TRILOGY: Bk I, Ch 36 (Jackass for the Hour)

Non sunt lacrimae rerum

Father Alexámenos and don Hash did not find anyone dying in the streets. The living locked themselves inside. The streets belonged to the dead. Corpses were everywhere. They hated to think of how things would degenerate if the corpses were to be run over by the military vehicles they had seen from a distance. They thought the curfew was a ploy to scare people into keeping out of trouble, which, of course, was supposed to have the benefit of keeping people out of the way of the virus. Light ash was falling, so they reckoned that some buildings were burning in other parts of the city.

They saw some dead priests as they walked, and checked to see if they had been carrying the Blessed Sacrament. One had an empty pyx; another had blessed Oil used for the Last Rites. Don Hash took this with him, thinking it might soon be of use. They came upon a priest with a stole around his neck and a ritual book in his hand. He had only wanted to be of service, but had been shot multiple times at close range. Don Hash clenched his free hand into a fist.

Father Alexámenos made the Sign of the Cross and said, “His executioner may have already repented with his good example.”

Don Hash looked at his fist, and said, “Maybe.”

It was now 6:00 A.M., and the sun was just about to rise. They had arrived at the bottom of Via Merulana, near Via Labicana, when they heard a news broadcast coming through an open window just above them. “The pandemic is over, say scientists,” reported the jubilant voice, which seemed to be that of an inexperienced technician rather than a regular news reader. “Governments have lifted travel restrictions and any remaining quarantines. The curfew in Rome is, however, still in effect. The Americans have admitted that it was an antidote to the bird flu which had been stolen from Plum Island, but which was not yet safe for use. They say it can no longer do any damage. Early estimates are that five percent of the population have died.”

“That’s why we haven’t seen anyone else being sick,” observed Father Alexámenos.

“It must have stopped yesterday evening… It lasted for precisely three days,” said don Hash. “I wonder why the curfew hasn’t been lifted.”

They crossed Via Labicana, and walked toward San Giovanni in Laterano, stopping halfway there, in front of the mosaic of Mary, Mother of Divine Charity, and sang the Marian Antiphon Sub tuum præsidium confugimus Sancta Dei Genetrix, asking for the protection of the Holy Mother of God. At the end of this, they both exclaimed, “Fateci santi!” asking for the motherly intercession of Mary in their sanctification. They alternated with the prayers for the dead: “Requiem æternam dona eis Domine / et lux perpetua luceat eis / Requiescant in pace / Amen.”

“I want a holy death as well,” said don Hash. “Final perseverance is a special grace.”

“You sound like Roncalli on his twenty-fifth episcopal anniversary,” was the reply.

They walked the short distance to the top of the hill. There was dead silence. No movement could be seen. Father Alexámenos and don Hash looked at each other and simultaneously said, “The hospitals.” If anyone needed help, it would be the patients, many of whom, if any survived, might be without food or water. The sprawling hospital of San Giovanni to their right headed up a line of a half dozen other large hospitals. They spent the morning delivering water to the few who were still alive, hearing Confessions, giving the Last Rites and much needed hope.

It was now 11:00 A.M., and Father Alexámenos said that they should look for the Holy Father. “No one in the Vatican knew where he was except for yesterday when he suddenly appeared at Saint Peter’s to offer Mass,” agreed don Hash. “But I’m certain that we’ll find him where the fire will burn.” Father Alexámenos was not exactly sure what he meant, but thought it better not to ask useless questions.

They left the hospital of San Giovanni, taking their flags once again, and went down Via di San Stefano Rotondo, continued on Via di San Paolo della Croce, but then stopped at the bottom of this street, happy to see that, for once, the poor fared better than many others. They quickly made their way down to the Circo Massimo.

As they turned right along Via dei Cerchi, they saw, and smelled, the reason for the ash which was falling over the city. The military had been heaping up corpses on top of the entire length of the central embankment of the ancient, oblong arena, burning them in an attempt to rid the city of any further risk of disease. The fire, however, was not keeping up with the trucks bringing the bodies. It was a ghastly sight. This was surely the reason for the curfew. The stench became intolerable as they staggered along, aghast. The five percent of the population who had died would mean that, in Rome, just under two hundred thousand people would have succumbed to the disease.

