Forbidden Rome, page 16
He just hoped that the professors concentrated on their lectures rather than their books. He hadn’t slept at all the night before his first exam. He tossed and turned, got up for water, ambled down the cavernous hall to the restrooms. Meditation didn’t calm his nerves, nor did listening to meditative instrumental music. By 6:00 a.m., he got up, showered, and quietly made his way to the refectory to pour himself a cup of coffee. Sitting by the far window, he gazed out on the beautiful umbrella pines lining the property, the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica standing proudly above them. This may be the end of my NAC career, he thought. If I don’t do well this week, I’ll be out of here.
Alone, Anthony walked down to the Greg. He didn’t want company or idle chat. Lost in his thoughts and self-doubt, Anthony made his way across the Tiber, through the narrow streets to Piazza Navona. The city hadn’t woken up yet, and the piazza was e. mpty.
Not a single person could be seen. The black cobblestones washed clean from daybreak showers, shined in the early morning sun. Anthony paused as he reached the center fountain and did a loop around it, gazing at the representations of the four major rivers of the old world. The strength and determination carved into the faces of the statues continued to awe him. Then he walked on to the Piazza del Pantheon, sitting regally in its own square.
Since it was early yet, he decided to treat himself to a cappuccino at Tazza D’Oro. Standing at the counter, he closed his eyes as he took his first sip. It was like a balm to the soul. The creamy foam coated his mouth, and the slight taste of chocolate caressed his tongue as the rich espresso soothed his throat. He reveled in the pure pleasure of a good cappuccino. Less than ten minutes later, he was at the Greg and made his way up to the exam room. Anthony found a wooden bench and sat just outside Father Vittorio’s office.
When it was time, Anthony took his place in line and let out a heavy sigh. Not long after, Kevin and Miguel showed up. “Ciao, Anthony, we were looking for you this morning. What time did you get here?” Miguel asked.
“Maybe a half-hour ago, but I left NAC really early. I couldn’t sleep,” Anthony replied.
“Tell me about it. I was up half the night studying,” said Kevin. That only made Anthony feel worse. He scolded himself for not using his sleepless night more wisely. They chatted a while longer and then fell into restless silence as they waited for their turn for the oral exam. Anthony looked back at Kevin, who winked at him when the door opened and gave him a reassuring smile. Here goes nothing, he thought.
“Antonioooo! Buon Giorno!” Father Vittorio sang as he greeted him. As Anthony made his way through the door, Kevin and Miguel exchanged a look of disbelief.
“Are you kidding me? He dreaded the final exam, and that’s how the professor greets him?” said Miguel with wide eyes.
“Yeah, we were told that the professors barely speak during exams,” Kevin replied.
“Only Anthony could elicit that kind of response!” said Miguel with a touch of admiration in his tone.
“He’s one of a kind,” Kevin agreed.
Anthony was immediately relieved after hearing the warm welcome from Father Vittorio. He took his seat facing his professor, and the questioning began. Once started, Anthony was confident that he could express himself in Italian, but although he’d become adept at taking notes, when he spoke, he would often stumble, and the English word would come to mind instead. He began to get frustrated, and Father Vittorio interrupted him. “Piano, piano, Anthony. Slow down, don’t get so worried.”
“Si, Padre. But sometimes, the only words that come to mind are in English.”
“Then speak in English. The most important part is to communicate your understanding. English or Italian – it doesn’t make a difference to me,” Father Vittorio said.
“If it’s okay with you, may I speak in both languages. That’s how I take my notes.”
“Perfetto, Anthony, let’s continue.”
When it was over, Anthony said a warm goodbye to Father Vittorio, opened the door, and exited the room. As the door closed for the next exam, he joined Kevin and Miguel in line. He was euphoric. “I did it, guys. I didn’t freeze or stammer. I think I did well,” Anthony blurted out.
“Bravo, caro!” Kevin said with his arm around him.
“Seriously, Anthony? The way Father Vittorio called out your name when he saw you. I’m surprised he has time for the rest of us.”
“What do you mean?” Anthony asked.
