Three months later:
Lovino looked down at the robe he had been given. It was black with odd strips of orange fabric sewn to the bottom. It was so ridiculous looking, but he supposed that was what they were going for.
"The hat, too, cerdo," growled a guard behind him. Lovino let out a heavy breath and picked up the pointed hat. He traced the tip of it, then rested it on his head. It was too big for him, too, as if he didn't look pathetic enough. He must have looked like a goddamn clown, because the guard was laughing at him.
Lovino looked away. It could be worse, he guessed. At least they hadn't tortured him for three months. But they'd forced him back down to his old cell with the small window, which was now sealed off, and the rats, burnt bread, and filthy water. He wasn't sure how he stayed sane, either. It was constantly dark and dank. He barely got any sleep for all he could hear when he finally shut his eyes was screaming from another room in the large building.
But when it was truly silent, he would take a few minutes to lean against the wall, shut his eyes, and dream of Italy. Of Grandpa Roma and his mother and Feli. And Antonio, too. And his grandmother who he hadn't seen in so many years. He'd enter that painting he had seen at the Gallery with Antonio. These dreams made him relax. But they never lasted for more than five minutes at a time.
"Come on, cerdo." Lovino felt a hand on his shoulder and he was pushed out into the hall. He stared up at the large, bright windows, though the sunlight burned his eyes and he nearly winced. The guard led him to the large oak doors in the front. They were propped open and all Lovino could smell was the fresh, sweet air.
Reality came crashing down on him when he was ushered into a large cart with two other people. "Grandpa Roma! Grandpa R-" The two men looked up at him. They weren't Grandpa Roma. He looked back at the doors to the cathedral as they were shut. Lovino's breath quickened. "Where is Roma Vargas? I, ngh, please!" Lovino grabbed the shoulder of one of the guards.
A fist swung and hit him in the cheek, the force pushing him to the floor of the cart. He gasped for air through his grit teeth. "Please!"
He was grabbed again by some short guard to his left. "Why don't you open that pretty little mouth for me?" He said in a scratchy voice. Lovino's jaw clenched and he shook his head. The man smiled, grabbed Lovino's wrist, and twisted it in one quick motion. There was a resounding crack and a loud scream from Lovino. The man wasted no time shoving a rag into Lovino's mouth and tying a dirty cloth around his lips. Tears filled the Italians eyes as he was pushed down to his knees.
"You be good, niño, and I won't have to do that again," the man said. Lovino took in shallow breaths as the cart began to move. He could feel the eyes of the other two men on him. He looked away, not wanting to meet their gaze.
"There was a man named Roma beside me. His cell was next to mine. He was very tall and strong, yes. You said he was your grandfather?"
Lovino looked up at the man. He was balding and had a long beard. His eyes were clouded by cataracts, but he must have been able to see somewhat, because he was looking right at Lovino. The Italian nodded.
"You must be Lovino."
Lovino nodded.
"He was a very kind man. He spoke about you often. Many things. About how you liked art and music. He said you used to enjoy painting, but you hadn't painted in a very long time. He was a very joyful man. Or I suppose he is a joyful man. He was in his cell before I left mine."
Lovino scooted closer to the man, trying to ask him why his grandfather wasn't going to the Auto with him.
The man seemed to catch on. "I don't know, Lovino, why he isn't coming with us today. I wish I had an answer. But I don't. Perhaps they really want to make an example of him and it'll humanize him to be shown with his grandson. God forbid a human be seen as a human, right?" The man let out a weak chuckle.
Lovino felt large, watery tears sliding down the sides of his nose. His body shook with each new set of tears. There was a sort of sigh and he saw the man scoot closer to him.
"You like Italy, right? Roma seemed to think you really did. Let's talk about Italy."
.
People walked along side the cart, jeering and yelling out nasty insults. Some people threw things at them. The little children ran with the wheels and threw stones, giggling when they hit one of the prisoners, pouting when they missed. A few rotten fruits and vegetables were tossed at them, but not too many, and many people missed.
"You know, this wouldn't be so bad if the vegetables weren't rotten and they were aiming for my mouth," the man with the cataracts said. Lovino forced a chuckle through his constantly running tears.
Lovino couldn't recognize anyone in the crowd, though it seemed like a few people recognized him. Customers, maybe, who paled at the sight of him riding in the cart, wearing the odd black robe.
The ride was long and miserable. Nothing had made him feel lower than the ride to the Auto. Everyone looked at him like he was some rat they had caught in their kitchen. Something to be disposed of. He was glad when he was shoved out of cart and pushed along the dirt path.
He looked down as he followed the two other men up the steps to the platform in front of him, now adorn with flags and banners, crucifixes and stakes. Lovino stifled a cry as the gag on his mouth was removed and he was pushed into a cage of some sort. "Please . . . " He looked up at the blue sky. "Please, God. I don't want to d-die. I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not r-r-" Lovino's shoulders shook and his small frame weakened. He whispered into his hand, "I don't want to die. I want to feel what it's like to be loved and I want to grow old just like Grandpa Roma."
