The Inner Trials of a Holy Man
Zackary Gedeist-Farmer — 12th Grade
Years of work and dedication have led me to this moment, in the heart of Rome I am giving my final Rites of Ordination from within Saint Peter’s Basilica. A massive cathedral supported by graceful pillars chiseled to a divine amount of perfection and ordained with the art of Michelangelo, one of the Renaissance masters of old. After the Rites have concluded an elderly bishop wearing white, flowing robes whose face resembles that of tanned leather than of skin corrals me from the other priests and informs me, in a frail and whispered tone, that my first task would be to aid the sick and poor in the town of Matera to the south of Italy. As I take my departure past the grand doors of the cathedral I spot a small black carriage out of the corner of my eye, it rests on a small and disheveled piece of road away from the mobs of people walking the street. Peculiar I thought; a carriage driver who will be transporting a servant of God is hidden away in some back alley? He should be proud to display his service, just as we are to display our service to the Lord I exclaimed. I begrudgingly make a path down the muddy, broken road to the lone carriage intending on having a word with the shameful driver. To my surprise there was no one tending to the horses or the carriage, in my annoyed state I decided it would be wiser to lounge within the carriage, waiting for the arrival of the coachman. As I take my seat I begin to survey my surroundings to entertain myself for the time being. The interior of the carriage seems to be shrouded in a state of perpetual darkness even while the burning rays of the sun pierce the sky. After becoming rather bored of not being able to see I witnessed a flicker of red and orange across from me and finally the burning of what appears to be a pipe, startled I ask who is there only to be greeted with a deep, but shallow laugh from the unnerving passenger.
“Are you the priest?” he asks in a deep, booming voice.
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“Of course I am, who else could it be?” I say in a nervous, stuttered tone.
The crack of a whip and the whining of horses can be heard just as the silence had begun to descend upon us, the sudden force of the wagon being pulled prompts me to fall back against my chair causing me to bash my head on the poorly padded head rest.
“Some sun should brighten the dampened mood” the stranger says while lifting a curtain.
The sun pours through the small facet, engulfing half of the carriage in light. I quickly look over at the man to see whom I have been sharing a cabin with this entire time. To my surprise he was an old man with a rather large, unkempt beard, a wide brimmed hat, and a small pipe hanging from his mouth. How could a man with such a large voice be confined to such a frail mortal shell I thought to myself. Silence was dominant for the better part of our travel to Matera, though the eerie feeling of someones eyes assualting my person tore at my mind, I carefully glance at the old man to witness him intently staring directly at me; his eyes seemed to faintly glow with a terrifying focus as they met my own. The silence was shortly broken when something along the rough back roads ripped a wheel from our carriage. After regaining my composure from the unforeseen accident I pry the door open and step out to see the sun finally beginning to set. I make my towards the front of the carriage to ask the driver how long it will take to make repairs. As I reach the front my eyes shoot open, there was no driver just as before; I make haste to find and talk to the old man about our predicament yet he is nowhere to be seen. I walk towards a nearby field and a gust of cool Autumn air washes over me, I close my eyes and breathe deep, this gives me a sense of peace if just for a moment. Glancing back I begin to stare at the carriage. Where are they? Were they thrown from the seats? I ask myself these questions because I was too afraid to ask myself the others. Were they even real? Am I mad? If so, for how long? Has it just begun or has my entire life just been an elaborate play conjured up and confined by my own plagued psyche? I look up towards the yellow and orange forest and stare at the movement of the branches as the wind dances with them, slowly and placidly. My feet begin to carry me towards the forest while walking I glance towards the carriage to see that it is no longer there, neither are the horses that drew it. The snapping of twigs and rustle of leaves fill the air as I inertly move farther into the forest, I look towards the sky to see the moon staring back with its bright gleaming eyes. How long have I been walking? I ask myself. My legs feel weak and frail, ready to snap. My mind feels clouded and heavy, on the verge of collapse. I drop to my knees into a soft pile of leaves and lie down staring at the stars surrounded by the whispering of the wind and the stretching of the trees. I close my eyes and my mind wanders I begin to hear my mother and father calling my name, the sound of church bells ring in my head each ring has more vigor than the last. The pain of the ringing grows, I feel like screaming, yelling and thrashing yet I remain still. The ringing soon ends and I drift into a deeper sleep where my mind and soul are truly free.
