Saint Francis (14 page)

The aged warrior bit into his mustache. Huge teardrops were running down his sun-baked cheeks. Francis lowered his head to his knees and suddenly, in the darkness, he too broke out into lamentations.

Angrily, the old man wiped away his tears, ashamed at having wept. Then, pushing his hands against the ground for support, he rose, his aged bones creaking. Without nodding goodbye to us, without uttering a word, he disappeared.

Francis continued to weep.

"There you see what the soul really is," he said finally, raising his head, "and what God is, and what it really means to be a man. From now on this leper shall take the lead and show us the way. Get up, Brother Leo; let's be off!"

"Where to, in God's name?" "Back to Assisi. That is where we shall gather momentum so that we can take our leap. Come, you lazybones of God, up with you!"

"Now, in the middle of the night?"

"Now! Do you think the Lord can wait till morning?"

THE ROYAL LEPER went in the lead and guided us for the entire return journey. It rained and rained; the rivers had overflowed, the roads had been flooded, and we sank up to our knees in mud. We were cold, we were hungry. In many of the villages we found ourselves greeted with a bombardment of stones and driven away. When Francis shouted, "Love! Love! Love!" the peasants turned their dogs on us, and we were bitten.

"What are these trifles we are undergoing for Christ's sake?" Francis would say to comfort me. "Games! Remember the leper-king!"

One night when we were drenched to the bone and nearly dropping from hunger and cold, we saw the lights of a monastery in the distance. We began to run. Perhaps the monks would be moved by compassion to bring us inside, give us a little bread to eat, and let us sit next to the hallowed fire to get warm. It was pitch dark outside and pouring. We ran, fell into the potholes, got up, began to run again. I cursed the rain, the darkness, the cold; but Francis, ahead of me, was composing lyrics in his head and singing them.

"What miracles we see here!" he sang. "Behold! Wings in the mud, God in the air! As soon as the caterpillars think of Thee, Lord, they are transformed into butterflies!"

Spreading his arms again and again, he joyfully embraced the rain and the air. "Sister Mud," he called, sloshing through the potholes. "Brother Wind!"

Suddenly he stopped and waited for me to catch up. I had fallen into a ditch again and was dragging myself along, limping.

"I've just finished composing a little song, Brother Leo," he said to me. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Is this the time for songs?" I replied with irritation.

"If we don't make up songs now, Brother Leo, when shall we ever do so? Listen: the very first animal to appear at the gates of heaven was the snail. Peter bent forward, patted it with his staff, and asked, 'What are you looking for here, my fine little snail?'

" 'Immortality,' the snail answered.

"Peter howled with laughter. 'Immortality! And what do you plan to do with immortality?'

" 'Don't laugh,' the snail countered. 'Aren't I one of God's creatures? Aren't I a son of God just like the Archangel Michael? Archangel Snail, that's who I am!' " 'Where are your wings of gold, your scimitar, the scarlet sandals betokening your regality?'

" 'Inside me, asleep and waiting.'

" 'Waiting for what?'

" 'The Great Moment.'

" 'What Great Moment?'

" 'This one--now!'

"And before he had finished saying 'Now' he took a great leap, as though he had sprouted wings, and he entered Paradise. . . .

"Do you understand?" Francis asked me, laughing. "We, Brother Leo, are the snails; within us are the wings and the scimitar, and if we want to enter Paradise we must take the leap. . . . For the salvation of your soul, fellow athlete, jump!"

He grasped me by the hand, and we ran. Several minutes later he stopped, out of breath.

"Brother Leo, listen well to what I am going to say to you. Prick up your ears. Are you listening? I have the feeling you don't like the life we are leading very much. It seems oppressive to you, and you are fretting."

"No, Brother Francis, I'm not fretting. But we're all human. You forget this fact; I don't. It's as simple as that."

"Brother Leo, do you know what perfect joy is?"

