The Angel of Milan (20 page)

             
My emotions ran from one end of the spectrum to the other as I peered into his eyes. At once I was relieved that it was he who had removed it, and then in a fraction of a second, a huge disappointment filled me. You see, I am no better than any other man. We all seek and hope for a glimpse of the unseen. Things that transcend faith—miracles, if you prefer that word. The funny thing is, even if we witness a miracle, it is not long before we question our own witness of the event.

             
“Will you please go and get it? I need to see it again. I may have overlooked something.”

             
“What?”

             
“Del Cielo’s assistant, the woman, Alessandra. I think she is in the picture.”

             
His eyes lit up. 

             
“Certainly, Adama, I’ll be back in a minute!” he said, almost bouncing out the doorway.

             
“Help yourself to a coffee and pastry!” he yelled over his shoulder from the hallway.

             
“Father, just please get the newspaper clipping.”

             
As promised, he returned immediately.

             
“Here it is, right here in my pocket,” he said, while taking it out and unfolding it to hold up for me. Looking at the unfolded clipping, my heart dropped. One of the wrinkles of the folds he had created in the yellowed, dry newsprint actually broke the paper. It ran directly through the face of the woman I had suspected of being Alessandra. The small image was destroyed.

             
“Father, look at the clipping. Your fold runs through the woman’s face.”

             
“Oh my, Adama, I am terribly sorry about that, but look, the whiteout face of Del Cielo is still clear.”

             
“Nothing is clear, unless you mean that a misprint probably caused by dust on the print roller is clear.”

             
I wanted to step away, but I couldn’t help thinking what level of havoc the man might cause if left to his own devices in the Vatican Archive. The thought caused me to place my hand on his shoulder, and laugh before turning away. Maybe it was just as well.

     Strangely, I knew I would have been disappointed no matter who was in that picture. If it were her, I would have lost a part of my soul. If not, I would have lost my glimpse of things unseen.

9
             
             
             
             
             
             
I was in a funk for the rest of the afternoon. The letdown after the most wonderful morning I had spent in a very long time, and Dinard’s incompetence handling the news clipping, made my mood entirely black. It must have been obvious to those around me. No one ventured to have small conversations with me, and I sensed that I was being avoided. As for Dinard, whenever I happened to look in his direction, he had the guilty look of a puppy dog who knows it has done something wrong.

             
All of a sudden, I saw Dinard quickly make a dash from the rectory. I couldn’t imagine what had brought about his manic behavior. However, in honesty, at that moment I really didn’t care. I stayed in the parlor for some time, reading the papers, but secretly brooding about the events of the day.

             
Having exhausted the newsprint, I started up the stairs to my quarters to continue my brooding in private and wait for supper. Behind me, Dinard bounded through the front door like a steam engine, breathing hard, but chugging along just the same.

             
“Wait, Adama! I am terribly sorry about the newspaper clipping, but I thought you had no further use of it.”

             
“Just don’t tell me that you were putting it in a scrapbook!”

             
“What? I don’t understand.”

             
“Never mind. What’s on your mind?”

             
His voice dropped to a whisper, and he drew close to be heard.

             
“I wanted so much to help you with the recovery of the Atonement Lot. However, I find I am of little use in the endeavor, so I thought about what else I could do. Now, please do not be angry with me. I know you see Del Cielo as nothing more than a man, but I have a friend who may be able to tell you more about him.”

             
I thought,
Here we go again
, but remembering my own witch hunt earlier with the news clipping, I entertained his request. My better judgment told me not to, but what the hell? I needed a diversion right now, anyway.

             
“I am not angry with you. Please go on. Who is it you want me to meet?”

             
“Why the blind Rabbi, of course!”

             
“Blind Rabbi who?”

             
“Rabinovici.”

             
An Italian Jew. What a mashugana bunch these were. You would have thought that between the  Dominican Inquisition and Hitler they would have been all but gone. It just goes to show you that the chosen people will not be put aside by the hand of man.

             
“All right, when can we see him?”

             
“Anytime. He is not only blind, he is also ninety-five years old and doesn’t get out much. He is always thankful for a visitor. I have just come from him. I wanted to be sure that it would be alright if I brought you by. You see, he doesn’t like priests.”

