Chapter 6

 

The third time he went out was less than a week later. The gibbous moon shone ever more brightly on the path, but the air felt colder, and he shoved his hands inside his sleeves as he walked, watching his breath curl away from his face to dissipate beneath the glare of the stars.

He would easily be seen tonight, if the man was keeping watch at his window. Nicky had considered waiting for the new moon, but Uncle’s insistence that he finish his business quickly pushed him out the gate that much sooner.

The path now familiar to him, he let his mind wander toward thoughts of what his life would be once this business was complete. Surely, a life of quiet contemplation and service to his Lord would be fully rewarding, and yet he couldn’t shake a nagging discontentment, as if he were meant for something more. As he reached the street of the man’s insula, he shook it off. These feelings were brought on by the excitement of his clandestine activities, nothing more. They were the foolish emotions of a childhood fantasy—Nicholas the mysterious benefactor—and he would do well to put them aside as the haughty thoughts that they were.

As he neared the apartment, though, his heartbeat nonetheless sped up. There were voices in the courtyard. No, he thought as he crept closer, not voices. A single voice. That of the father.

He was praying.

Nicky didn’t want to listen, but couldn’t help himself. The man made no attempt to keep his words to himself.

“Righteous Father,” he prayed, “You have been so good, so kind to this unworthy servant. I am filled with relief, with gratitude for all that Your angel has done for us. Two of my daughters are secure in their future—and I know, with all the faith that is in my heart—that You will provide for my last child as well. It need not be through this means. You have shown Yourself more than able to surprise me with Your kindness. Forgive me for ever doubting Your good will.” He paused to choke back his tears. “Foolish man that I am, I am just so grateful. I ask only this—and if it is too much just say the word—but I ask only for the chance to repay this kindness this man—mayhap this angel—has shown my children. I would gladly give my daughter to him if he should ask for her hand. Anything would be a worthy price. Anything, anything. Just say the word.”

And so on he went in his prayer. Nicky bit his lip. How was he to get close enough now to deliver this last bit of gold? Should he come back the next night and try again?

He leaned back against the wall by the street, looking up toward the moon. What would You have me do? he prayed.

That’s when he spied the ladder leaning against the wall of the apartment beside the man’s. It was just a short leap from one rooftop to the other, and though most people slept out on their roofs during the heat of the summer, tonight felt brisk. Surely everyone would be inside, asleep by their fires.

That was it, then. The way to deliver this last gift. What a delight it would be, too, for the man to go inside and find the gift he’d prayed for waiting for him beside his own warm fire.

Nicky grabbed hold of the rungs and started to climb. At the top of the wall, he eased himself over the side and crept alongside the ledge toward the gap between the two buildings. The courtyard was below him on the left, where the man still lifted his prayers to the heavens, unmindful of the virtual shadow Nicholas had become on the rooftop behind him.

Nicky took a few steps back, and ran for the edge, ready to leap full onto the roof of the insula. As he neared the edge, he caught himself just before he jumped and skidded to a halt, ducking low behind the parapet, his heart thudding in his chest.

One of the daughters—the youngest, he thought—had come outside. “Papa?” she was saying, “when are you coming in?”

“Johanna,” the man answered. “Soon. When the Lord and I have finished our talk.”

“Does the Lord say whether or not His saint will come tonight?”

“I know not,” he answered. “I have not asked Him.”

Saint? Nicky thought. Surely not!

“I hope he comes soon,” she said.

Nicky backed up, and made ready to try again.

“I’m sure the Lord will take care of matters,” her father replied.

Nicky ran for the edge and leaped, sailing over the short gap and landing on the far side.

Johanna gasped. “Papa? Did you hear that?”

“I heard something.”

Nicky lay flat on his stomach, daring not to move.

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know. A bird, perhaps?”

Nicky raised his eyes. In front of him, not ten feet away, was the opening to the fire in the room below. A steady stream of smoke drifted upward toward the moon. It was his best chance.