I did not answer. I knew extremely well what perfect joy was: it was for us to reach this monastery, for the doorkeeper to take pity on us and open the gate, for a huge fire to be lighted for us in the fireplace, for the pot to be put on and heaps of warm food prepared for us, and for the monks to go down into the monastery cellar and bring up a large jug of vintage wine for us to drink! But how could I say such sensible things to Francis? His love of God had made him turn need inside out. For him hunger took the place of bread, thirst took the place of water and wine. How then could he understand those who were hungry and thirsty? I held my tongue.

"Even if we were the most saintly men on earth, the most beloved of God--remember well, Brother Leo, what I say to you: that would not be perfect joy."

We walked a little further. Then Francis stopped again.

"Brother Leo," he called, shouting because he was unable to make me out in the darkness, "Brother Leo, even if we gave sight to the blind, cast out devils from men, and raised the dead from their graves, remember well what I say to you: that would not be perfect joy."

I did not speak. How can you argue with a saint? You can with the devil, but not with a saint. Therefore I did not speak.

We proceeded, stumbling over the stones and branches which the rains had washed down onto the road. Francis stopped once more.

"Brother Leo, even if we spoke all the languages of men and angels, and even if, preaching the word of God, we should convert all infidels to the faith of Christ, remember well, Brother Leo, what I say to you: that would not be perfect joy."

My patience gave out. I was hungry and cold. My feet were killing me: I couldn't walk.

"All right, what is perfect joy?" I asked wearily.

"You shall see in a moment," replied Francis, and he quickened his pace.

We reached the monastery. It was closed, but lamps were still burning in the cells. Francis rang the little bell. I huddled in a corner next to the gate, frozen to death.

We cocked our ears and waited to see whether or not the doorkeeper would come to open the gate for us. I'm ashamed to say this, but since a sin once confessed is no longer considered a sin, I'll admit that I was silently cursing the fate which tied me to this terrifying wild beast of God, this Francis. Though he did not know it, he was like the leprous king of Jerusalem--a handful of flesh and bone, with God, God in His entirety, sitting inside. That was why he could endure, why he never felt hunger or thirst or cold, why the stones which people threw at him were like a sprinkling of lemon flowers. But I, I was a man, a reasonable man, and a wretched one. I felt hunger, and the stones, for me, were stones.

An inner door opened. Heavy footsteps resounded in the courtyard. It's the doorkeeper, I said to myself. He's taken pity on us. Glory be to God!

"Who's here at such an hour?" growled an angry voice.

"Open the gate, Brother Doorkeeper," Francis replied in a sweet, gentle tone. "We are two humble servants of Christ who are hungry and cold and who seek refuge tonight in this holy monastery."

"Go about your business!" bellowed the voice. "You-- servants of God? And what are you doing roaming about I threw my staff to the ground and crossed my hands upon my breast.

"Strike, Brother Doorkeeper," I said, my lips trembling with furor. "Strike, and may the wrath of God deal with you!"

The doorkeeper laughed at our words. His breath smelled of wine and garlic. He began to pound me with his cudgel and I heard my bones cracking. Francis, who was sitting on the ground now, in the mud, kept talking to me, giving me courage.

"Do not cry out, Brother Leo; do not curse, do not lift a hand in defense. Think of the royal leper, think of Christ when He was being crucified. Fortify your heart."

The doorkeeper finished his job. Giving each of us a final kick, he locked and barred the door.

I huddled in my corner, dying of pain. I was cursing to myself, but I did not dare open my mouth. Francis drew himself to where I had fallen, took hold of my hand tenderly, and stroked my painful shoulders. He nestled in the corner with me and we hugged each other to become warm.

"This, Brother Leo," he whispered in my ear as though not wanting anyone to hear, "this, Brother Leo, is perfect joy."

Now he had carried the thing too far! "Perfect joy?" I screamed, flying into a rage. "I beg your pardon, Brother Francis, but to me it sounds more like perfect impudence. The heart of man is impudent when it joyfully accepts nothing but what is unpleasant. God says to it, 'I brought you food to eat, wine to drink, fire to keep you warm,' and the heart of man answers, most insolently, 'Sorry, I don't want them!' When is it going to say Yes, the pretentious idiot!"