“Nothing, just that your daily question-and-answer sessions after each class paid off.”
“Oh, so you think I did well because I’m a brown-noser?” Anthony asked them.
“No, Anthony. Lighten up,” Miguel said. “Obviously, this shows that you are smarter than all of us. You didn’t understand something, and you didn’t let the local custom stop you. You just went up and asked for an explanation. That’s not a brown-noser, that’s a genius.”
“Thanks, I guess. Hey, I’m going to head back to NAC. I need a nap after my sleepless night. Let’s meet for lunch. Good luck, guys, though I’m sure you won’t need it.”
Anthony took the long way back to the college. He wandered through Campo de Fiori and marveled at the beautiful open market. Crowds were bustling about visiting stall after stall as they examined the fresh products laid out before them. Anthony looked up above the crowd and noted the statue of Giordano Bruno sitting proudly in the center of the square. He had been burned at the stake for his cosmology theories, which proposed that stars were distant suns surrounded by their own planets. He had a fleeting thought that the Church was still, albeit figuratively, burning dissenters at the stake, including gay people. The image of the solemn-faced friar stood in stark contrast to the modern market’s hustle and bustle. There were colorful vegetables, cheeses, and loaves of bread on display. Women in kerchiefs filled baskets with the freshest of foods for the day’s meal. Anthony lingered wherever his attention drew him. One of the flower stalls caught his eye, and he inhaled the sweet fragrance of the various blossoms.
Without hesitation, Anthony chose the most beautiful bouquet to bring back to his room. Crossing the Tiber river, he stopped to look at the rushing water pass under the bridge. The coffee-colored waves poured through the steep stone walls that encased the river many feet below the street level. He looked up the hill toward NAC. Over to the right, he glimpsed the cross above the basilica and smiled. Anthony gave a silent prayer of thanks. After days of stress, he was genuinely happy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Fiddler’s Elbow
By the second semester, the new men were feeling much more comfortable in Rome. Routines were set, and given the excellent results from their exams, they let go of their rigorous study schedule. Classes were not held on Thursdays, and rather than spending the day studying, Anthony persuaded Kevin to explore beyond the city of Rome. On Thursday mornings, before most of the seminarians had gotten up, they would head to Stazione Termini and look up at the list of departing trains.
“Have you ever heard of Nettuno?” Anthony asked.
“Nope, but it looks like a short train ride. Let’s go,” Kevin replied. Just over an hour-long train ride from Rome, Nettuno is a seaside town that featured prominently in World War II. The Santuario Santa Maria Goretti sits right on the coastline, and its gracious square is framed by arches and covered walkways. Across the street is an expansive beach overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. Anthony and Kevin strolled along the secluded seashore. The aquamarine water lapped peacefully upon the sandy beach. A summer resort town, only the locals could be seen running errands and working in little shops around the main piazza.
As was their routine, they found a quaint trattoria and settled in for a leisurely meal. Following their feast, they walked off the calories visiting tourist attractions until it was time to catch the late afternoon train. Each week they chose a different destination and spent the day exploring. They were always back by night prayer, so no one ever questioned where they went on their weekly travels.
It was during these weekly expeditions that Kevin and Anthony cemented their heartfelt commitment to each other. Thursdays offered rare opportunities for them to be alone, away from prying eyes or NAC authorities.
During those days spent together, they began to feel like a couple. Their interactions were ordinary yet intimate, and Kevin gained a sharper understanding of how Anthony approached his world, and the same was true for Anthony. They were magical days that opened windows into the hearts of these dear friends and lovers. Because of those intimate Thursdays, their lives were inextricably woven together.
***
Another exciting addition to their second semester in Rome was discovering a bar called the Fiddler’s Elbow. It was not far from the Colosseum and the grand Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. Kevin’s nostalgia for home manifested itself through his quest for an authentic Irish bar. He was determined to find a place to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day before March rolled around. Back home, every weekend leading up to the big day, Kevin and his cousins would gather to sing old Irish tunes. When he walked into the bar, he was transported to another world.
It seemed to be the perfect antidote to the constant grind at NAC. Some familiar surroundings, a few Irish songs to tug at his heart, and he’d be right as rain.