After some trucks carrying bodies almost ran them over, a soldier met them, pointing his gun at them, half-crazed at what he had been seeing and smelling for the past days. His uniform was covered with ash, which was falling especially heavily in that area. The soldier would have already shot them according to the rules of the curfew if it were not for the flags they were carrying. Don Hash called him to attention in his best Italian military style. The soldier mechanically came to attention and let them pass, still with a wild look in his eyes. Father Alexámenos gave him his Rosary as they left saying, “Pray for the repose of their souls…” This visibly melted the attitude of the soldier. It was just what he needed. The two priests walked down into Via del Teatro di Marcello and then went up the steep embankment of the river. They walked along Lungotevere dei Cenci for some distance, but only crossed the road to the flood wall of the river after having passed by Ponte Fabricio, a small stone bridge leading to Tiber Island. They looked over the retaining wall, but immediately stepped back, and would have fallen to the pavement had not a eucalyptus tree been immediately behind them. The towering trees lined both sides of the river for kilometres. It was as if the two priests had been struck. The stench from the river was just that overwhelming.

“Did you see what I saw?” asked don Hash incredulously.

“Yes…” said Father Alexámenos.

After what they had seen in the Circus Maximus, this was just too much for their brains to register, but it explained why the military were doing what they were doing. Not only had people been dumping corpses over the flood-walls onto the embankments below, but they had also dumped the bodies over the bridges, so that many corpses – too many to count – were being washed down river. News images of waterfalls near Kigali came to Father Alexámenos’ mind. They walked around the tree, leaning against it, and were facing the street when a familiar voice questioned them: “Quo vadis, Alexámenos? Quo vadis, Hash?”

The voice belonged to Rabbi Shelomoh, who had just come across Ponte Fabricio from Tiber Island with the Holy Father. The tone of voice used for the questions indicated happiness to see them alive, as well as an amicable irony. The questions concerned where they were going, and had their provenance in the traditional question of Saint Peter to the risen Christ about where the Lord was going (into Rome to be crucified again), when the Apostle himself was fleeing the possibility of his own crucifixion in Rome.

“Don’t tell me you are both giving up already?” added the Pontiff, also pleased to see them.

The two priests turned around and stared at the historic sight in front of them, the Pope, the Rabbi, the devastation, the Charity… “My hope is that we’ll all be going to heaven,” said Father Alexámenos, answering the question for both himself and don Hash.

Some soldiers came from the direction of Circo Massimo. “There he is!” one of them shouted. Two of them soon took hold of Father Alexámenos, knocking the papal flag to the ground, and began to drag him in the direction of the synagogue. They didn’t have any handcuffs with them, thinking that they would not need them on that day. Their orders were to burn corpses or summarily shoot those who broke the curfew. Don Hash was being held by two soldiers lest he cause problems, and it was made clear to the Pontiff and the Rabbi that they were not to interfere. They watched as Father Alexámenos was dragged away, even though he went willingly.

One of the soldiers said in Arabic, “We had forgotten his execution, but no longer. He…”

But the Holy Father interrupted him, saying, also in Arabic, “I am amazed that anyone would want more death amidst such a stench of death, with these ashes falling all around us.”

“It is time for the execution,” said the soldier coldly. The curfew was cancelled just now. I saw the great Satan with binoculars from Via del Circo Massimo giving that damned Rosary to one of my soldiers. I remembered the words of the Ambassador of Arāk to us just after the trial: ‘We will never forget his blasphemy.’ When I saw the great Satan give that Rosary away, I thought it was the beginning of another Rosary crusade, another Lépanto. It must be stopped!”

“They’re bringing him to Campo dei Fiori,” said don Hash to no one in particular. “It’s almost noon. I will be late.”

“Can you not stop them, Hash?” asked the Rabbi.

This was exactly what don Hash wanted either the Holy Father or the Rabbi to say. He was particularly pleased that it was the Rabbi. “Stop them? But why?” he replied, impatient and agitated. “That’s where I was bringing him. I’m supposed to be the one lighting the fire. But I will also need the sword of the Ambassador of Arāk.”

With these words, the soldiers, who were all Muslims, relaxed. The Captain said, “Shaykh al-Hasan is waiting for you in Campo dei Fiori.” With that, they let don Hash go, shoving him in the direction of the Synagogue, knocking him down. He picked himself up and ran on the route he had first taken when he had left Father Alexámenos on the Aventine, and had made his way to the Basilica of San Lorenzo in Damaso to attempt to deliver the special study of Father Alexámenos to his Confessor. Don Hash’s question in the Basilica some weeks before came flooding back into his heart and mind: “Lord, who would I be, the one burnt or the one lighting the fire?” He almost laughed out loud as he ran, for, on the one hand, the Lord had carried him along so far since that time, that the don Hash of the past seemed to be someone else, while, on the other hand, he knew that a real transformation had taken place within him, involving everything he had once been, and all that he was now. He was still the same don Hash, but the contrast, with the present irony, brought him to see the humorous side of an otherwise desperate situation.

