Act VIII – Abyss
* * *
Characters:
LUIGI - gravedigger.
CARDINAL PURVES - elderly incontinent.
LAZZARO - Pope Rightvinger’s acolyte, assassin.
POPE RIGHTVINGER - Pope Emeritus.
STAVROS - mortician
MARIA - cleaning lady
‘In breaking news; homicide at a Vatican-owned guesthouse. Police are appealing for witnesses who may have visited the Valle Giulia precinct of Rome at around 2 am yesterday. A notorious red-light district, the area has long been a focus for criminal activity. Experts have ruled out suicide, saying the crime bears the hallmarks of a ‘ritual killing’. A citywide murder hunt has now been launched. Unconfirmed reports suggest a masked ‘monk’ was seen fleeing the scene, leading to speculation of some sort of vigilante attack. Authorities have warned people not to approach the suspect and to report anything suspicious immediately. Although not yet formally identified, the victim is said to be a senior-ranking official within the Vatican. We will of course keep you up to date with this and other news as it develops. Now, on a lighter note, the extraordinary story of one woman’s claim to have found the rosary of Saint Francis…’
‘Bollocks.’ Luigi removed the headphones as his mind spun. He extended an arm from the hospital bed and picked up the vase resting on his bedside table. Although the single daffodil hadn’t fared well on its regime of surgical spirit, he suspected the draft would prove a tonic for human life.
I must warn them, came a voice as the mental fog gave way to an agreeable alcoholic haze.
Due to a miscellany of weekend accidents, medical staff were too distracted to mark his egress. After a surprise encounter with Bertilloni, Luigi learned of the gala banquet at the palace.
If Lazzaro struck there’d be carnage! And what if the rogue had accomplices…they could even be planning a mass culling…? A timely warning to the cardinals might bestow honours? Fame? But sod that, it could mean financial rewards…booze money? Fortified with liquor, Luigi shambled determinedly towards the Lateran Palace.
* * *
In the bustle of caterers bearing trays of coffees into the hall, Luigi noticed a familiar face hobbling along the corridor. He made a beeline towards Cardinal Purves who peered up at him quizzically.
‘Luigi my son…is that you?’ he croaked. ‘From the orphanage, am I correct?’
‘Yes,’ Luigi wheezed. ‘Listen, no time to explain…you must warn everyone. I believe there’s a plot…to um…’ Luigi’s voice trailed off as he felt a hostile stare. He glanced up and caught sight of Lazzaro loitering by a pillar. He froze as their eyes met.
‘A plot? Erm, erm…to what end?’ Purves pressed. ‘What must we beware of…?’
‘Backstabbers!’ Luigi blurted as Lazzaro smirked and then bounded towards him.
Purves stared agog as Luigi bolted, sidestepped a knot of waiters and then sped towards the exit. In blind panic, he tore up the dim stairwell. Rapid footfalls echoed from below as he vaulted up another flight, then another, his lungs searing. Gasping, he sprawled headlong through an exit and tumbled out into redolent night air. Dizzy, he slunk into the shadow of a lesser cupola, attempting to arrest his frantic gasps as the cityscape reeled. He took a lug from his flask and peered out towards the exit. Dominating the rooftop, the Dome of St Peter’s Basilica, swathing him in shadow. Tall stone saints perched on ledges, backs turned, and inert to the world they gazed upon.
The door clattered open and the pursuer sprang onto the asphalt roof. Luigi shrank back as Lazzaro crept along a row of statues, sword drawn, until he was obscured behind the vast cupola.
As his head pounded, Luigi realised there was but one fleeting opportunity of escape - the door he’d entered by. Other exits could be locked and any noise would betray him. He dithered, uncertain if his attacker may lurk in ambush.
Startlingly, shadow took form at the periphery of his vision. He quailed, stumbling sideways towards the precipice. He steadied himself against a statue, gasping, as Lazzaro emerged like a spectre and stalked towards him.
