CHAPTER 3
DEUS IN ABSENTIA
"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground..." — Isaiah 14:12
It was shaping up to be a morning like any other. You could even say you were getting used to the routine.
But then you checked your phone. Specifically, the calendar.
A week had passed.
A week. Seven days. 168 hours. Completely cut off from civilization. From social media. From sports news. From your family. Your friends.
Your precious, goddamn vacation.
A prickling sensation started in your chest. Your mouth went dry. You lay there staring at the ceiling, hands behind your head, fingers tangled in your hair. Your breathing grew ragged.
You were losing your shit.
Alright, Nicolo, calm down, you told yourself. Maybe they’d start work on the road soon and you could get the hell out of here. Just...
No, there was no guarantee of that. The convent hadn't received any further news from the outside world since the call where you got the bad news. Days, weeks, months could easily keep slipping by...
Was your fate really tied to becoming a goddamn priest?
Not a fucking chance. No, no, no.
You ran your hands over your face, pressing a little too hard. An overwhelming feeling filled your chest: helplessness. There wasn't a damn thing you could do. Nothing. You were completely at the mercy of the relevant government authorities (which was bad enough) and the weather, calm for the moment.
Not for long, you feared. The morning was gray again. It was only a matter of time before another downpour drenched the mountains. The earth would weaken. Trees would shake. Another mudslide could happen. Things could get a whole lot worse.
Hell, even the goddamn convent could come crashing down in a landslide, if you wanted to get really pessimistic about it.
You stood up abruptly. The usual dizziness that came with the act made you stagger, but nothing stopped you from desperately leaving your room and rushing to the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, you were met with a tense face. Your jaw was clenched tight; your nostrils flared.
You turned on the tap and splashed water over your face, again and again. It wasn't enough. You brushed your teeth, moving faster than usual. But even that failed to distract you from the tide of terrible possibilities regarding the future that were churning in your mind.
Screw it, you’d have to resort to the old standbys.
You headed back to your room, grabbed your pack of cigarettes and your lighter, and dashed out to the inner courtyard. There was no sign of the sisters; it seemed you were the first one up.
The spiral staircase leading to the top of the bell tower felt short this time. You didn't even feel tired, though you took a deep breath once your view was filled with green set against gray.
People could hate overcast days all they wanted, but their beauty was undeniable. There was something deeply enchanting about them, comforting, too, and deeply tied to one's state of mind. At that precise moment, you couldn't even imagine how anticlimactic it would have been to have a beautiful, clear sky, with the radiant sun highlighting the forest greens and reflecting off the river waters.
This was perfect. The cold seemed to be the only thing capable of calming your racing pulse. Ironically, however, you lit the tip of your cigarette and let the hot smoke fill your lungs after that glorious first drag. The contrast in temperatures was intoxicating. You stood there, one hand resting on the stone parapet, admiring the view from the heights.
A sweet, honeyed voice cut through the air just as you were halfway through your cigarette.
"Nicolo? What are you doing here so early, and... oh, I didn't know you smoked."
Raffaella quietly took her place beside you, unbothered by the cigarette smoke.
"Every now and then," was all you said, your gaze still fixed on the mountains.
"I see... um, is something wrong?" Raffaella tilted her head slightly, trying to read your expression. "You seem restless."
"You could say that, yes," you admitted, taking another drag from your cigarette.
"Well, I wouldn't want to pry, but..."
You sighed.
"I feel anxious, Sister, that's all. It's been a week now."
"That's right. Time flies, doesn't it?"
"And at the same time drives you mad."
Faced with Raffaella's silence, you took another drag on your cigarette and closed your eyes. You exhaled the smoke upward.
"I’d been coping reasonably well with it, but today was too much," you said quietly. "My life is out there, sister; there are people who are surely worried about me. I feel suffocated."
"It’s like that at first... I understand, believe me," Raffaella said. "I went through the same thing."
"You did it voluntarily," you pointed out.
A few seconds of hesitation.
"Don't be so sure. I was practically forced."
You opened your eyes and finally looked at her. Raffaella was standing less than a meter away, her hands resting on her stomach, barely touching, just a single finger linking them. She was gazing out at the horizon.
"But your father..."
"Agreeing to be committed here is different from what I actually wanted for my life," Raffaella cut in. "I miss a lot of things, Nicolo. A lot of things... Remember when I told you I was at peace? Well, the only reason for that is because here I can't be a burden to anyone."
"I don't think you were a burden to your mother."
"Probably not, but my father was the family's financial provider. When he passed away, all the responsibility fell on my mother and..." Raffaella swallowed hard. "She couldn't manage to keep things afloat while also dealing with a depressed daughter."
With your eyes fixed on her, you stubbed out your cigarette and tossed it over the cliff. Without meaning to, your eyebrows arched slightly. Raffaella looked on the verge of tears.
"Do you still... you know, feel that way?"
"I've improved," she admitted. "But there are days when, just like you today, I can't bear it."