Kevin’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he gathered a willing crew to accompany him on his Irish night out. The following Saturday, Kevin, Anthony, and Miguel took a taxi to the bar and settled in for the evening. There was live music, and the crowd was spirited. What made it even better was that they served American-style hamburgers. After all the pasta they had eaten over the last months, a juicy cheeseburger hit the spot. They were in heaven.
Kevin chatted up the bartender from County Cork, the same area from whence his parents hailed, and soon, Kevin’s English developed a distinctive lilt. Trading stories of the old country, he became more in touch with his Irish roots. Kevin still had family in Cork, so he and the bartender bonded over the familiar pubs and landmarks they had visited. The Guinness on tap was like balm to the soul, and the guys were singing along with the familiar Irish songs in no time. Kevin’s smile broadened when he looked over at Anthony, who knew every song.
“Look at him,” Kevin said to Miguel. “You would never know he wasn’t an Irishman!”
“Yeah, he’s a regular Paddy with a Roman nose!” Miguel said, laughing along with Kevin.
This began yet another one of their NAC rituals. When things at the college got too intense, they made a pilgrimage to the Fiddler’s Elbow and pretended to be ordinary ex-pats studying in Rome. They flirted with the women at the bar, and Anthony learned to drink beer like a genuine Irishman – well, almost.
The bartender loved his tenor voice and coaxed him into singing with the band occasionally. “Where did you get that sweet voice of yours, Anthony?” he asked. “You know the words to all of our songs – you must have sung in an Irish band back in the states.”
“Yeah, that’s our Tony Mac Rossi,” Kevin blurted out as they joined in the laughter.
“Come on now, lad, get up there and sing for us,” the bartender pressed Anthony.
“All right, my friend, but just one song. I’ve had too much beer to sing in tune,” Anthony said as he relented.
As he launched into the Unicorn, The Wild Rover, and his favorite, Seven Old Ladies, their troubles were quickly forgotten. Oh dear, what can the matter be, seven old ladies are stuck in the lavatory…”
On and on, he sang. It was a night to remember. The last call came upon them without warning, and before they knew it, the boys were wandering the alleys searching for a taxi. Sadly, it was past 2:00 a.m., and there were none to be found near the Fiddler’s Elbow. They walked towards the immense Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore.
They staggered around the piazza, looking for a taxi-stand. When an empty cab finally slowed to pick them up, they poured themselves into the backseat. The driver didn’t blink when Anthony gave him the seminary address. He was used to inebriated clerics in the holy city of Rome. Alcohol and sex were two of the ways they coped with the loneliness.
Upon their return to the seminary, Kevin was in rare form. “Hey, let’s see if they have any Irish whiskey in the faculty lounge.”
He walked right in and turned on the lamps. “We can’t go in there,” Anthony added. “You really are drunk.”
“Have a seat, gents,” Kevin said, ignoring their protests. “What’s your pleasure? We have Baileys, Amaretto, and look, Jameson!”
“This is crazy, Kevin. What if we get caught?” Anthony asked nervously.
“What are they going to do, kick us out for drinking some of their liquor?” Kevin replied. “Take a load off your feet and relax. After your performance tonight, Anthony, you deserve a nightcap!”
After they were done, Miguel looked for a place to wash their glasses. “Hey, where’s the sink in here? I’ll wash them out.” He asked.
“No, don’t turn on the water! You know how much noise the old plumbing makes,” Anthony cautioned him.
“Then what do we do with the glasses?”
“I have an idea,” Kevin said with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Make sure they’re empty and give them to me.” Then he moved all the glasses in the cabinet forward and carefully placed the used ones in the back. “By the time they get to these, they won’t even know they’ve been used.”
“You’re a genius, Kevin,” Miguel said. “An evil genius!” The three of them ended up in Anthony’s room, sprawled out on the bed listening to Fleetwood Mac. They were pretty drunk; Kevin and Anthony were less careful than usual with their affection towards each other. Anthony leaned his head on Kevin’s chest while Miguel dozed at the other corner of the bed.
