Tomato Rhapsody: A Fable of Love, Lust and Forbidden Fruit - By Adam Schell Page 0,6

chubby hands trembled as he ran his fingers across the letter’s fine parchment and over the intricate indentations of its crimson wax seal. “Oh,” groaned Bertolli as he mulled over the events that had transpired only a moment earlier, “merda.”

It all had started innocently enough. Bertolli had been busy sweeping the front steps for the imminent Sunday evening mass when he heard the clatter of hooves and looked up to see a Corriere di Vaticane, escorted by two Guardia Nobile di Meducci, gallop through the village’s open gate and halt their stallions before the church’s entranceway. Mio Dio, thought Bertolli, Meducci guards, a Vatican courier, here?

“Ragazzo,” said the severe-looking courier with deep-set eyes and a turtle-like nose, which bent disturbingly to the right. “Come here.”

“Eh? Me?” Bertolli pointed to himself, astonished that such an important person desired to communicate with him.

“Yes, you, boy.”

Certain he was in trouble for something he had done, Bertolli descended the church steps and approached the courier. As he neared, Bertolli found himself overwhelmed by the fierceness and regalia of the trio. Sitting upon his huge horse, the courier appeared majestic. He wore a fine red tunic tied around the waist with a sash of gold silk. His horse was so spectacularly muscled and well groomed that its deep auburn paint shimmered in the sunlight and caused Bertolli to squint. Though the village was the kind of place far more familiar to the mule, Bertolli had, of course, seen horses before, but not like this one.

“This is a far-off little village, isn’t it?” said the courier.

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Why is that, boy?”

“I have never been much beyond the village walls, sir.”

“Ah,” nodded the courier, seemingly impressed by the boy’s self-awareness, “I see. Well, you appear well fed in this little village, well fed, indeed. Perhaps there is no point in venturing out, perhaps none at all. But,” the courier lowered his voice as he leaned over toward Bertolli, the leather of his saddle squeaking against his trousers, “beyond these walls, boy, there are wonders and adventures beyond your wildest dreaming. There are bodies of water wider than a hundred days’ journey by ship, and sea creatures so awesome they eat boys like you by the dozen and shit forth your bones cleaned of every morsel of muscle and organ. There are mountains higher than a hundred days’ walking can crest, mountains lorded over by giant snow beasts whose fangs and nails are the size of daggers and whose thirst for blood—particularly young and virgin—is insatiable. And while you may be too young to appreciate this now, there are women—beguiling creatures of such beauty and mystery that in a fleeting look you will be smitten forever. They will steal your heart, take over your mind and tantalize your flesh to heights of pleasure your young brain can hardly fathom. Oh, yes, there are wonders and mysteries all across this broad, flat world. And one day, boy, when your balls grow hairy and your spirit craves to eat more from life than the home-grown grass, if you are so inclined, you will breach these village walls and make a great adventure of your life.”

Bertolli was mesmerized and confused. The corriere spoke without a stitch of rhyme. Bertolli could only comprehend half of what the man said, but even that was enough to enthrall him.

Having had enough of their comrade’s charade, one of the Meducci guards cleared his throat.

The noise broke the magic and the courier sat upright in his saddle when something in the near-distance caught his eye. “Bless’d Virgin,” said the courier with a surprising softness as his vision beheld the statue of the Virgin that sat above the church’s entrance.

“Faccia di stronzo,” said the Meducci guard who had just cleared his throat, “would you get on with it.”

“Yes, yes,” said the courier dismissively. “You are an altar boy of this humble church?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bertolli.

“Good,” said the courier. “And has this church a priest?” “Yes, sir. Shall I fetch him?”

“No need. You seem like a capable youth.” The courier removed a letter from his leather satchel. “Have you any idea what this is?”

“No, sir,” said Bertolli.

“’Tis an official papal decree, written and signed by His Holiness Pope Leon XI and His Eminence Cosimo di Pucci de’ Meducci the Third. It is of the utmost importance. The will of God Himself, conducted through the Holy Pope and honorable Meducci and set to parchment. Handed directly from His Holiness to yours truly, with the express command that I