You're even getting chapter one today too.
Thinking about it more, you guys might be getting chapters daily lol. I've got to get 50,000 words of this done by the end of the month. So wish me luck!
Now Let's Do Some Protocol:
word count: 2,112
[I do not own any KHR characters]
No betas since this is for a contest
=Advice/Comments are Loved=
.Captain.
Chapter 1
The morning is cold. Tis a cold morning because of the endless clouds that shroud above the boat dock. Tis a cold morning because it is the first of November. Tis a cold morning because we are watching them march towards the unknown. Such a romantic journey; there are times that I feel I should have been born a boy, like this present moment. Suppose I was born a boy as well, then as well, I would be embarking on their journey. Well, on the contrary, since Massimo is older, I would be left behind and Massimo would go. What is the word for such a situation?
"Damiana, do pay proper respects to your parting Father and brothers."
My attention averts to Mother. "Of course, do forgive me."
Why must I always be lost in thought?
Now watching them calmly amble upon the gangway to the ship, a smirk curls upon my lips as Ciro and Antonio taunt one another whilst their gait remains slow. They, along with Father, are three among many men, women, and children on their way to America. It seems they are happily taking their time to board the ship. Of course, who would want to leave Napoli at such a time? The Kingdom of Italy is only crumbling, for lack of a softer description.
Ciro and Antonio goad and prattle more until Father finally turns around. Their bodies straighten like wooden planks to Father's glance, and they slacken once Father turns forward once more. The antics of those two, though much of a nuisance, are very entertaining. But I am not worried about the loss of entertainment. Our precious Nico provides heaps and bounds of amusing moments to the family. My vision slides to the left, catching a glimpse of the boy, which currently clouds my thoughts, fidgeting and speaking to himself. I close my eyes and smirk, trying with all that encompasses me to not giggle.
Moment upon moment passes as we watch the three finally board the train, but Mother proclaims that we must wait till the ship actually leaves. This brings worry to me, seeing as today is a Holy Day of Obligation. Is it not far more sinful to be truant or tardy to Mass, than to wait for the ship to finally leave? My worry never passes my lips, but it looms heavily in my stomach. Everyone else alongside myself shows despondency to the piece of our family now missing.
Finally the large metal ship bellows its farewell to us all, and Mother asks Nonno for the time. He, being the only one of us with a watch, softly mumbles in his archaic tongue. Mother translates his answer to us as one of urgency—we are going to be late to Mass. I knew this would be the result.
So we scamper, we scuttle, and we scurry to the Cathedral as quickly as Nonna's and Nonno's footsteps will allow. Almost to the structure made of white stone and ornate stained glass windows, we witness that we are not the only ones tardy. Maybe they were seeing family members off as well? There really was no time available to satisfy this curiosity, so my lungs only blew out air empty of words.
Our feet lightly trample up the steps, except Vito's, who is now being carried by Massimo to keep up. Massimo gets to the large wooden doors first, and opens one for us to all to enter. Nicodemo has a defining moment, where he actually holds open the second door for us all. I hold Nonna's soft, aged hand to lead her inside behind Oriana. Our ears all hold the sound of the organ's opening hymal.
I take a deep breath. I knew this would be the result.
After we all anoint ourselves in holy water, an older man, commonly known as the church's usher, quickly shepherds us to an empty pew. The fellow parishioners are on second verse of the canticle. In spite of feeling the need to move in haste, one by one we kneel, genuflect, and quietly take our seat on the dark stained bench. To everyone's seat taken, the bench creaks of wooden complaints. They are all because we are late.
Despite being late, I immediately join in song with the crowd. The lyrics to the hymn are deeply etched in my heart like fond memories of Father and I playing piano together. My voice cracks, and I clamp my mouth shut. I put a hand to my mouth as well before uttering an apology to my disgraceful singing and presently appearing tears. A small scan left and right makes me ware of the family's view to my finally rising sorrow. I am embarrassed beyond comparison.
I press my finger under my eyelids quickly, forcing the tears out before any one else can view my unsightliness. Mother soundlessly sighs and continues to sing; Massimo and Oriana stare a moment longer before returning to the song; and Nonna clasps my right hand within both of hers, giving me her silent comfort. I smile in return to her understanding. Doing so, I then realize Nico noticed nothing.
My lips dare not move as the song finishes and Monsignor Ricci comes to view. Next to him are two servers near Nico's age, Father Gallo, and an unknown face. Of course, the nameless man clad in a gold-trimmed cleric under his white alb is the new priest that has arrived to our diocese. How could I forget something so important?
"Our Father, The Almighty, we are gathered here today in solemnity of all saints. Solemnity to the saints that have lived by your word, reminding us all of your love and understanding, and solemnity to the saints that are destined to reveal themselves in the times ahead. May you bless us as you have blessed them. May you also help us to welcome Father Knuckle, a newly anointed priest that has joined our church. Please help us in showing our graciousness to his arrival. Let us pray."