“God, that was fun,” Kevin said.
“We should go there every weekend,” Miguel replied.
“I’m not sure I can handle that much alcohol,” said Anthony. “It gives me a headache.”
“Well, it certainly didn’t seem to bother you much when you joined the band singing Seven Old Ladies!” Miguel remarked.
“No kidding. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a fellow Irishman,” Kevin said and kissed the top of Anthony’s head.
“Tone it down guys, or get a room,” Miguel said when he noticed their overt affection.
“This is my room.” Anthony said, snickering.
“You know what I mean. You’re going to get your asses kicked out of here if you’re not careful.”
“He’s right,” Kevin added. “Sorry, Miguel.”
“No need to be sorry, just don’t be so obvious about it. It’s not cool.” Despite Kevin’s initial thoughts about Miguel, Anthony had just assumed he was gay. He never seemed to mind the gay innuendos and horseplay. It was merely a part of seminary culture; there was always some sexual undercurrent in their interactions.
After Miguel went off to bed, Kevin and Anthony talked about their conversation with him. “That made me really uncomfortable,” Anthony said.
“Yeah, I didn’t think we had to worry about Miguel. But he was pissed. We really do need to be more careful.”
“Until tonight, he’s never blinked an eye at all the stuff we say,” Anthony said.
“Look, he was at Trinity Seminary in Dallas. I’m sure our banter is nothing new to him. But kissing you in front of him was over the line.”
“So, is he homophobic? How angry is he with us?”
“I don’t think so. Miguel’s probably cool with the gay thing, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with us having a romantic relationship. I’m sure he takes the idea of celibacy very seriously.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. It really looks like I missed out on a lot by not going to seminary for college.”
“Well, you’re certainly making up for it now!” Kevin replied to Anthony and kissed him as he unbuttoned his shirt. Their overconsumption of alcohol didn’t seem to affect their lovemaking one bit. Anthony quickly launched into Italian, which, after a night of drinking, seemed fluent. Kevin thought it was the most romantic thing in the world and joined in without embarrassment.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Limousine
He was not sure when it happened, but sometime during his months in Rome, Anthony had become disillusioned with the Church. Gone were those exclamations of Wonderful! And Beautiful! He was no longer enchanted by the peeling of church bells each day, nor the gleaming white dome of St. Peter’s Basilica on those evenings getting high on the roof of NAC. Anthony started taking solitary walks throughout the ancient city to clear his head. Often, he found himself at the Vatican, where he meandered through the magnificent St. Peter’s Square.
Gazing up at the façade, Anthony marveled at his good fortune. He never dreamed that he would be standing in St. Peter’s Square as a Roman seminarian. Beauty and history surrounded him as he slowly turned to take in the sites. There were nearly three-hundred white marble columns that comprised the Bernini colonnade, which stretched like arms in front of St. Peter’s Basilica, protecting all within their grasp. On top were a hundred and forty statues of saints that stood like sentinels defending Holy Mother Church. Anthony was in awe of the grandeur before him. The power and reach of the Catholic Church were on full display. He was studying to be a priest right here in Vatican City.
He thought back to his first weeks in Rome. He truly believed that his appointment to the North American College was a dream come true. He had been in this very spot when it all changed. Anthony recalled the tolling bells had roused him from his reverie; he realized he was running late. Evening prayer at the North American College was about to begin. Passing through the columns, he glanced at the Swiss guards dressed in bright red, blue, and gold stripes that were stationed at the official entrance to Vatican City State.
As he began to cross the street, a limousine stopped directly in front of him, blocking his way. The back window slid down to reveal the probing eyes of a distinguished cleric. At first, he didn’t recognize the man as he greeted Anthony by name. The priest seemed very familiar, but he couldn’t place him. Slowly it dawned on him; it was the Pope’s personal secretary who he had met a week before at the papal audience. Now, as he stood just outside St. Peter’s Square, Monsignor Kowalski sat right before him, smiling at Anthony from his beautiful stretch limo. “Ciao, Anthony. Che fai qui alla piazza?” What are you doing here in the piazza? the Monsignor asked.