The Rabbi and the Holy Father were detained by the rest of the soldiers, who were pretending that they had to await orders on what to do with them. “Perhaps we should supply you with some protection, an escort,” said the Captain of the group to the Rabbi and the Pope. He wasted a great deal of time by pretending to fix his phone which was not broken.

Don Hash caught up with the soldiers and Father Alexámenos just as they were entering the Campo from Via dei Giubbonari, on the side opposite the Cancelleria. Logs had been heaped up almost to the shoulders of the statue on the previous Monday, during the competition for the largest log that could be brought. Most were quite small – and there was plenty of small branches and sticks – but some, with the names of politicians or of the leaders of various religious groups tacked on to them – including some Catholic ones – were enormous.

Sections of metal crowd-control fencing ringed the Campo close to the buildings. Crowds were already starting to form behind the barriers, for all the media were playing up the execution of Father Alexámenos as a panacea, a distraction from the effects of the pandemic. The last thing anyone needed was a sense of panic. Shops had to be restocked, lest violence break out, but it would be useless to do so if people continued to stockpile everything they could lay their hands on for the sake of placating emotions. The execution, however extraordinary, would bring a sense of normality, for the trial is what people had been concerned with for weeks before the outbreak. Inside the Campo itself were multiple rows of soldiers and the media, who were free to roam about as they wanted. There were television cameras everywhere. Not one of the reporters mentioned the falling ash.

The soldiers had brought Father Alexámenos inside the metal fencing, immediately knocking him to the ground, kicking him and abusing him, not letting him stand up, but dragging him across the Campo as if he were fighting them, though he was not. He was only fighting to breathe, as his ribs suffered under the strain of the abuse. They dragged him past the pile of logs around the statue of Giordano Bruno, all the way to the other side, near the only fountain in the Campo, where the Ambassador of Arāk was standing. They all wanted to see the reaction of Father Alexámenos to the site of his execution, thinking he would be horrified when he saw the mountain of logs. They dragged him to his feet and pointed him in the direction of the statue. They were disappointed. He looked like he was just in time for a wedding banquet. He was so serene that they loosened their grip on him, and then let him go altogether, figuring that he was not going to attempt any escape, which was, at any rate, impossible. The Ambassador of Arāk, Shaykh al-Hasan, had been agitated even before they arrived, wondering if Father Alexámenos had escaped the execution which the ambassador so desired. He unsheathed his sword and held it to the neck of Father Alexámenos, drawing a slight trickle of blood just as Pòl had done on that night of grace in the shantytown of Port-au-Prince. The soldiers stepped back, not wanting to be in the way of any possible decapitation. However, the Ambassador did not have to swing the sword to do this; it was so sharp and heavy that just a slight flick of the wrist would sink the sword deep into his neck. He needed to summon all his control in order not to do this, at least not yet. The soldiers knew that, in the case of Father Alexámenos, whatever Shaykh al-Hasan wanted was the law, for, out of deference to Islam, capital punishment was now allowed in international law as a way to fight terrorists, who were defined as anyone not politically expedient. The law had been passed after the last session of the trial on Monday evening as an appeasement to the Ambassador of Arāk and the Arab League. In the long run, they knew that the law would work more for them than against them. Although this law had been publicised while the Pope had been giving his catechesis on the Name of Jesus immediately after that last session of the trial, these soldiers had been told specifically about the summary powers of Shaykh al-Hasan regarding the ‘Great Satan’, Father Alexámenos.

When don Hash saw the press of the crowds and that Father Alexámenos had been taken to the far side of the Campo, he ran south into Piazza Farnese and circled back into the Campo. When he arrived, Father Alexámenos was just being made to look at the statue of Giordano Bruno. Don Hash was, as yet, unnoticed by the soldiers and, for the moment, by Father Alexámenos. The crush of people was such that hundreds of people had jumped over the fencing as had don Hash. The soldiers couldn’t have cared less, as long as the people did not go in front of them. They knew, at any rate, that they would all move back soon enough when the fire started, for its heat would be unbearable, even at a distance. The more mayhem there was for now – the soldiers had been told – the better.

“So, we meet at last, blasphemer,” stated the Ambassador with particular intensity. He then continued to rail against Father Alexámenos, Christianity and, in particular, the Catholic Church.

