via Condotti, busy, but not too crowded, boasted many of the city’s most fashionable shops and boutiques. Father Tolbert checked his watch.

It was just after lunch, the most important meal in Rome. Most of the shops were closed, and locals who still followed Roman lore, were deep into siesta.

Father Tolbert, hands in his pockets, fingered the rubber ball and hard candy he’d brought with him as bait. He scanned the crowd, nodding with feigned benevolence to each passerby who acknowledged his black suit and white collar, paying particular attention to each adult accompanied by children. Most of the kids he saw were far too young for his taste, although the bright faces and big smiles of even the little ones increased his desire and anticipation. He’d been without a lover longer than he thought he could handle, due mostly to Samuel’s abduction, but mostly because of his trip to Rome. He had no real connections in the city, at least not on its darker side, a disadvantage he planned to change soon.

An hour into his search, with no opportunities at hand, Father Tolbert caught another taxi to the open air market near the center of town. Filled with fresh fruit and flower stands, butchers and fresh fish, the market was fairly busy for a Roman afternoon. The priest stopped at a fruit stand and picked out a large red apple. The owner, a short, stout woman with large forearms, refused to let him pay.

“Grazie, grazie,” said Father Tolbert, thanking her. “Bless you.” The woman, near toothless, smiled and offered him more fruit, but he graciously declined and continued his search, taking note of each young boy as he strolled through the food-filled menagerie eating the apple.

Father Tolbert knew he could easily meet his needs in the red light district, but young male prostitutes provided only temporary satisfaction, and couldn’t give him the closeness, the tenderness of a child turned his way.

He dropped his half eaten apple on the ground. His jaw fell, his eyes widened. My God, it’s him! Samuel! Standing fifty feet from him, dressed in a soiled white apron and black cap was Samuel. The priest’s legs went weak, but he managed to take a few steps toward the fish stand where Samuel was working. He tried to get the boy’s attention, but each time he made eye contact, Samuel turned away and continued to help a dark-skinned man with serious eyes and no nonsense jaw at the fish stand.

“Eduardo,” the man called, without looking at the boy.

“Si, Papa?” the boy answered.

“Get Signore Ugo ten fresh eel, rapidamente!”

“Si, Papa, rapidamente!”

“Eduardo?” Father Tolbert whispered. It’s not him. It’s not my Samuel.

Father Tolbert eased closer to the fish stand, keeping an eye on the thick necked Italian, who he assumed to be Eduardo’s father, but continued to focus heavily on the boy who could’ve passed for Samuel’s twin.

“Posso esserte utile desidera, Padre?” asked the thick Italian. “May I help you, Father?”

“No thank you. Just looking, Signore.”

“Ahhhh, Americano!” the man answered, his heavy demeanor transforming to one of delight.

“Yes,” said Father Tolbert. “I’m an American. Please excuse me my Italian is not so good.”

“Don’t worry, Father, we speak some English. It means money around here.”

Both men laughed, as Eduardo appeared from behind a drape with a fresh box of eel.

“And who is this fine lad?” asked the priest.

“Please, excuse Padre. My name is Armanno DiRisio, because my father and my father’s father were soldiers. I, sir, am not. And this is my son, Eduardo, because one day he will be a very rich man.” Eduardo gave a wide smile. “Si, Papa, very rich.” Father Tolbert introduced himself. Amazing, if I didn’t know it couldn’t be true, I’d swear this was my Samuel. Awestruck, he had to work not to stare at the boy too long or hard, not wanting his attraction conspicuous.

“Eduardo, give me the eel, and keep Father Tolbert company while I take care of Signore Ugo.”

Eduardo handed his father the box. The priest took a piece of candy from his pocket, knelt down and handed it to the boy. Eduardo thanked him, and pulled off his cap to reveal thick locks of jet-black hair, unlike Samuel’s dirty brown, but sported the same soft blue eyes. The longer Father Tolbert looked, the more enchanted he became. If he couldn’t have Samuel, this replacement would do.

“You’re a very handsome boy, Eduardo,” beamed the priest.

“Thank you, Father. Papa says I’m smart too,” said Eduardo, slipping the lemon-lime candy in his mouth, smiling.

Father Tolbert glanced over at Armanno, who finished his business with Mr. Ugo, and was attending to the next customer, an old woman wearing a black scarf and gray shawl, who couldn’t seem to make up her mind.

The priest reached in his pocket. “Do you like sports?” he asked Eduardo, gripping the rubber sphere.

“Si, Padre, I like baseball, but Papa says football is the game I should play.”

Father Tolbert knew Eduardo was referring to the game of soccer, and smiled at the opportunity. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for Eduardo to keep quiet. He slipped the ball from his pocket to the boy.

Eduardo’s eyes widened, his face brightened.

“I like baseball too,” said Father Tolbert. “We can play catch sometimes, but let’s keep the ball our secret.” Father Tolbert looked over at Eduardo’s father, who was still consumed with the old woman. He smiled at the boy. Eduardo laughed.

The priest put the boy’s hat back on his head, whispered in Eduardo’s ear that he had a baseball glove he could have, and would get it to him soon.

Eduardo gave Father Tolbert a hug. The priest folded another piece of hard candy, cherry this time, in the boy’s hand and kissed him on the forehead. Armanno finally finished with the old woman. Father Tolbert stood.

“Signore DiRisio, you have a fine son,” he said, walking over and shaking the elder DiRisio’s hand.

“Thank you, Padre,” said Armanno, proud, his barrel chest out.

“I think he’d make a fine altar boy at the Vatican,” said Father Tolbert, looking over at the boy.

Armanno’s face froze in shock. “My boy at il Vaticano?”

“Well, we can at least start the process,” said Father Tolbert. “I’ll need to spend time interviewing him. Preparing him before any formal application can be made.”

“Yes, of course,” beamed Armanno. “Just tell us what to do, and where to be.”

Father Tolbert took down their information and gave them his. He shook Armanno’s hand, said goodbye to Eduardo, and gave the boy a wink.

“Dio la benedica!” cried Armanno, waving as the priest walked away.

“Yes,” mused Father Tolbert, “God bless you too.”