Monsignor finishes the opening prayer to church and signals us to be seated. The hand gesture, like is Latin, is fluid and calming. Having a Monsignor, a priest that has worked with the pope himself and been anointed such a title, at our church is a truly wonderful gift. And now we have been given another priest? It makes me wonder what virtuous things we have done to earn such delightful gifts.
Another gesture, a head nod, comes from Monsignor, and Father Gallo treads toward the podium to profess the first reading. It is an excerpt from Revelation, which is not a book of particular interest—to myself. Revelation is dismal and dark book. I prefer readings from too many books even bother someone with listing them all, but Revelation is too sad for my tastes. Now on the thought more, if ever inquired, I would tell them that Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon are my most favored of all the books. From those two alone, my heart cannot decide which one I love more.
"Let us stand to express our faith and gratitude to the Lord."
My mind has wandered once more. I cannot even begin to think of the names I wish to be called for being so scattered. The Lord will damn me if I don't contain myself. In lieu of my internal strife, I respond with everyone else to the Psalms spoken to us by the Monsignor. While my responses are fluent and concise, I notice that Oriana's Latin far more proficient than my own. Her dark brown hair, her hazel eyes, and her immense reasoning skills; Oriana will be a prize to the right suitor in eight years, when she becomes of age to court. Realizing that I am drifting again, I lightly snort and listen to the latter half of the second reading.
Finally the gospel comes, and our new priest with the questionable name wanders to the pulpit. Tall, almost black hair, hands covered in some kind of white material, and a… silly piece of tape on his nose are the first things I take notice of outside his fast gait. He clears his throat and begins to recite a gospel from the book of Matthew in a Latin. His oration can be candidly described as unpracticed. I heard Vito ask Mother what language Father Knuckle was speaking. Mother hushed him with a single glare.
The newly appointed priest finishes the gospel and swiftly advances into the homily. I am apprehensive; the homily is my favored portion of Mass. With this anxiety is the instant guilt of such an assumption. Yes, his Latin is something he should consider taking supplemental lessons on, but his homily is exciting and invigorating. His words are filled with passion. I can only hope he really considers taking at least a minor practicum for his Latin; his preaching would be most enjoyable then.
Mass continues quickly after hearing such an interesting view on the gospel for today. Father Knuckle's advice on how to live with your heart full of extreme fervor for the Lord is something that has an enticing ring to it. Extreme fervor. Such an interesting choice of words. Maybe those are the words that can be used to describe his faith? I wonder. Now as we all begin exiting the pews to partake in Communion I keep doting on the appealing phrase.
I am not sure if is the how those particular words, out of all words that could have been used, were chosen, or if it is the way in which he said them, with such intensity and resolve, is what makes so very employed with them. But as I stand in front of him, calmly gazing in eyes I can only describe as warm honey, I see that the words match him extremely so. His eyes are winsome and endearing.
Holding up the Body of Christ in front of me, he questions, "The Body of Christ?"
"Amen."
I open my mouth to receive, and then promenade to the line where I will accept an offering of Christ's blood.
During my sip of the wine, formally known as the Blood of Christ, I watch Father Knuckle give a piece of the body to Mother from the corner of my eye. More or less, I do so in regard to his blessing he is giving to my Mother's belly. She takes the blessing graciously. Her eyes even disappear to the growing smile. The action makes me smile too.
Vito politely implores Father Knuckle to bless his belly too.
He insists it is for his hungry stomach.
From Communion is the Closing Prayer and Hymn. During the prayer I ask God to keep Father and my brothers safe until we meet again, and I also ask for him to help Knuckle with his Latin. Then I remind God that I need help with Mathematics, but I don't stress the need for him to help myself so much. To be selfless is to be holy. To fail another assessment, though, and Mother may show what it truly means to be holy. To the lingering thought is a clenching of my jaw.
As we leave the leave the beautiful structure among the other denizens of Napoli, I idly catch the silhouettes of our pastors. They are standing outside the entrance bidding farewells and shaking the hands of men who imply the desire to do so. Right in front of the exit, I tell Mother that I would like to welcome Father Knuckle. She tells me to go with Massimo.
Mother and Oriana lead Nonna and Nonno down the cathedral steps, with Nico and Vito trailing, while Massimo accompanies me. I wait patiently and Massimo waits tediously. He is used to accompanying me in my various ventures. Exactly at the time his first sigh escapes, my chance to compliment Father Knuckle comes. I smile.
"Father Knuckle?"
His eyes find me. "Yes, signorina."
"Excuse me for taking your time, but I wanted to welcome you to Napoli and convey my, my enjoyment of your sermon. Tis truly a blessing that God brought us a pastor with vitality so great as your own."
As I wait to hear a simple response in return, I am taken by complete surprise that the priest with bandaged hands gingerly clasps mine. Massimo appears unsure of such a response as well. Giving me a deep stare, Father Knuckle responds.
"Your passionate words have filled my heart like the sun, signorina. Thank you, and may God be with you always."
After a monetary pause, I counter, "And also with you, Father."