‘Here…keep the bleedin’ thing this time!’ Luigi wailed, throwing the gold bracelet at the killer. The blade flashed past his blurring sight. He swooned and slumped to his knees.
Lazzaro’s pale face contorted into a sneer. ‘Too late, gravedigger,’ he snickered. ‘Can you fly, ah? Like these things…?’ He gestured along the saintly effigies. ‘Or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking, ah?’
Luigi began to feel peculiarly detached and resigned to his doom. He mourned his daughter, his life and the sum of all his dashed hopes. ‘You remind me of myself. All that anger…that nihilism. Go on then, take your best shot mate. I care not for this world,’ he cried. ‘You think you can take something I haven’t already lost?’
Lazzaro pressed the sword to Luigi’s throat. ‘What the fuck would you know about me? Go on, get on the fucking ledge. It’ll look like an accident.’
Luigi complied. He swayed precariously, steadying himself against a marble limb. Distant traffic glimmered beneath him like fireflies as a balmy breeze ruffled his hair. ‘Let go of the anger son…or you’ll never find solace.’
Lazzaro swung the blade at him. ‘Anger?’ he yelled. ‘Oh I’m dealing with the anger alright…an eye for an eye, yeah? Or both eyes if necessary.’
‘What…what happened?’ Luigi stammered. ‘Tell me…let me understand…before I leave this sorry world.’
‘There’s nothing left to understand. And even if there was, it changes nothing. They stole my childhood. They tore my soul apart!’
‘Who did?’ Luigi pressed, ‘You mean those you’ve…slain?’
Lazzaro stepped from back into shadow and eyed the gravedigger somberly. ‘Yeah…Garibaldi and his cohorts…those wolves in shepherd’s clothing. I was twelve when those demons of hell set upon me. I thought the agony would never end, I…’ his voice trailed off and became choked by sobs. The sword wavered in his hand as he wiped his eyes with a sleeve. ‘After they’d finished with me Garibaldi taunted me…beat the shit out of me. Then left me for dead. And I wish, too, that I had died…because nothing survived that inferno but hate.’
Luigi looked down pitifully at the young man. He swigged his flask and then gazed into the churning chasm beneath his feet. ‘So this is your answer…what you’re doing…? This is this justice?’
‘Justice?’ the assassin sniffed with a bitter laugh. ‘It is not justice I seek, it’s retribution. ‘Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep’*…’ Oh yeah, I’ll see them all in hell my friend.’
‘It’s true they’re not fit to administer the sacraments,’ Luigi said, ‘those who’ve trespassed against you. By rights they should abase themselves at your feet…plead for clemency. But instead they close ranks, prevaricate…connive to evade justice. Believe me, son, I know.’
‘What can you possibly know, uh…a gravedigger, a drunkard…?’
Luigi sighed and tried to drown his melancholy in a long swig. ‘It happened to me too…at the orphanage,’ he confessed gloomily. ‘I lost my innocence before I lost my first tooth. Maybe revenge is the answer? I mean, do you take an eye for the eye or turn the other cheek? I could never quite decide. Anyways, this priest…this vampire of the soul…well, he died before I could find the courage to confront him.’
‘So you let him ruin other lives did you?’ Lazzaro sneered. ‘You’re such a fucking coward!’
‘Perhaps I am, son,’ Luigi conceded desolately. ‘Mind you, I did piss in his grave...during the reading of his eulogy. Then, well…I kind of drank my way out of it I s’pose.’ He lifted his flask in salute and then slurped at it heartily. ‘Cheers…here’s to this
wonderful life!’ he spluttered over the rooftops, swaying precariously and belching. ‘‘Cus it don’t get much better than this, does it, ah?’
The question was met by the wail of distant sirens. A buffeting wind picked up causing the gravedigger to teeter at the brink.
‘Get down.’ Lazzaro ordered. ‘I don’t need to kill someone who’s already dead. You’re not even a threat, are you? Look at you; a joker, a derelict… a dead man condemned to life. No one listens to a word you say, do they?’
