Lust and ambition:
10th October 2013
Marco’s eyes were shut tight, it didn’t matter how much he tried though a tear managed to escape and trickle slowly down past his nose. He was only six years old but even at so young an age his emotions somehow always managed to overwhelm him.
Holding Mama’s warm and slender hand in his own small chubby one felt good, mama made the best spaghetti in the whole world and as the sweet smell of incense assailed his wet nose Marco was finding it hard to decide which he loved the most.
Marco opened his eyes to gaze up at his mother, she was so beautiful her long chestnut hair nearly touched the hard wooden pew and glinted in the shafts of light which poured in from huge arched windows. In her hand she held an ivory carved white rosary and was fingering the beads as her lips moved silently in prayer. Marco’s heart swelled with love, a boys love for his mother, he shut his eyes tightly again willing no more tears to escape.
Leticia released Marco’s hand and motioned for him to kneel beside her on the cold tiled floor. Her beautiful soft full lips were still now as she began her conversation with ‘God’ her prayers were not always easy to begin as pictures memories and visions of the past threatened to overwhelm her.
She loved her work in the community and in the Church; it wasn’t difficult for her to give of her very best to everything she did. Leticia was loved and respected by everyone, naturally beautiful, gifted, warm, loving and compassionate; she gave of herself 100%. She had been working late one evening in the church office; the office can in no way describe the intimate and cosy room that was used to house all the paperwork necessary to run a successful parish.
Leticia remembered, it was Autumn the sun had cast a faint orange glow over everything, the beauty and warmth of the room had seemed to settle somewhere deep within her. Father John, silently tapping on his computer in the small alcove affectionally known as writer’s corner, had suddenly rose from his swivel chair with a low sigh and an indecipherable groan. His hand was on Leticia’s shoulder, and as she turned to answer his unspoken call their eyes met for a long slow moment, time stood still.
Leticia and Marco knelt at the altar, Leticia, cupped hands held out before her while Marco’s head of thick black hair almost curled into his chin in a childish act of reverence.
Father John’s gaze lingered slightly longer than was necessary on the boy kneeling before him; placing his right hand on his head he began the blessing.
Father John’s thoughts meandered back to a time long ago. He had never known his own father; he too had once been a boy kneeling by the altar rail next to his mama. His mama had raised him and his six siblings single handed, working night and day to provide shelter food and clothes for them all. Father John’s heart beat a little faster at the memory; he had felt so powerless then. He became aware of a sense of dissatisfaction rise from somewhere deep within, he had been going to ‘change the world’ but the journey to the Vatican was a long and slow one and required the spending of many long and lonely years in an ever increasing number of parishes.
Word Count: 589