The very calmness of Father Alexámenos was making him nervous. Father Alexámenos never took his eyes from the Ambassador’s, which was meant to be perceived as a challenge and, thus, a distraction, for Father Alexámenos was intensely aware of his own peripheral vision, and had now noted that don Hash was present and had come close to the Ambassador.

Shaykh al-Hasan made the mistake of hating his enemy so much that he underestimated him, and was constantly readjusting his grip on the sword. Imperceptibly, Father Alexámenos tensed his muscles and then made his lightning quick move, the same one which he had done with Pòl in front of the brothel in Port-au-Prince. Pòl had not described this particular manoeuvre during the trial, and the Ambassador was not prepared, especially for the way it would end. Don Hash was fully ready, for Father Alexámenos had described the move to him.

The instant don Hash saw the Ambassador begin to change his grip and the right hand of Father Alexámenos move upwards, don Hash, still some metres behind the Ambassador, lunged forward along the right side of the Ambassador, just in time to have the handle of the sword solidly placed into his hand by Father Alexámenos, who had adeptly seized the sword, swinging it around his own back. Don Hash withdrew the sword, making sure not to hurt the Ambassador, though letting him know that he could be hurt. When don Hash – quickly moving back – was clear of the soldiers, he said, “Do not pretend to usurp a role that has been destined for me, Ambassador, thus disappointing the Arab world.”

“My friend,” said the Ambassador to Don Hash, “you could have killed me, but instead…”

He was interrupted by a soldier, who, half-gasping, half-screaming, only now realised what had happened even while the others slammed Father Alexámenos down on the cobblestones, violently twisting his arms behind his back, hitting him in the head. The reason for the frantic behaviour of that soldier was now clear. He had been standing too close, and when Father Alexámenos swung the sword around himself, he unwittingly severed the hand of the soldier.

When the Ambassador saw it, he laughed, as did the other soldiers. “You must be rewarded,” he said, looking at the soldier in appreciation, even as the soldier ran away without his hand. His comment, however, was not directed at the soldier, but at don Hash, to whom he now turned, adding, “You saved my life from this… this blasphemer…” referring to Father Alexámenos.

“My reward is to do what it is my destiny to do,” don Hash shot back with intensity as he wiped the blood stained sword on his sleeve. “After all,” he continued, walking forward and placing his heel on the head of Father Alexámenos, “I belong to the Most Merciful, the Only One. What are we waiting for? The one unworthy to be a scapegoat is here, the one who has a history of raising his heel against the just ones in his deceptive speech, even going by the name of the great Satan!” With that, he turned his back on the Ambassador and soldiers, and began quickly walking toward the pile of logs.

“This is just too easy,” thought the Ambassador, certain that don Hash’s remarks about a scapegoat and the great Satan referred to Father Alexámenos. Instead of the words “This is just too easy” being accompanied with a sense of uneasiness, as had been the case with Cardinal Fidèle, Shaykh al-Hasan iterated these words with contented arrogance.

Before he could go more than a few steps, don Hash had to jump back, just avoiding being run over by some large military vehicles giving escort to a few diplomatic cars coming from the direction of the Cancelleria and the Basilica of San Lorenzo. The diplomats wanted a good view of the fire, but wanted to be as far from it as they could. They parked in between the fountain and the line of soldiers. “Providence has abundantly supplied all that is needed,” thought don Hash. He signalled to the driver of one of the military vehicles which had a large winch situated in the middle of its set of crash bars. Don Hash pulled the cable out about twenty metres and then started coiling it until he was again at the vehicle. He swung the sword and cut the cable easily, giving it to the soldiers next to Shaykh al-Hasan, saying, “Tie him to the top of the statue. Make sure there is no way he can get free, or be freed.”

