he said and turned away from the park, on which a wine-red light had settled upon by now. The sun had set long ago, and in the next couple of minutes total darkness would finally lay upon the State of God. Right now, it was still clearly visible how more and more cobalt blue clouds entered the echo of the red evening sky, which would probably bring heavy rain tonight.
»It shall become a very strong prayer, my son«, Miracolo went on and moved towards the chapel’s door that stood open a little. »Thus, I need the support of a very strong man. Follow me ...«
We entered the chapel and plunged into a twilight kingdom. The cleric, who had entered before us, had lightened countless candles, which emerged from countless long-handled holders and multi-armed candelabras. In a corner there also was a low table, on which tightly packed sacrificial candles burned. The first impression confirmed my assumption. It really was a very simple chapel from ancient Christian times, which reminded of a cave. A hand-carved big cross, which roughly showed the crucified, stood on a very simple altar made from a dresser. It was decorated with a white cloth with a Christ-monogram. The few ancient pews were nothing to speak of. In this confined room it wasn’t even possible to hold a small gathering, let alone a mass. Through the only window directly under the ceiling I saw the last bright shimmer of the ending day outside.
The only impressive thing here was a masterly carved cub-shaped basalt baptismal font, at which the cleric prepared the baptism ritual with his back turned on us. The water-filled bowl showed the specific creamy shimmer of real silver and seemed to be detachable. Miracolo and I moved towards the first row and then jumped on the upper backrest of a pew.
»Turn your thoughts to the dead, Francis, and pray for them«, His Excellency whispered. I obeyed, closed my eyes and gave it my best. But my concentration was disturbed by unbridled feelings of hate. The butcher was still out there and was probably hatching his next battle plan. Every time I tried to remember the many dead and let them come to life as purring living creatures in my mind, the picture of this soulless phantom and the clasping hands of this monster forced on me.
Suddenly the chapel’s door was opened, and a white-dressed man in a wheelchair was pushed inside by two young priests. And when the warm light of the many candles revealed more and more of his appearance, it took my breath away: It was the pope!
»Relax, my son«, Miracolo said, who had noticed the highly nervous state I was in. »He is only a child of God, just like you. Like every night, he comes here to dedicate the water for St. Peter’s Cathedral. So lean back and enjoy!«
The Holy Father was pushed in front of the baptismal font, and with shaky hands and shaky voice he began to speak the Eucharistic liturgy, which was also supposed to me the memory of the renewal of baptism. Life, lavation, hazard and salvation – in the prayer, these meanings were combined to Jesus Christ as their cradle. Slowly, I was able to contain my craving for sensation, my churned up state turned into a transcendental, and yes, I enjoyed it! No ugly pictures of the killer blemished the deads' faces, but on the contrary, I saw them vitally alive and playing around the Garden of Eden. Some of them engaged in wild duels in sunshine and next to noisy waterfalls.
»Impossibile! Incredibile! Non lo è assolutamente certo! Dio c'assiste!« the young priest next to the Holy Father suddenly shouted out and immediately roused me from cozy rapture. I opened my half-shut eyelids again.
»Impossible! Unbelievable! I can’t believe it! The Lord help us!« the cleric had said. And truly, I saw how the water inside the baptismal font, which was clasped by the priest who had prepared everything, suddenly turned red. The obvious thought was that it must be a magic trick. The holy water kept changing its color, and the intense color soon didn’t leave any doubt that it must be blood. Miracolo, who had watched the unbelievable act at my side, was so amazed that he almost buckled down the church pew.
»What’s happening?« he croaked out.
»Good heavens, ever since I live here, nothing comparable has ever happened. A miracle is going on.«
The pontiff subscribed to this opinion.
»Questo è un miracolo che c'è stato