Lovino pressed his small hands together, letting out a gasp at the mind-numbing pain he felt in his wrist. He dropped to his knees and looked down. "Please, God. I'm not ready. I'm n-not r-ready for this." Lovino wiped his nose on his forearm and stood up again. The man next to him smiled faintly.
"Do you feel better, Lovino? It's always good to pray before something like this. But perhaps the afterlife is better than this one. In heaven. There is no need to be frightened," the man said.
.
The mass was quick. Too quick. The cage was opened and the two men were taken out one at a time and tied to their stakes. Lovino was dragged to his. He heard the priest yell something in latin and there were noises from the steps behind the platform as two men came up behind Lovino. There was another Latin sentence and he felt rope pressed to the front and sides of his neck.
"Please . . . " he begged to himself. He felt rope around his chest, then around his arms. He trembled, tears still running down his face. A rope was tied around his thighs, shins, and feet. He tried to catch his breath and slow down his heartbeat, but it was no use. He let out a blood curdling scream and tried to pull at the ropes, but an arm snaked around his stomach, stopping him from moving, while a gloved hand was pressed to his lips, keeping him silent. His hands were finally tied behind him and wood was stacked up to his hips.
Lovino screamed at the feeling of the firewood around his legs. "AIUTAMI! QUALCUNO! DIO, AIUT-" His screams were muffled again by that hand. He felt warm breath on his ear, draining the blood from his face.
"If you move one more time, cerdo, I'll kill you myself," the man said. Lovino let out a cry through his clenched teeth at the sickening sound of the new voice. The priests voice was bad, but this one was worse, as if the words themselves could slice him open. The man was spitting venom. Lovino decided that the voice reminded him of how he imagined satan himself would sound.
And that arm was still wrapped around his waist. He stopped moving, if only to get the man to remove his arm.
"Lovino Vargas, this is your last chance. Repent."
That old, scratchy voice. Augustine. Lovino looked up through teary eyes at the bronze cross in the mans hand.
If he kissed it, his death would be swift and painless. He was going to die either way, right? And then he thought of Italy. Of heaven. Of Grandpa Roma. And Feliciano. And Antonio. They would all meet again someday. And maybe it would just seem like a day had passed. It was heaven, right? Good things happened in heaven. So maybe he'd get there and they would already be up there waiting for him, so he wouldn't be alone afterall.
And even if none of them were there, his mother would be there. And his grandmother. He gulped and pressed his quivering lips together. He craned his neck and shut his eyes. He waited for the cool, salty metal to touch his lips. He could smell the potent coppery smell.
There was a gush of air and he opened his eyes. The cross was pulled back against Augustine's chest, just out of Lovino's reach, and he was smiling a crooked smile. His eyes were blazing as he said, "Lovino Vargas has not repented." There was a chorus of gasps from the crowd, along with some boos and excited murmurs.
"This," said Augustine as he waved a large torch dangerously close to Lovino's face, "is what is waiting for you in hell. May God have mercy on your soul." With that, the torch was dropped. Lovino watched in horror as the fire poked up through cracks in the piece of wood it was dropped under. The smoke had already begun to burn his eyes and nostrils.
There was a tightness from the rope around his neck, then a sudden moment where it felt as if the rope had gone slack. He twisted his head around, only to have it slapped back into place by the man behind him. That horrible voice murmured something in Latin and the rope was being retied around his neck.
His leg was getting warm. The smoke was too much to bare and he stopped breathing. The fire was spreading, slowly but surely. The man working on the rope around his neck pryed at the knot on the side. It was a thick, uncomfortable knot that dug painfully into a sensitive spot on his neck.
The fire was heating his thighs now, though not burning yet. Lovino held back whatever tears he had left as he heard the whispered prayers of the man burning next to him. He tried to follow them. To focus on those words. But his whole body shook and that knot in the rope was hitting . . .
He let out a cry as the rope was pulled tighter even still. There was an odd pressure over the knot as if someone was trying to bury it into his neck. His vision blurred and his heart beat in his ears.
"No. No! Wh-"
The rope was pulled tighter. "Don't speak again," the voice said. Lovino opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come. He could only focus on his heart beat and the way the world was spinning around him, going black and splotchy. His neck hung to the left. He felt a drop of drool creeping out of the corner of his mouth.
And that knot. That knot that was clearly killing him like he'd wanted. Suffocating him so he didn't have to burn. He wanted to welcome this death, but fear was overriding everything else in his mind.
His vision went black, though he could still hear distant murmurs in the background. It felt almost . . . nice, now. Peaceful. He was still afraid, of course, but it was his time. This was his fate, the one always waiting for him since the day he'd been born.
It was never supposed to work out when they decided to come to Spain. He was never supposed to go back to Italy. He was never supposed to be saved by Antonio. They would never see each other again. That was written out.
And suddenly, as his hearing faded, he decided he was grateful for everything. The chance to live at all. The chance to have lived in Italy. The chance to run a bakery with the people he loved most. The chance to meet Antonio. The chance to feel love, if even in it's briefest moment, was more than he deserved from such a bittersweet world.
He was grateful for the inevitability of death, for without death, there could be no life, and without life, there could be no death, and this was the mosaic of the world itself.
The smell of burning wood was the last thing he sensed before there was absolutely nothing.
To Be Continued . . .