The ‘deception’ of don Hash – something which Cardinal Elzevir, the Holy Father, padre Emet and Father Alexámenos all suspected, but did not yet know what it could be – was based on the ‘deception’ of Judith, when she saved the Jews from destruction. All the words he spoke were true and would be fulfilled exactly, though not according to the understanding of the Ambassador, or anyone else. This was different from the words he had spoken at his doctoral defence, for those words could ensnare people, and have them lose their faith, or confirm them in their lack of faith, as if those were things that a Catholic priest worthy of the name would believe. He had now declared himself to belong to the Most Merciful, the Only One, however sinful he had been in the past. He was not declaring Father Alexámenos to be the great Satan, as if, in putting his heel on his head, he was calling the promise of redemption in Genesis 3,15 to mind. Instead, he was giving an example of his own past sinfulness. Just as Judas – possessed by Satan – had raised his heel against Christ in mockery of Genesis 3,15, just so might it seem that don Hash was raising his heel against Father Alexámenos. And yet, he called himself an unworthy scapegoat. The only ones who would be deceived are those who wanted to be deceived. There was nothing which could be done about that, except to pray, and not throw one’s pearls before swine, before those who wanted to control the Truth as if it was a possession that could be manipulated. Don Hash was acting in such a way as to avoid the obvious question from Shaykh al-Hasan, namely, whether or not he agreed with the ‘blasphemous’ statements of Father Alexámenos against Allah. This was a matter of tactics on don Hash’s part, as if he were in a war, for it was a war, a spiritual war in which the stakes could not be higher, carrying consequences of life and death, eternal life and eternal death. If he were to be asked bluntly, he would say that he agreed with Father Alexámenos, and why. But there was no use provoking the question. The witness of Father Alexámenos was not yet complete.

The actions of don Hash impressed Shaykh al-Hasan, who was beating the air with his fist, shouting curses at Father Alexámenos. As they came to the logs, the soldiers let Father Alexámenos climb up on his own. Since he offered no resistance, the soldiers had him tied to the top of the statue in no time. They tied his left hand to the end of one of the logs next to him, wrapped the cable across his chest, under his arms, and around the neck of the statue multiple times, finally tying his right hand to a log on the other side of the statue. They tied him in such a way that they hoped what was left of him, after the fire had died down, would remain tied to the statue, not realising that the cable and the statue itself would melt in such an intensely hot fire, as if it were a purpose-built foundry.

Many of the television cameras moved in closer to get pictures of this drama. After the soldiers carefully made their way down the pile of logs, don Hash gained the attention of the cameras by slashing the air with the sword. Standing far below on the pavement, he took aim at a thick, broken branch sticking out of one of the logs. He lopped off a small chunk of the branch, and then used the wide sword like a cricket bat, hitting the wood toward Father Alexámenos, just missing his head. Don Hash was cursing heretics in general, shouting that, if they did not repent, they would end up in hell. The Ambassador of Arāk was, instead, screaming out curses against Father Alexámenos himself in Arabic. Don Hash repeated all of this several times, purposely hitting Father Alexámenos once in the shoulder with a chunk of wood. This had the effect of fomenting the mostly Muslim crowd nearly into a riot. They began to chant their death chant again, “Behead the jackass and burn him.”

Don Hash continued to look at Father Alexámenos while at the same time slashing the air with the sword. Everyone thought that they were about to see a decapitation, a humane concession. Burning to death was horrid.

Don Hash suddenly stopped, resting the point of the sword on the ground and shaking his head in disgust. He yelled more insults at heretics in general and then turned on his heels, walking toward the military and diplomatic vehicles. He guessed – because of the flags on the cars – that they held the American Ambassador, the Italian Secretary of State and Cardinal Elzevir. Don Hash walked to the front end of the military vehicles from which he had cut the cable. Just above the winch there was a large metal plate to which hydraulic hoses were attached in readiness for varying pieces of equipment. Behind the crash bars, there was an array of five-gallon plastic containers holding drinking water, four to either side of the hydraulic hoses. Water was a precious commodity, for the city’s water pumps were no longer working.

Don Hash threw the containers to the ground. Their caps burst off and the water drained out. He then rolled under the high-clearance vehicle. Covering his face, he struck one of the hydraulic hoses with the sword. He then stood up in front of the vehicle and sliced off the rest of the hose. Turning, he kicked the water containers to the side of one of the diplomatic cars just in front of him, emptying the last bit of water that was in them. The car belonged to the American Ambassador. Don Hash tapped on the driver’s window with the handle of the sword. The driver opened the window a few centimetres. “Release the fuel cap,” said don Hash. “You have flammable fuel. Since the military vehicles run on diesel, I’ll need to syphon some of what you have to start the fire.” The driver received the approval of the American Ambassador, and then opened his door. He placed a card for a few seconds over the fuel cap cover, which then opened on its own. He then entered a numerical key on the small keypad on the fuel cap itself, which was then able to be removed. Don Hash took the hydraulic hose and commenced syphoning the fuel into the containers. He had one of the soldiers take over this operation. Don Hash then grabbed a piece of bread from the mouth of a hapless soldier, and began chewing the bread and spitting it out at the feet of the same soldier, trying to remove the fuel from his mouth.