“It sounded much larger than a bird,” the girl said from below.

Nicky crawled forward on his belly toward the opening.

“Hush now, little one. Go inside.”

“But I want to see!”

He reached the edge, and fumbled for the bag of gold tucked within his shirt.

“Go inside now,” her father insisted. “I will check this out.”

Nicky drew out the gold and hastily tossed it through the opening. Too late, he realized it might land in the fire.

A cry from below drew his attention. “Papa! Papa, come quick!”

Nicky scrambled backward, fleeing toward the ledge.

“Do you see?” she said. “It landed in the sock you were drying over the fire.”

Nicky flung himself over the edge. He hit the far wall and felt a jarring impact in his bones. His knee smacked painfully against the brick. Gasping, he struggled to draw himself onto the roof, his hands clutching at the ledge. A chip of stone broke free beneath his fingers, and he slipped backward, a cry escaping his lips.

Just then, a ladder smacked against the wall beside him. Nicky pushed up, but his toes found scant purchase on the smooth surface of the wall. He sagged back against the brick and felt himself slip downward.

“Hang on,” the man panted as he climbed up beside Nicky. “There now, friend. I’ve got you.”

Strong arms reached around Nicky’s waist, tugging him toward the ladder. “Careful now.”

“Misjudged the landing,” he said hoarsely.

“And what you thinking? Flying around on the rooftops like that, eh? You could have broken your neck.”

When they touched ground, Nicky tried to hide his face. “It was the only way.” He gasped again when he tried to put weight on his knee.

“Here now. Better let me have a look at that.” The man gently lay Nicky against the wall and lifted his robe over his knee. “You’ve gone and made a bloody mess of your leg. Johanna! Bring oil and wine.” He turned back around and studied Nicky’s face. “Only way, you said? Only way to what?”

Nicky swallowed. “Let my giving be in secret.”

The man snorted. “Some secret. The whole town is buzzing about it. And what will they say when I tell them my benefactor is flying about on the rooftops like an angel of God?”

“Please, sir. I beg you: say nothing.”

“Should not generosity be rewarded?”

“Nay. Let it be rewarded in heaven alone.”

Johanna showed up at his side, bearing the oil and wine. She met Nicky’s gaze with dark, round eyes in a perfectly oval face, hair as black as a raven’s, and far from being a child, was rather a woman grown. She couldn’t have been more than two years younger than he. Nicky felt a sudden flush in his cheeks.

The man poured first the wine, and then the oil onto Nicky’s wound. Nicky gasped in pain as the alcohol seeped into the cuts on his skin.

“Hmm,” the man grunted as he wound a strip of cloth over his knee, “and what possessed you to notice us? Do I know you? Are you in debt to me in some way?”

“No sir.”

“Then perhaps you were entranced by my daughters’ beauty?”

“No. I mean, yes, your daughters are quite… quite beautiful,” he grinned stupidly. Johanna blushed. “But that is not why,” he added hastily.

“Then tell me.”

“Your eldest—”

“Mary.”

“Yes. She was singing.”

“She does that. No one has ever paid her for it.”

“I had—my parents died recently. I was awash in grief. My uncle brought me here. And he showed me your daughter, and told me of all you have suffered. Your wife’s long illness and her passing. How you’ve lost your business. How you’ve become so poor that you risk eviction, and that you might even have to have sold out your own daughters to men to pay your debt.” As he spoke, the man lowered his head in shame. Nicky continued, his words tumbling out in a torrent. “And yet she was singing! Her heart was full of joy despite all that pain, despite that she might never marry her beau, and be sold instead to someone else. Still singing. It made me realize there can be joy in pain. Laughter in grief. And that if we are alive just to enjoy the sun on our faces, we are blessed.

“So when I chose to abandon all worldly possessions, and dispense with the gold I had inherited, I could think of no better family to give it to than to the one that taught me to smile again.”

