Shrouded In Silence

55





The typical congestion of Rome's street traffic continued at its usual frantic pace down Vicolo del Bologna in front of the Dar Poeta sidewalk café. Luichi walked from table to table taking orders and swinging the silver coffeepot with his usual artistic flourishes. Even though it was late November, sitting outside with a sweater on felt exhilarating. Somewhere down some boulevard, the sirens of a fire engine signaled an emergency. No one slowed. Off in the distance, the top of the magnificent dome of St. Peter's Basilica towered above the surrounding buildings.

Jack and Michelle Townsend sat leisurely at one of the small tables eating breakfast. Now and then, Jack casually looked up and watched the endless parade of all shapes and sizes walking down the street.

"You really enjoy watching the sideshow," Michelle said.

"Really? Hmm. Perhaps." Jack grinned.

"Perhaps, nothing," she said. "Those artichokes cooked in the Roman-Jewish style are the only thing you like more than watching the marching army of the strange and beautiful go by."

"I believe you have made a profound point."

"There's no profundity there. It's simple observation made from watching you every chance you get to show up at the Dar Poeta."

Jack laughed. "I'm trapped. I have no defense. On the other hand, I brought you with me. See. That shows magnanimity."

"We haven't heard a word from Don Blake since we left last night," Michelle said. "I've called him Father so long that it's hard now not to keep from doing so."

"We'll get a call before long. Don't worry."

Silence fell between them again.

Finally Michelle said, "My thoughts keep returning to Dov Sharon. Our friend's death was pushed aside by the events we've lived through, but when I remember what happened, I am profoundly saddened. I'm ashamed that I had bad thoughts about him."

"Yes," Jack said. "Dov was our friend and such a compatriot. I wonder what he'd say if he knew how this pursuit has turned out?"

"Oh, he'd probably come up with one of his jokes. Maybe, he'd suggest that the ancient ending of Mark would now make good shelf paper. Something of that order."

"Dov knew how to push the pain of tragedy aside with a smile on his face." Perhaps, the struggles of his people taught him how to endure by using a grin as his friend."

"I suppose so," Michelle said. "I didn't tell you earlier but I did something yesterday that I felt I needed to do. The Jewish people believe that the soul lingers near the body for a period of months so I went to the Jewish cemetery and gave Dov a formal send off. A little best wishes from both of us."

"Nice," Jack said. "Thoughtful. You know, I've been thinking about that priest down there at the bottom level under the Vatican. Remember Father Donnello? The old priest tucked away in that basement where they are excavating the Circus of Caligula and Nero? Dov certainly touched that man's life. I was thinking of going back to see him today."

"Really?"

"Father Donnello has the answer to where The Prologue of James is hidden. I think another visit would be worthwhile for our next project."

"I know you haven't given up on finding the ending to Mark's Gospel, but this last failure has to be a let down since both of us came so close and then found our search to be futile."

Jack nodded. Michelle said, "It really threw Jonas De Lateran for a loop. The poor man had spent a lifetime waiting for this revelation only to discover it was a mistake. He kept a stiff upper lip though, but I know it was difficult."

"Certainly. To have a family secret kept through centuries of struggle disappear in a matter of seconds would be difficult for anyone to accept, but your words of encouragement helped him."

Michelle smiled. "I hope so. I really do believe in the meaning of what I told both of you last night. Those convictions came from the heart."

"You had a good word for us, dear." Jack pushed the empty plate back. "Oh, man! Those artichokes were good."

"I don't see how anyone could eat those greasy things for breakfast." Michelle's voice took on a cynical tone. "Really!"

"You know we're so close to the Amadeo bridge and the Borgo Santo Spirito street that runs into the Piazza San Pietro of the Vatican, I think I might run over there for a quick word with Father Donnello. What do you think?"

"Fine with me," Michelle said. "I've never been a big people watcher, but I can see how these street people held your attention. I think it might be fun to sit here and watch for a while, wondering about their struggles."