As the second container was being filled, he told the soldier from whom he had taken the bread to take the first container and pour the fuel over the outside perimeter of the logs, walking around its circumference. Don Hash then said that two more containers were to be filled in the same manner and then took the second container to the pile of logs, quite a distance away from the vehicles behind him. As always, he kept a sharp eye on everyone’s movements. Before drenching the logs, he slammed the sword into one of them. As they poured out the fuel, don Hash brusquely gave his now half full container to the soldier – who already had his hands full – and quickly took the soldier’s pistol from its holster. He aimed it at the driver who had supplied the fuel and said, “The fire isn’t ready yet. Don’t throw it down. Just put it out. Now.” The driver’s eyes widened. Don Hash made a show of releasing the safety on the gun and said, “If not, the bullet will put it out and do some collateral damage as well.” The driver looked at the high octane fuel being spilled around him and the car with its diplomatic cargo, and extinguished the cigarette in his hand. Don Hash clicked the safety of the gun into place and gave it back to the embarrassed soldier. He simply could have told the driver not to be so stupid, but he wanted to use him as an example for anyone wanting to start the fire prematurely. Don Hash then told the soldiers near the American Ambassador’s car to take the next two containers – which were now filled – and follow their example. He said that the next two containers were to be filled from the Italian diplomat’s car.

Pope Tsur-Ēzer and Rabbi Shelomoh, still near Tiber Island, knew they were in a dangerous situation, and did their best to convince the soldiers that they did not need or want security. The Holy Father pointed to the crowd of about a dozen people who were watching them, for they recognised the Holy Father and the Rabbi. “I am sure that the dear people of Rome would agree,” said the Pontiff, “that we should not be further detained by you.” When the small crowd saw that the soldiers might be showing the Rabbi and the Pontiff disrespect, they began to walk over to the group, at which point the Captain of the soldiers pretended to receive orders over the phone that he was to let the Pontiff and the Rabbi go on their way without any further ‘protection’.

The Ambassador of Arāk changed what was being chanted, since it was now evident that don Hash would firstly burn Father Alexámenos. “Burn the jackass, the wild ass of a man! Burn the jackass, the wild ass of a man!” He did not realise the irony of his citation from Genesis.

Don Hash instructed the soldiers who had filled their containers from the Italian diplomat’s car to climb up the pile of logs in order to splash the fuel over the logs half way up. He added that two more containers were to be filled from the car bearing licence plates of the Holy See. As they did this, Cardinal Elzevir came out of the car, making a pro-forma protest against the barbarity of the proceedings, but let them take the fuel anyway. “This time, just leave the fuel in the containers at the top of the pile, next to Alexámenos. I will take care of him myself,” said don Hash. Afterwards, the cars of the diplomats were moved because of the increased danger of fire. All the diplomats came out of their cars. Cardinal Elzevir was accompanied by Cardinals Froben and Francisco. They had to witness the execution, which they would have stopped had this been possible. During the past days they had repented of their desire to discredit Father Alexámenos. That he had reported their shenanigans favouring the Chinese Patriotic Association to Pope Tsur-Ēzer now seemed insignificant. Perhaps one of them could give him a final absolution and blessing before his death. None of them could imagine any longer that don Hash could or would even want to save the situation.

Don Hash, meanwhile, was hoping that people would catch on to the fact that he was playing with the scene of Elijah preparing the sacrifice on Mount Carmel just before he slaughtered all eight hundred and fifty prophets of Baal and Asherah. Elijah had poured water multiple times over the wood prepared for the sacrifice, soaking it completely, so that any fire from the heavens igniting the wood would have to be supernatural in origin. Don Hash, instead, poured high octane fuel over the logs, so that the avoidance of burning the ‘sacrifice’ would be quite impossible. All the logs had been completely drenched. The pavement below was also soaked with fuel. A pool had begun to form. So far, thirty gallons of fuel had been used. There were ten more remaining.