The man and his daughter were silent a long while. When the man spoke again, his voice was low and full of wonder. “You are from the monastery.”

Nicky nodded.

“Your parents were that wealthy couple that died from the plague this summer. They were much loved. Theophanes and Nona, yes? He owned the ships and the vineyard. You are Nicholas. Their son. I am Antonius.”

Nicky shook his hand. “I belong to God, now.”

“You do Him and your parents credit.”

“Please,” he winced. “Do not speak of this. To anyone.”

After a moment, Antonius nodded. “Your secret is safe with us. Would you like to come inside and refresh yourself?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Thank you. I must return to the monastery before they notice I’m missing.”

“Can you walk?”

He pushed himself to his feet, gingerly putting weight on his knee. “I think I can manage.”

Abruptly, Antonius pulled him into an embrace. “God bless what you have done, Nicholas of Patara. You have saved my family. I will never forget you.”

When he released him, Johanna stepped forward, still clutching, Nicky saw, the tiny bag of gold he’d left for her in her father’s sock. “I have no beau,” she said. “No suitors asking for my hand. But I pray that when I do, that I meet someone just as kind and as beautiful as you.” With that, she pressed her lips to his own, leaving him stunned, wide-eyed and breathless.

Together, she and her father went back into the apartment and shut the door.

Nicholas limped back to the monastery, and by the time he arrived, the morning birds had begun their singing, heralding the day. He lay on his bed a long time, missing morning prayers, and as he finally drifted off to sleep, his mind was on that kiss.

 

***

“Did he ever tell your secret?” I asked. Brother Oleg had fallen asleep again, and was snoring gently on the bed. The Abbot reached out a tender hand and gently moved a lock of hair out of the man’s face.

“Sadly, he did.”

“Why sadly?”

His shoulders sagged. “A broken promise is never a good thing. I don’t think he meant to do it. He kept his word for years. But gradually, through things he said or didn’t say—and more by the attentions he and Johanna showered upon me, word crept out. First, it was his other two daughters and their husbands. Asking me to bless their children. Inviting me to feast with them, and so forth. It raised suspicions. Then others came. I began to doubt their intentions, whether or not they thought I kept a secret stash of gold somewhere, and would equally bless them if they were kind toward me. It turned people away from Christ, and onto me. I assure you, that was the last thing I wanted, and it is something that has plagued me ever since. You have no idea how much it pains me even today. Eventually, it compelled me to leave New Zion behind.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I could no longer serve in secret. Uncle sat me down one day and said, ‘Nicky, I fear it is time for you to go.’ He didn’t explain why. He didn’t have to. I knew.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

He nodded and sipped his tea, then made a face. “Ah. Cold. Would you like some fresh?”

I felt my stomach rumble, and realized I still hadn’t eaten. “Actually—”

“Say no more,” he held up his hand. “I can see that you’re hungry. What say we let Oleg sleep for a bit? We can go down to the kitchen and find you some supper.”

I folded my notepad and turned off the recorder. “Thank you. That’d be nice.”

“Of course, we’ll have to sneak past Brother Don. He guards the pantry like Cerebus at the doors of Tartarus.”

I raised my eyebrows at the image. “I think Brother Don offered me something when I arrived.”

“Did he? Excellent! I’ve always enjoyed his cooking. One of the best chefs we’ve ever had up here. Did you know he once ran a restaurant in New York City?”

“You’re kidding.”

He grinned and led the way. “He was the Souse Chef, I believe. Some place on Fifth Avenue.”

“Wow. He left all that to come here?”

“People come to us for many different reasons. All are welcome, but very few decide to take vows. I’m sure it was quite difficult for him to do so, but I imagine it would be even harder now if he had to leave, as it was for me.”

We turned and headed downstairs to the kitchen. “In some ways,” he added, “leaving New Zion was the second hardest thing I’d ever had to do at the time. Well, perhaps the third. The second was coming to New Zion in the first place. But burying my parents…”

“Oh, first. Absolutely,” I agreed. “I had that unfortunate privilege two years ago. My mother. Lung cancer.”