"You've got your cell phone. We can hook up without any problem."

"Sure."

Jack stood up. "I won't be long. Let's see what happens."

"Good luck," Michelle waved and watched him walk down the street.

During the next hour, she watched the endless parade of the unusual saunter past. One woman looked like she was over six feet tall with extremely long arms. Her smart miniskirt revealed slender but alluring legs. Probably a model, the young lady walked so straight she appeared to be reaching for another inch of height. An old woman with a scarf tied over her head came shuffling down the street. A simple silver cross hung around her neck over an old, hand-knitted sweater. Shrunken cheeks make it appear she had lost her teeth. The worn hands and recessed eyes reflected a hard life—just the opposite of the tall young lady.

Michelle took another sip of coffee. She'd often teased Jack about his incessant ogling of shoppers while dining at the Dar Poeta, but she enjoyed the variety of sights that drifted by on this cool November morning. Finally, she found the latest edition of the Il Messaggero newspaper and ran down the local stories.

The headlines screamed that detective Alfredo Pino made a significant catch in apprehending the terrorist Tony Mattei. She didn't remember Pino being within a hundred miles of the baptistery, but the nervous detective seemed to have a knack for showing up at the right time after the action was over. How could she ever forget the cop who thought they were up to something because Jack and she kept being the target of an attack? No mention of Don Blake anywhere. Their friend must have had his reasons for disappearing from the news story. The account concluded with the statement that Rome could sleep easy now that The Scorpion terrorist gang had been captured. No report of what became of the rest of the bad guys. How like Rome this story was.

She finished the paper and laid it on the table. For the next forty-five minutes, she watched the locals stroll by. Michelle concluded that the last three months had been like a lifetime crammed into a small box. Perhaps, one of the most profitable things that had happened to her was bringing her emotional problem under greater control. No longer did she fear the loud sirens or flinch when the unexpected happened. No small victory there.

Looking up the street, she saw Jack hustling down the sidewalk. Glancing at her watch, Michelle discovered that he had been gone for a shorter amount of time than she had expected. It should prove interesting to see what he'd come up with. He waved and picked up the pace.

"That didn't take long," Michelle said as Jack sat down.

"Father Donnello seemed absolutely delighted to see me. We drank a nice coffee and had a delightful conversation. I told him that he came to mind while we were discussing Dov Sharon. That remembrance particularly pleased him."

"And?" Michelle gestured with her hand for him to say more.

"I brought up The Prologue of James and asked if he'd come to a decision to tell me more."

"Yes?"

"The priest said he had." Jack stopped and smiled. "I think I know where the document won't be found."

"What?"

"The document is not in Rome."





Discussion Questions





Had you noticed that there are three endings to Mark's Gospel? Take a look. What would you make of these differences?

How might any one of these different endings affect the meaning of the entire Gospel?

How would you perceive the theological struggle between Gnostics (as represented by Stein) and the contemporary understanding of Christianity (represented by the Townsends)?

Can you explain why theological differences could make individuals angry enough to become dangerous? Where and how is that happening in our world today?

The story turns on issues of resentment and frustration that have become volatile enough to cause death and destruction. Where are similar boiling points exploding right now? Can they be disarmed?

We often identify with a particular character in a story. What character did you tie in with?

Would you have done anything differently from what this character did in the story? What?

The Church of Santa Maria della Concezione displays the bones of more than four thousand Capuchin monks. Why would the custodians of the church develop such a display? What kind of statement does it make to anyone today?

Have you ever imagined such a sight? How might bones and skulls hanging from the ceiling affect you?

Strange and unexpected sights may take us to distinct times in our own lives that could be difficult to deal with. Events around Michelle Townsend forced her to fight post-traumatic stress symptoms. What would you do with such experiences? How can one successfully confront such issues?

We live in increasingly violent times. Do attacks, shootings, and explosions affect your sense of security? Do you find yourself being fearful of being out at night or in strange neighborhoods? How can we face such an environment?

What is a Christian approach to such fears?