Luigi gave a hollow laugh. ‘No? Well what about you?’ he inquired of the saint that he clung on to. ‘Are you listening? You got a tongue in yer’ head? No?’ He remonstrated theatrically along the row of plinths. ‘Are any of you fuckers listening, uh? Come on, let’s hear you. What do you have to say for yourselves?’ He pocketed his flask and began to climb up the statue with a fearlessness that only drunkards know.
Lazzaro dropped his sword edged towards the gravedigger. ‘I said get down. I don’t want your blood on my conscience.’
‘Your conscience?’ Luigi laughed feverishly as he shimmied upwards and hauled himself, gasping, onto the shoulders of Saint Michael. ‘Look at it all,’ he wheezed, gesturing expansively. ‘Does any of this pomp and grandeur
mean anything? Or is it all just a load of bollocks, uh? A sprawling folly for those chasing the immortality of gods? Is it really anything more than existential narcissism, uh…? Go on, answer me you impotent fucker!’ he bellowed, shaking a fist accusingly at the heavens. ‘Yeah…where are yer’ bleedin’ thunderbolts now, ah?’
Lazzaro began to scale the statue and made a grab for Luigi’s ankle.
‘Oi, get yer’ bleedin…’ Luigi squirmed free as Lazzaro tried to gain purchase on his leg. From somewhere below he heard a thunderous smash, and then strains of classical music.
Is that…Ride of The Valkyries...? he pondered absently.
By now, Lazzaro had straddled the opposite arm and attempted to wrestle Luigi from his lofty perch. The music became louder, accompanied by an intermittent droning. As the pair continued to tussle something large and metallic hurtled past, slewing around the dome. They heard a snatch of maniacal laughter. Then, they gazed disbelievingly as the contraption rounded back at them, skimmed the asphalt roof, bounced and then cartwheeled towards them.
‘Achtung! Achtung!’ the occupant screamed.
Lazzaro made a lunge for the gravedigger’s arm and wrenched him sideways causing him to topple.
The
Kriegvagon slammed into the statue with an almighty crash, knocking it plummeting into an inky abyss. As the flying machine nosedived into Saint Peter’s square there was a hiss as the driver jettisoned free and shot upwards. A clatter of shattering masonry was followed by a distant flare and the peel of an explosion.
As Luigi lay dazed and bruised on the ledge he saw a parachute open in the glowing firmament. Amongst the rubble strewn about him, jutting up, was the remains of the stone angel, sheared off at the ankles. ‘Ah bollocks,’ he muttered. His thoughts turned to Lazzaro. For some moments he considered following him into the void. But then he remembered he still had drink in his flask and shelved the plans.
Luigi watched idly as the parachute wended its way towards the apex of the basilica. As it settled there he discerned a distinct yowling cry. Sirens drew closer. He wanted to call out but giddiness overwhelmed him and his horizons went black.
* * *
‘Is he dead?’ came a familiar voice.
Stavros? Luigi’s eyes flickered open. A couple of paramedics were attending him.
‘No, he’s still with us,’ one of the medics said. ‘Nothing broken but he may have concussion.’
Stavros’s face loomed as he grinned down at his colleague. ‘Yet another lucky escape, hmm? So how are you feeling?’
‘Inebriated,’ Luigi slurred, wincing as he turned his head. ‘Lazzaro…dead…?’
‘Yes. So he was the serial killer, eh? Forensics confirmed it. You know it’s fortunate you weren’t diced like the others. Strange though…’
‘What?’ Luigi mumbled.
‘Well, I was there just before he died... before police arrived. I’d come looking for you after you absconded from the hospital. Anyway, he gasped out your name. Then he flung this bracelet at my feet. He wanted you to have it I think? He started blathering something about Saint Michael watching over lost sheep. And that was it…he died.’ Stavros handed Luigi the bracelet.
‘Thanks,’ Luigi muttered tearfully. ‘He saved me.’ He directed his gaze toward the cupola. ‘What about…?’
