Danny Wakes Up

The first thing that stirred me this morning---- well,noon-----was that gentle, bittersweet bouquet of the bergamot oranges. In just the short time I have been in the Calabria region (has it really only been ten days?) I have become accustomed to that “wake-up aroma” each day.





But with my eyes still closed, there was another scent floating over me, equally familiar and endearing---- that of recent lovemaking. I turned my head to the side and opened my eyes and there was Esperanza lying next to me in all her nude glory, smiling broadly. As I smiled back, she gestured with her head and I turned to the other side, coming eye to eye with Maxine equally –well, stunning. I jumped from the bed and grabbed my shirt and pants and ran outside to splash my face with the spring water, as the women giggled and blew kisses from the window. Sometimes you just know you’re in the middle of a highlight reel!
Over berries and cream, we mused over the events of the past week or so. I was certainly in open to some explanations!

Maxine showed me the Email from Father Raynor concerning Bassanni’s “Burial”, explaining that this makes Felix a free man again. As long as the bishop stays in hospitals under the name of “Culpa”, both the Italian and U.S authorities are happy not to have to track down Felix. The Vatican is happy the sins of Bassanni are locked up with him. And Felix’s knowledge of all that went on gives him valuable leverage with all involved. He even got the Vatican Curia to agree to look at Milo’s biography of St. Sybian.
But most importantly for Felix, with Sybian’s evocation of Mia’s spirit, the two lovers will truly spend their time together.


“Humanity reaches as far as love reaches. It has no frontiers except those we give it.”
---Italo Calvino


I decided to walk over to the church and revisit the scene of last night’s many events. Walking through the town, I nodded to many of the people I had seen last night, whipped in a frenzy. They were considerably calmer today. Reaching the church, I crossed myself (an old habit I had picked up from my Irish grandmother) and started down the path on the side of the church to the cemetery gate.

The area looked less menacing in the sunny afternoon. I was getting close to the site of “Bassanni’s Grave”, but everything had changed. Instead of the torn up turf and sod and soil, there was a stone statue on the spot. And no one has been able to explain who is responsible and how it got there. All Esperanza will say is, “It’s a gift!!”