“And your father?”

“Killed in combat when I was very young. We got a flag and a picture to remember him by. Truth is, it’s all I know of him. For years, it was just me and Mom.”

“Mmm,” he gripped my shoulder. “Time makes orphans of us all.” He opened the door to the kitchen, waking Brother Don who’d been asleep on a chair, his head propped on his elbow.

“Up, you old scoundrel! Sleeping on the job, eh?” the Abbot chided.

“And who are you calling old?” Don yawned. “I wondered when you’d wander down here.” He looked at me and nodded toward the Abbot. “This man been keeping you from supper?”

“Not at all,” I answered. “Didn’t even notice how hungry I was till he said something about it.”

He motioned us over to a small table with chairs and plates already set up. An oil lamp glowed invitingly in the center of the table, it’s tiny flame flickering like a distant star. As we sat, he appeared beside us with a pot in one hand and a large spoon in the other. “Are you fond of Ribbe?” He wore an apron with a picture of a talking Spanish gourd wearing a Christmas hat and sporting a gold tooth that said, ‘Hey look! I’m an elf!’ I resisted asking him about it.

“Don’t know,” I replied. “I’ve never had it before.”

“Then it’s high time you did. Today we’re serving it with potatoes, sauerkraut, and baked apples with prunes.”

“Ribbe?” said the Abbot. “Aren’t we a little early for the season?”

He smiled. “Seemed appropriate. I also have some medisterpoelse, and a fine juleøl.”

As he served the food onto my plate I asked, “What exactly am I eating here, in English?” I doubted this was standard fare at that Fifth Avenue restaurant he came from.

Don shrugged. “Potatoes. Sauerkraut. Baked Apples and—”

“Yeah. How about the parts I don’t understand?” I laughed.

“Ribbe is ribs. Medisterpoelse is minced pork sausage. And juleøl is a dark, traditional Christmas beer.”

“Beer? I’ll go for that.”

“It’s an allowance we make for the culture. And hardly unheard of. The practice of faith is somewhat different here in Europe than in America, as it is different all over the world.”

“I’m not complaining.” To Don I said, “Why Christmas beer?”

A sly grin toyed with the corner of his mouth. “As I said, seemed appropriate.” He gave me a wink and moved off.

I looked to the Abbot. “What’s he talking about?”

He sipped his beer. “Don relishes serving here. The whole Christmas motif brings him such joy. He’d celebrate year round if I let him.”

“Why not?”

“There’s more to the liturgical calendar than just the birth of our Lord. We must remember that Christmas is only the prelude to Good Friday.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Besides,” he put his mug down, “the other Brothers would soon grow tired of it. Worse, they’d grow tired of Advent. As the saying goes, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’”

He seemed to grow quiet after that, with the same faraway look in his eyes he’d had while telling me his story to this point. I wondered if he was back there now.

“Do you miss it?”

“Hmm?”

“New Zion. You said your uncle asked you to leave.”

“No. I miss the town—my childhood home, sometimes. I miss it the way anyone misses the place where they grew up. But it’s not really the place that we miss. It’s our innocence. Our youth. The feeling of being a child, with someone else to watch over you, and days filled with eternal sunshine. That’s what we miss. But I would not go back there now. So much has happened. So much good was done after I left—and so much I’ve seen. As the old Gospel hymn puts it, ‘I started out travelin' for the Lord many years ago. I've had a lot of heartache, I've met a lot of grief and woe. But when I would stumble, then I would humble down, and there I would say I wouldn't take nothing for my journey now.’”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

He smiled and tapped the table. “You left your notepad and recorder upstairs.”

I shrugged. “I’ve got a good memory.”

“Well,” he savored his beer. “I had no idea where I would go. But as it turns out, my uncle did.”