Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. How I wish they were...
Note: Haven't abandoned my other story! Just a side project!
"Dae ye want tae go son?" Anderson had asked him.
"Yes." Enrico had replied without any hesitation.
The priest stared at the child across the 's stare was demanding, unwavering. His lips formed a tight line. His eyes burned with the intensity of blue flame. At twelve, he looked like a strange small adult.
"Ye'll be around older boys. It's a four year commitment."
"That doesn't frighten me. I am ready."
"Ye say that now." Anderson sighed. "Its not an easy life Enrico- Ah dunnae doubt your intelligence, but Ae worry fer yer happiness. This prepares ye for teh vocation of priesthood. Are ye sure this is wat ye want? "
"It would make me happier than anything in the world. St. Paul's Seminary is the most prestigious minor seminary in Rome. It is where I belong. " Enrico clasped his hands together, as if he were praying. "I have a vocation. I want to serve God and our church. Please give me your commendation Father."
With the boy's announcement, Anderson felt something in him relent.
A month later, Enrico had packed all his things and sat waiting on his "bed". There were two bunk beds. The other three boys refused to share a bunk with him, so Enrico moved his mattress to the corner and slept there. Enrico had said goodbye to no one, no one said good bye to him. Most of the help was indifferent to him. Some were even relieved he was going, having denounced him a sullen, unregenerate boy. He had no friends.
"Father's Scuopoli's here. Ye got everythin?" Anderson said, his hands in pockets.
"Yes." Enrico sat on his mattress, staring down at his rosary he held through his outspread fingers. He looked up at Anderson, frowning suspiciously. "I am truly really leaving aren't I?"
Anderson inquired gently. "Havin second thoughts?"
"No" Enrico said softly. " Are you?"
Anderson could not think of anything to say to that. The priest suddenly regretted he didn't understand the boy better- maybe he could of helped him more if he had. Sending him off had to be the right decision.
The man abruptly cleared his throat. "Ye should get gaeing. Ye dunnae want to be late fer yer orientation."
Enrico stood up sharply, with the dignity of a saint about to stroll into the Colosseum. He tied up his light hair quickly in a ponytail and shook his head a little as if to test its durability. He adjusted his collar, then picked up his small rosewood colored leather suitcase.
"Looks like yer all set." Anderson extended a hand. "Give me a strong shake."
Enrico looked at the priest's large outspread hand warily, as if he might be touching something scalding hot. Finally, he snatched Anderson's hand as if to catch himself from slipping.
Anderson was surprised how tight and insistent the boy's grip was. It was as if Enrico were trying to absorb the older man's power through his hand, so he could conserve it for times ahead. They shook up and down and let go at the same time.
A mysterious look spread on Enrico's face.
"Teacher, will you write to me?" Enrico swallowed.
Anderson smiled. "Aye Maxwell. But Ah'll expect ye to write back."
Enrico nodded. "I will sir."
"Ye be a good lad. Call us when ye get there and if ye have any problems. Yer free tae visit us anytime."
To that, Enrico's stare bored down at his shoes, as if he were holding counsel with them.
"Ye'll always have a home here at Ferdinand Luke's. Ye know that right?" Anderson continued softly.
The boy looked up. His eyes brimmed with tears.
"Goodbye Father." Enrico snapped. Without another glance, the boy rushed past him, out the door, and didn't look back.
Anderson watched Maxwell retreat down the hall, becoming smaller and smaller as he neared Father Scupoli, a bald, jolly and corpulent priest waiting for him at the other end. Scupoli made loud exclamations in Italian and clapped Enrico hard on the back, as they both headed off together.
Anderson stood there perplexed for a few minutes, then set about the rest of his day.
A week later, Anderson remembered his promise to Enrico. It was the middle of the night, and it came to him the way forgotten things do when one can't get to sleep.
Anderson quickly turned on his bed side light, stumbled to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. He better write it now- he'd forget later. And he was a man of his word, especially when he made promises to children.
It was a short letter- it wasn't Joyce, but he put some thought into it. In it, he reminded Enrico to be behave well (being as he was a representative of Ferdinand's Luke) and on the importance of prayer. He included orphanage news, complained about fluctuations of the weather, trivial things like that. The letter also reiterated to that if he had any questions that he could write or call for help, and that he could visit anytime he wanted. .
Anderson received a letter in reply about a month later. It was instantly recognizable who its author was. Enrico always used a distinctive peacock blue ink and had gorgeous penmanship. Furthermore, Enrico had also signed his own name larger then the return address on the front of the envelope. He had then sealed the back with crimson wax with the seminary's stamp. Only 12, and so much flair.
The letter itself was very pleasant. It thanked Anderson for his commendation and for his advise. It responded politely to the news at the orphanage. Enrico also reported he had received new clothes, had his own room, the food was better then he expected, and the work was challenging. He also wrote that the fellow students were cordial to him- but since they were so dedicated to their studies they weren't interested in befriending him. "I am very pleased about that." Enrico had written. Anderson had grimaced worriedly at that.