Don Hash climbed up and stood on the top of the logs next to Father Alexámenos. He began a short speech, hoping to buy some time. He was scanning the crowds for the Holy Father and the Rabbi. “Justice and mercy are the same thing in God,” he said, projecting his voice as best he could. He did not need to work hard to do this; his voice echoed on the buildings, and everyone wanted to hear what he had so say. His only competition was the anti-acoustic effect of the lightly falling ash. “No man is justified before God because man pretends to be merciful, and no man is merciful before God because man pretends to be justified,” he added. “If God wishes to establish justice among us, He provides mercy, and if God wishes to establish mercy among us, He provides justice.” People saw that don Hash was having difficulty, for he was clearly distracted by his continuous scanning of the crowd and the side streets. Shaykh al-Hasan was getting suspicious that something was wrong. “The fire of God,” continued don Hash, “by which He mercifully provides us with justice, justly providing us with mercy, is always issuing from his glorious throne in the highest of the heavens, permitting the evildoer to be evil all the more, the filthy to be filthy all the more, and providing that the righteous be righteous all the more, and the holy be holy all the more. The fire of God’s Charity and Truth causes the evil and filthy to consume themselves, annihilating themselves. But as they destroy themselves, they provide an occasion in which the same fire of God’s Charity and Truth makes those whom God has made to be righteous and holy to increase in righteousness and holiness all the more.”

Still not seeing Pope Tsur-Ēzer and the Rabbi, don Hash said, “But God, nevertheless, gives us all a chance to convert.” With that, don Hash jumped down on the logs in front of Father Alexámenos, and then climbed the rest of the way down, wrenching the sword out of the log in which he had buried its blade. He climbed up again, and lifted the sword high.

He was again scanning the crowd for the Pope and the Rabbi. He saw them standing next to Shaykh al-Hasan. “Dear Lord… Thank you,” he said in a whisper. He knew their presence would be important for how he hoped events would proceed. The soldiers around them did not look so much like body guards as those who were set on limiting the freedom of the Pontiff and Rabbi. “Dear Lord, please, give me effective words…” don Hash prayed quietly.

Scanning the crowd for the last time, he saw Cardinal Fidèle in a wheelchair, the very thing the Prelate had many times bitterly condemned a recent Pope for using. He was, however, moving it himself. He had a large book in his lap. Carpe Diem was also with him, having stayed with him the night before since Signora Gagno had not been feeling well the previous afternoon.

Seeing them, don Hash shouted, “How does one start a fire lighting up the whole world?”

“Not by burning the Truth,” said Cardinal Fidèle, “but by burning America.” He had now wheeled himself to the pile of logs, dropping the tome under one of the logs. “The transcript of the American’s trial will help to start the blaze that will envelop the very cosmos,” he said.

Carpe Diem retrieved the large volume, opened it up, turned it upside down, and put it over his head, pressing the sides of it hard against his ears.

“But a scapegoat is worthless unless he is innocent and divine,” replied don Hash.

“What! What are you talking about?” shouted Shaykh al-Hasan.

“Killing Father Alexámenos only adds to the death we have all around us,” said don Hash, holding out his left hand, on which some ash immediately fell.

“But he is an example of all those who blaspheme Allah,” protested the Ambassador. “The Pope gave you his blessing. Why are you hesitating? I thought you had submitted to Allah.”

“Father Alexámenos is certainly guilty,” said don Hash, “but not for any crimes of which he was accused in the trial. He is guilty of having crucified the Son of the Living God. Not only has he been subject to the effect of original sin, but he has committed his own sins. Instead, Christ loved us so much as to be the scapegoat who could really be a scapegoat, innocent, divine, like us in all things but sin, fulfilling the righteousness of justice by taking our place, thus having mercy on us with justice.”

“You also are a blasphemer!” shouted the Ambassador.

Carpe Diem, still with the transcript on his head, shouted, “Don Hash, carpe diem! Burning…”

Shaykh al-Hasan laughed and said, “Even this idiot knows Latin, quoting it against you!”

The Rabbi was wide-eyed at what was unfolding before them, but the Holy Father had known something like this was going to happen, and was fully prepared. He knew what he would do, now that the worst had come to the worst… but it was all in the permissive will of God, Who would draw good from the worst of circumstances.

“Alexámenos has been led to his slaughter,” said don Hash, “pleased to have been given the opportunity to witness to Christ’s Charity. You understood him to be a scapegoat, but a scapegoat he cannot be. Only Christ can be the true scapegoat in Alexámenos by grace. Knowing that you, Shaykh al-Hasan, demanded that a scapegoat die on this day, and knowing that Alexámenos was a dead man, I used this situation, not to appease you, and not that I want to take his place, but because in taking his place, it is one more witness of the one Charity of Christ. Friends lay down their lives for the benefit of their friends, Shaykh al-Hasan. The witness of Alexámenos was for your benefit. The witness I will now give in Christ’s Charity is also for your benefit.”

