and if they are no good, perhaps we could ask the school to lend us some for the occasion.’ Don Edoardo passed Luca a large key. ‘There’s no electricity down there. Use the oil lamp hanging on the hook by the door. There are matches on the shelf next to the lamp.’ He checked his watch. ‘I must leave now – I have a bereaved mother to visit.’
When the priest had gone, Luca sat and stared at the statue of the Madonna on the altar. She hadn’t spoken to him again since that first wonderful day, but he could feel her calming influence all around him. Eventually, he stood up, walked to the door of the crypt and unlocked it. As Don Edoardo had suggested, he took the oil lamp off its hook and lit it before walking carefully down the creaking stairs, the lamp emanating a shadowy glow. He stood on the bottom step and cast the light around.
The crypt was not big, and was jammed with all manner of discarded junk. A layer of dust covered everything and spiders had been allowed to create elaborate webs undisturbed. As he picked his way carefully through the clutter, he decided that sorting out the crypt would be another task he could complete. He found the wooden chairs Don Edoardo had mentioned and began to unstack them, only to discover that all of them had either a leg missing or no back. He turned round and knelt down to pick up a rotting prayer book from a pile on the floor. As he opened it, the pages disintegrated in his fingers.
Suddenly, the oil lamp went out and the crypt descended into complete darkness. He ferreted in his pocket for his lighter and reignited the wick, but the lamp went out again almost immediately. As he did his best to stumble back to the entrance, deciding a torch would serve him better, Luca caught his foot on something. Letting out a yelp of pain, he fell with a thump, his ankle taking the brunt of his fall.
Luca lay in the darkness, unable to move until the pain lessened. Something crawled across his hand and he pulled it back quickly. Trying to keep calm, he eventually retrieved his lighter from his trouser pocket and managed to rekindle the oil lamp. Looking down, he saw he’d tripped over the corner of an ancient leather-bound trunk which had been partially hidden by a pile of moth-eaten vestments. Putting the lamp down beside him, he hauled the garments to one side, coughing as a cloud of dust filled the dank air. Gingerly, he lifted the heavy lid off the trunk.
The interior was lined with purple velvet, and as Luca put his hands tentatively inside, they grasped a large, heavy object. He struggled to pick it up and out of the trunk, and shining his lamp upon it, saw an ornately engraved chalice, tarnished by age and neglect. Taking out his handkerchief, he spat on the fabric to moisten it, then rubbed a small spot of the metal to clean it, revealing the lucent gleam of what he was sure must be silver. With a sense of growing excitement, he placed the chalice carefully on the floor beside him, then began to remove the rest of the trunk’s contents.
The next item was a prayer book, the pages yellowing and fragile, but, protected from the damp by the thick leather of the trunk, still in one piece. Next out of the trunk was another set of priest’s vestments. As Luca lifted them out, he felt something solid wrapped inside. At that moment the oil lamp flickered ominously and, not wishing to be plunged into darkness again, Luca gathered the chalice and prayer book from the floor, and rolled the vestments under his arm. Hooking the wire handle of the lamp over one finger, he groped his way towards the stairs.
In the vestry, Luca laid the vestments on the floor and unfolded them slowly. In the centre of one of the garments he found a small, battered leather pouch, not much larger than his hand. Carefully extracting the contents of the pouch, Luca saw he was holding a small canvas drawing mounted on a crude wooden frame. He stared down at the instantly familiar face.
It was as if the
When the priest had gone, Luca sat and stared at the statue of the Madonna on the altar. She hadn’t spoken to him again since that first wonderful day, but he could feel her calming influence all around him. Eventually, he stood up, walked to the door of the crypt and unlocked it. As Don Edoardo had suggested, he took the oil lamp off its hook and lit it before walking carefully down the creaking stairs, the lamp emanating a shadowy glow. He stood on the bottom step and cast the light around.
The crypt was not big, and was jammed with all manner of discarded junk. A layer of dust covered everything and spiders had been allowed to create elaborate webs undisturbed. As he picked his way carefully through the clutter, he decided that sorting out the crypt would be another task he could complete. He found the wooden chairs Don Edoardo had mentioned and began to unstack them, only to discover that all of them had either a leg missing or no back. He turned round and knelt down to pick up a rotting prayer book from a pile on the floor. As he opened it, the pages disintegrated in his fingers.
Suddenly, the oil lamp went out and the crypt descended into complete darkness. He ferreted in his pocket for his lighter and reignited the wick, but the lamp went out again almost immediately. As he did his best to stumble back to the entrance, deciding a torch would serve him better, Luca caught his foot on something. Letting out a yelp of pain, he fell with a thump, his ankle taking the brunt of his fall.
Luca lay in the darkness, unable to move until the pain lessened. Something crawled across his hand and he pulled it back quickly. Trying to keep calm, he eventually retrieved his lighter from his trouser pocket and managed to rekindle the oil lamp. Looking down, he saw he’d tripped over the corner of an ancient leather-bound trunk which had been partially hidden by a pile of moth-eaten vestments. Putting the lamp down beside him, he hauled the garments to one side, coughing as a cloud of dust filled the dank air. Gingerly, he lifted the heavy lid off the trunk.
The interior was lined with purple velvet, and as Luca put his hands tentatively inside, they grasped a large, heavy object. He struggled to pick it up and out of the trunk, and shining his lamp upon it, saw an ornately engraved chalice, tarnished by age and neglect. Taking out his handkerchief, he spat on the fabric to moisten it, then rubbed a small spot of the metal to clean it, revealing the lucent gleam of what he was sure must be silver. With a sense of growing excitement, he placed the chalice carefully on the floor beside him, then began to remove the rest of the trunk’s contents.
The next item was a prayer book, the pages yellowing and fragile, but, protected from the damp by the thick leather of the trunk, still in one piece. Next out of the trunk was another set of priest’s vestments. As Luca lifted them out, he felt something solid wrapped inside. At that moment the oil lamp flickered ominously and, not wishing to be plunged into darkness again, Luca gathered the chalice and prayer book from the floor, and rolled the vestments under his arm. Hooking the wire handle of the lamp over one finger, he groped his way towards the stairs.
In the vestry, Luca laid the vestments on the floor and unfolded them slowly. In the centre of one of the garments he found a small, battered leather pouch, not much larger than his hand. Carefully extracting the contents of the pouch, Luca saw he was holding a small canvas drawing mounted on a crude wooden frame. He stared down at the instantly familiar face.
It was as if the
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