The letters, essays, reports came back and forth over the years, sometimes more frequently than others. The subjects grew more complex, more philosophical, in some ways more revealing. Enrico's writing could be deeply insightful, sophisticated, witty, even poetic. On the flip side, it could be pompous, bizarre and indulgent. Anderson always felt there was an overflow of thought and feeling pouring forth from the pages- it was hard to tell whether Enrico felt things or thought them.
Enrico never visited despite Anderson's invitations. His letters always delicately skirted the issue, or there was a halfhearted "maybe". He never called either.
It was 4 years later when Anderson would see Enrico again.
It was a warm spring day. Anderson was out in the main yard on recess duty. Sometimes he would referee a soccer game, or help a losing team score a point in basketball, play cards with the teenagers, or retrieve wayward children out of the trees. On other days he would read. Today, it was Song of Songs. He had seated himself comfortably on a side bench, close enough to see the children but far enough that they wouldn't be inclined to seek him out.
The priest was in the middle of chapter two. "The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills." when felt a insistent tug on his shoulder. He looked down. A childish face peered towards him. It belonged to one of his orphans, Lily, a sweet inquisitive little girl, if not a little rambunctious.
"Father, why do we pray to the Virgin Mother and not Jesus sometimes?" Lily shouted.
"Because child" Anderson smiled at her, not wanting to be distracted from his reading. "when ye ask someone tae do something, ye should-"
" Always ask his mother first." An rolling deep male Italian accented voice cut in.
Anderson twisted his head, unsettled. His jaw dropped, and his eyes grew enormous at who he saw. He felt Lily tug his shoulder again and twisted his head back .
"Will you play soccer with us Father?" The girl pleaded.
"Another day lass." Anderson said. Stunned, he put his bible aside, and patted Lily mindlessly on the head "Ye gae along now."
The girl sulkily shuffled away. The two men were free to stare at each other.
Even through Enrico had never included a picture of himself with his letters, those bright violet eyes was a dead give away His blond hair was severely tied back, though its length fell down to his waist. He had lost the waifish figure of his childhood, his shoulders had broadened, and he had gained some lean muscles in his arms. He wore a fitted tan blazer, and a plain buttoned white shirt open at the throat. It was neatly tucked into some beige pants. Around his neck he wore a delicate silver cross. He carried a finely crafted rosewood colored leather bag off his shoulder- he still liked that color of leather, after all this time. It was a clean, studious outfit- it suited him well.
Maxwell opened his hands outwards in greeting, as if to say "it is I". He smiled impishly, and then bowed, like a graceful pantomime Robin Hood.
"Hello Father." Enrico's voice was shockingly sonorous. "I remember when you gave me the same answer many years ago – I can assure you that it does not go over so well in seminary."
"Well isn't it Enrico Maxwell." Anderson grinned from where he sat, leaning forward on the bench. "Wat happened tae yer voice?"
Enrico smiled demurely . "It changed."
"Ye've changed haven't ye"
"A bit." Enrico drawled, tilting his head and putting a hand gently on his throat. It was a subtle gesture of humility- although his eyes glittered mischievously. "You, it seems, have not changed at all. You still play football?"
" Why of course "Anderson said - he could say nothing else. He was amazed at how excited he was. There was a voice, a face, movement behind all those letters- all those marvelous words were now decanted into one living body.
The boy gazed at him mirthfully, then laughed, loudly, operatically. Anderson shook his head in disbelief- he could never remember Enrico ever laughing as a boy.
"Well. This was unexpected Enrico." Anderson breathed.
"Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." Enrico said with coquettish contrition. He brushed a unruly lock of hair away from his cheek "I should have called beforehand?"
"Bah. That would have spoiled the surprise." Anderson waved his hand dismissively,
"A pleasant surprise I hope? "Enrico bit his lip.
Anderson scoffed. "Ye've been pleasant so far! And its always pleasant when one of my children returns home."
"Yes. Like the Prodigal son." Enrico nodded and smiled.
" How tall are ye now?" Anderson raised an eyebrow from behind his glasses. "Can't tell from doon here."
"183 centimeters" Enrico said. "185 with my shoes on."
Anderson grinned."185 wit yer bloody shoes on. Ah'm still much taller than ye. That school doesnae object to that long hair?"
"Why would they?"
"Came from God's own mouth." Anderson licked his thumb. Flipping through his bible pages, he read in a affected triumph. "Ah ha, There it is in 1 Corinthians 11. 14 Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?"
"Hmm." Enrico smiled and shrugged."The look of shame must suit me better I'm afraid. As I told my tutors, 1 Corinthians 11:16 that if a man is contentious about keeping the long hair, then we have no custom to stop him."
"Thats correct." Anderson murmured in dry impressed amusement. "Ye look like Samson- young and handsome. But we both know how that story ended!"
"Yes, tragically. But at the very least, I'll still be considered handsome." The boy smirked.
"How auld are ye now?"
"I am sixteen Father."
"Heh. Ah'll be damned. It seems like yesterday ye were six years old and Ah was helpin ye get to the nurse's office wit a scrapped knee!"
"I scape my knees less often nowadays."
"Ah'm glad tae hear that. Have ye eaten? "
The boy sighed in mock solemnity, clasping his hands behind his back. "Not in four years Teacher."
Anderson chuckled and stood up. "In that case, Ah know a nice place we could gae-"