Then, with the sword, don Hash cut the ends of the cables tying the hands of Father Alexámenos to the logs on either side of the statue. He then lifted the sword high above his head, and slammed it into the back of the neck of the statue, cutting through all the loops of the cable holding Father Alexámenos in place. The sword was now irremovably stuck in the neck of the statue. Father Alexámenos began to protest, on account of which don Hash jumped down on the logs in front of him and held out his hand in friendship. Father Alexámenos was fool enough to take his hand. Don Hash catapulted him down the pile of logs and onto the pavement, almost hoping that he would hurt himself and so be unable to protest further. Some soldiers dragged Father Alexámenos away, completely winded, to the opposite side of the statue. He was joined by Carpe Diem, who dropped the transcript under the logs where Cardinal Fidèle had first put it.

Don Hash then removed from his pocket the box of large wooden matches he had taken from the chapel on top of Castel Sant’Angelo and tucked it into the hilt of the sword. “May it be the Charity and Truth of Christ Jesus which will captivate the hearts of men at this very hour,” he prayed. With this, he took one of the two remaining five-gallon containers of fuel and poured it over himself, tossing the container to the pavement below. It took fifteen full seconds to do this.

“Sunt lacrimæ rerum! Sunt lacrimæ rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt,” cried Shaykh al-Hasan, dramatically throwing his arms wide in a mock show of compassion. He had had the presence of mind to cite Virgil’s Aeneid for effect. He couldn’t have cared less if don Hash took the place of Father Alexámenos. It was the death of a scapegoat, any scapegoat that he wanted.

“You are wrong, Ambassador,” said don Hash. “Even these ashes falling are not the tears of things. Such mortal things do not touch the mind. That I am nothing, a sinner, that we are sinners… even these are not the tears of things. It is the sufferings of Christ for us which bring tears to all creation… and then, great joy. What is now to happen, by the grace of God, is a witness to the blessed joy that is to be found in the resurrection of the Child-Sacrifice of our Heavenly Father, Christ Jesus. By Faith in Him, with His Charity in us, we can love one another as He loved us, laying down our lives for one another, for our friends. I call Father Alexámenos friend… but Ambassador, I also call you friend. What I do now I also do for you, for Christ also died for you. I see His face in you just as I see it in all others. I hope to see you in heaven.”

With that, don Hash took the last container and again poured the fuel over himself.

“You can’t do this,” protested the Ambassador. “Such charity is not possible.” He was half provoking don Hash to do what he thought he was going to do, and half afraid of the same thing, unwilling to begin to understand the Truth of which don Hash spoke.

“Is it not possible?” asked don Hash. “Jesus loves you, Ambassador, and wants you to love others as He has loved you. Will you love others? Will you do unto others as you would want them to do unto you?” Don Hash bent down and took the box of matches from the hilt of the sword and threw it in the direction of the Ambassador of Arāk.

The box landed at the Ambassador’s feet. Everyone jumped back a step, not knowing what it was. But the Ambassador picked up the box, slid it open, and looked truly moved by what he saw. The priest had given him a weapon with which he was to be killed. “It is a box of matches,” he said incredulously. “Such love is not possible. It is vengeance which conquers all; it is vengeance which is appreciated by all.”

“You say that because you think that we all weep for the same deep reasons, as if tragedy is understood as the absolute of unity. The ‘donor fatigue’ of your own government following tragedies, even in Islamic countries, should tell you differently. You do not understand that sin, egoism, utter individuality, is the greatest tragedy, and it is necessarily what is most relative to a person, what is most disuniting of mankind. It is when we are truly happy, really blessed, that we share what unites us together, the very vision of God, who has us participate in His very life. This happiness, this blessedness, is found in perfect unity, in Christ’s Charity. With suffering, there is never sympathetic identification unless one is firstly rejoicing in the good of the other person as one’s own good, for the good of each is the indwelling of God by grace, and that is the good we should each have, for Christ Jesus loved us and loves us all just that much. He loves you. If I show you this Charity, I do so only in Him, for it is His Hour of Mercy. After all, even if I give over my body to be burnt, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Look at the humorous side of it, Ambassador. I, a sinner – who could not acquire this Charity – witness to Charity Himself. It is His victory, not mine.”

While Shaykh al-Hasan considered what don Hash said, he almost absentmindedly took one of the matches, held it against the abrasive side of the box, and began to drag it along its edge. Just as the match burst into flame, his face lit up with what he thought was the most brilliant flash of insight in his diplomatic career. He began to describe don Hash, Rabbi Shelomoh and Pope Tsur-Ēzer with incisive mockery. Hell itself had come to his aid.

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Chapter 37 coming soon…

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© 2007-2008 Renzo di Lorenzo — All rights reserved

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