‘You mean the Emeritus?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, the paramedics won’t be able to move him yet. Apparently he’s kind of lodged on the spire. In fact they think he might be impaled on his rectum. So it looks like he’ll have to stay put for now. At least until they can locate a surgeon with a head for heights.’
‘He scored a bullseye uh? Oh well, at least it’ll serve to curtail his usual outpourings.’ Luigi commented with a wry grin.
‘Quite,’ Stavros remarked. ‘Ah well, he’s did always claim the moral high ground... In fact I don’t think the cardinals are too enamoured with him right now. I overheard one of them saying something about getting him to the nunnery…letting the sisters of the Magdalene Laundries ‘take care of him’.’
‘Ah. What about that explosion?’ Luigi asked.
‘Oh that? That must have been the wheelchair colliding with a kebab van. Ah well, maybe God’s a vegetarian, huh?’ Stavros winked mischievously.
Luigi was strapped into a stretcher, hoisted up and carried down the stairwell. As he was taken from the palace and bobbed along through a sea of flashing lights he noticed a police cordon around Lazzaro’s body that lay amongst the wreckage of the fallen idol. Looking down at the broken life, he felt overwhelmed with pathos. He was touched by an inexplicable kinship with a soul twisted by fury and riven by sorrow. To this pitiful state; the once fearful and enigmatic assassin. This monstrosity, this Caliban; worse than the defilers who’d fashioned him…
Criminal, victim…human being.
* * *
After a considerable media hullabaloo, Vatican affairs eventually returned to a semblance of normality. Bertilloni was arrested, further clerical scandals had the kibosh put on them and emollient words abounded. It was business as usual in the shady corridors of power.
Luigi was tasked with the sad duty of collecting the body of cardinal Purves, who’d passed away peacefully on the loo. As he scouted about the apartment for surplus supplies of alcohol, he bumped into Maria who’d been called in to give the place a quick spruce.
‘Ooh, darling, how are you?’ she gushed. ‘You recover from nearly drowning in da toilet, ah? You okay…?’
‘Yeah, mustn’t grumble,’ Luigi shrugged. ‘Oh, and thanks for rescuing me. I mean, my life very nearly went down the pan.’
‘Ooh don’t mention it,’ Maria crooned. ‘Speaking of toilets, y’know I had to help clear up that great big toilet they call the ‘banqueting hall’.’ She pulled a disdainful frown.
‘Really?’
‘Oooh, them dirty
bastardos!’ Maria fumed. ‘Why can’t they shit in da lavatory like the rest of us, uh? Da poo-poo everywhere mate…on da carpet, da walls…’
‘Shocking,’ Luigi commiserated.
‘Oh-ho,’ she whinnied as she crossed herself, ‘I tell you they even shit on da bloody candelabra!’
‘Blimey, that must have been one hell of a bleedin’ party.’ Luigi remarked.
‘Yeah, I tell you mate. They must’ve been squirting it from da bloody chandeliers. But I don’t mind really…‘cause my sweetheart, His Holiness Franco, he give me Saint Francis rosary.’
‘I guess that must have been
some consolation,’ the gravedigger humoured her.
‘Aw it was,’ Maria simpered. ‘So I tell him he should ‘come to mamma’ and I feed my baby some boobie,’. ‘He like-a-da ‘titanic titties’ y’know?’ the buxom cleaning lady explained whilst cupping an ample bosom.
‘Um….right.’ Luigi tittered, averting his gave somewhat.
‘Anyway, so after I change his dirty diaper and smack his naughty arse it’s bath time. So I scrub him down and then he beg mamma give him a soapy-tit-wank. But, y’know, he’s a
true gentleman.’ Maria asserted with a knowing wink. ‘I mean, he never even made a grab for my piss-flaps.’
‘How very classy,’ Luigi slurred with a lopsided grin. ‘Right, well, I’d best cart off this bleedin’ stiff before my new governor starts whining.’
THE END
* Lucifer, Paradise Lost by John Milton.
© Edwin Black 2013