"As soon as God opens His arms, Brother Leo, and tells it to come. The heart shouts No! No! No! to the small, insignificant joys. And why do you think it does this? To save itself in order to reach the great Yes."

"Can't it arrive there any other way?"

"I cannot. The great Yes is formed only by these many No's."

"In that case why did God create the earth's riches? Why did He lay such a splendid banquet before us?"

"In order to test our stamina, Brother Leo."

"What's the use of arguing with you, Brother Francis? Let me go to sleep. Slumber is more merciful than God--maybe I'll dream about loaves of bread."

I rolled up into a ball, closed my eyes, and along came all- merciful sleep, God bless it! and enveloped me.

The next morning at dawn someone began to push me. It was Francis. I awoke.

"Listen, Brother Leo, he's coming!"

From inside the courtyard came the sound of the approaching doorkeeper, the keys clinking at his belt. The door opened.

"Glory be to God," I murmured. "Our troubles are over." I had already begun to lift my foot in order to cross the threshold.

Francis turned and looked at me, his twinkling eyes filled with saintly cunning.

"Shall we go in?" he asked me. "What do you think, little lion of God, shall we go in?"

I understood. He wanted to tease me because I was hungry and unable to resist the call of my stomach. My self-respect, however, got the best of my hunger.

"No," I answered, "let's not. I'm not going in!" I turned away.

Francis fell into my arms. "Bravo, Brother Leo. That's the way I want you: a true stalwart!"

He turned to the monastery. "Farewell, holy inhospitable monastery. Brother Leo has no need of you; he is not going in!"

Crossing ourselves, we set off once again on our journey. Francis was so happy, he flew. The sun had come out; the rain had stopped. Trees and stones were laughing, the world glistening, newly washed. Two blackbirds in front of us shook their drenched wings, looked at us, and whistled, as though taunting us. Yes, that's what they were doing: taunting us. But Francis waved his hand and greeted them.

"These are the monks of the bird kingdom," he said. "Look how they're dressed!"

I laughed. "You're right, Brother Francis. Really, in a monastery near Perugia I once saw a blackbird which had been trained to chant the Kyrie eleison! A true monk."

Francis sighed. "Oh, if only someone could teach the birds and oxen, the sheep, dogs, wolves, and wild boars to say just those two words: 'Kyrie eleison'! If only the whole of Creation could awake in this way each morning, so that from the depths of the forest, from every tree, every stable, every courtyard you would hear all the animals glorifying God, crying, 'Kyrie eleison'!"

"First let's teach men to say those two words," I said. "I don't see why the birds and animals need learn them. Birds and animals don't sin."

Francis stared at me with protruding eyes. "Yes, what you say is correct, Brother Leo. Of all living things man is the only one that sins."

"Yes, but on the other hand, Brother Francis, man is the only one who can surpass his nature and enter heaven. The animals and birds can't do that."

"Don't be too sure," protested Francis. "No one knows the full extent of God's mercy."

In this way, talking about God, birds, and man, we arrived one morning outside our beloved Assisi. Her towers, campaniles, citadel, olive groves, cypresses filled our eyes with bliss.

Tears blurred Francis' sight. "I am made from this soil," he said. "I am a clay lamp made from this soil."

Bending down, he scooped up some dirt in his hand and kissed it.

"I owe a handful of soil to Assisi; I shall return it to her. No matter where I die, Brother Leo, I want you to bring me here to be buried."

We had turned into a narrow, covered alleyway. It was Sunday today, and the bells were tolling the end of Mass. Francis had hardly finished what he was saying when he halted abruptly and leaned for support against the wall, breathing laboriously, as though suffocating. I had been running behind him, and all at once my breath was taken away also. Standing in front of us was Count Scifi's daughter. She was dressed completely in white except for a red rose on her bosom--but how pale she was now, how sad, how dark the rings around her eyes. All the time since we had last seen her that day at San Damiano's, how many nights she must have stayed awake and wept! The little girl had suddenly become a woman!