             
“I don’t blame him, there are very few that I like, too. For the most part, we are a pious pain in the ass.”

             
“Well, in this case, since you are a friend of mine, he said it would be alright, provided I didn’t make a habit of it.”

             
“How did you come to know him, and why would you trust what he tells you?

             
“I have brought him bread and a few creature comforts over many years. We are friends.”

             
“‘Creature comforts’? If I know you, Dinard, the creature comforts come in a bottle, don’t they?”
     
             
His broad smile took over his round face like a Halloween Jack-O-Lantern.

             
“Adama, when you are the Rabbi’s age, you will think of it as medicine, nothing more.”

             
I was not optimistic that this old, blind Rabbi would be able to provide any useful information about Del Cielo. If the man doesn’t even get out much, and he is blind besides, what could he possibly know about Del Cielo?

             
I explained my concern to Dinard, but he was unmovable on the subject. He assured me again that Rabinovici would be able to tell us something.

             
We agreed to go to Rabinovici’s home that evening. Dinard was happy with that, being able to pack a few necessities for the old man. I was sure that he was not telling me everything there was to know about this old Rabbi, so I pumped him until he spilled his guts.

             
Apparently, he had held back most of what he knew of the old man, given my skeptical nature. I came to find out that this particular Rabbi was somewhat of a mystic in his community, a Kabbalist. In Kabbalah, the functional structure of the sephira (enumerations) channels Divine creative life force, and reveals the unknowable Divine essence to creation. In other words, he was a psychic.

             
I was not taken aback by this; mystics are not unknown to Catholicism, either, considering Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross, to name just two. Their visions and insights are not to be taken lightly.

However, don’t ask any of them to pick a winning race horse; they can’t do it. Their visions, or foresight, are limited to things of a more spiritual nature.

             
In general, I thought most psychics were a bunch of horse crap. They say they are going in cold, but usually their first pronouncements are obvious. “Oh, I have an older male that is making his presence known. Has your Father passed?” The guy he’s talking to is sixty-five years old if he is a day. Hell yea, his father is dead. However, just in case the old man is still hanging on, he quickly goes to Grandpa or a favorite uncle.

             
No, it’s bunko to me. Even the ones who can acquit themselves of not having some knowledge of the deceased are suspect in my book. Just who is it they are getting the information from, and why is grandpa still an old man on the other side? In any event, we would see about Rabbi “Rabinovici.” If he used one of those filthy spirits as a guide, I would have nothing to do with him, and I told Dinard the same in no uncertain words. 

             
Supper was another one of Dinard’s culinary delights—red snapper with chili, tamarind, and lime sauce. I told him in front of everybody that if the priest thing doesn’t work out, there is always the restaurant business. Smiling, he wagged a finger at me.

             
Within an hour, he had the kitchen cleared and shinning, and we were off to see the Rabbi. The address was only a few streets over from St. Andrew, so we had a chance to walk off the snapper.

             
It was a dingy building bordering on squalor, but I was not that surprised knowing there were many poor in the parish. The stairs creaked as we made our way to the third floor in almost darkness. Dinard’s knock on the door brought almost an immediate response.

             
“Come right in, Father, come in, my friend.”

             
Well, he seemed to know who was at his front door. A good sign for a psychic.

     I did not expect fine furniture,  but I was surprised at the austerity of the place. Of course, the blind man did not require the visual aesthetics that the sighted take for granted. There were a few chairs and a single arm table in the room; it was almost totally dark, other than the twilight of the setting sun coming through the small window.

             
“Father, turn on the lamp for you and your friend. It must be getting dark by this time. Please sit; I did not expect you back so soon.”

             
“Rabbi, this is Father Adama, the man I told you about. He has questions about an object he is seeking and those who are also interested in the same object. I told him you may be able to help.”

             
“Maybe, Father, maybe. Come here, Adama, take my hand.”

             
Dinard nodded to me to do as I was asked. I approached the old man and held my hand out for him to take. He reached directly for it and grabbed tight. He never let go, but still was thrown back in his chair. His grip tightened to a point I didn’t think he had in him.