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NOTES:

CHRISTIAN SHORT STORY: SPRING 2008 - Second Place Winner

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"The Bread of Saints"

by Sonja Bonfiglio - Pinetown, KZN, South Africa

SECOND PLACE IN THE "CHRISTIAN" CATEGORY, SPRING 2008

On the first day of April 1947, the sun rose over a small village hugging the west coast cliffs of Italy.

Alfonso Roberto Giovanni Basso – Father Alfonso to the villagers whose priest he’d been for thirty three of his sixty seven years – was kneeling in his garden behind the church, appealing to the Almighty for two things: the preservation of his seedlings against the widow Petrelli’s wandering goats; and Divine Guidance with regard to Guido Rinaldo’s recent decision that Father Alfonso had the power to make Guido a saint.

Now Father Alfonso knew that Guido had never decided anything for himself.  His conception in the summer of 1919 had been declared a double miracle; firstly because it confirmed his father’s astonishing recovery from injuries sustained during the war; and secondly because both parents were considered to be well beyond the age believed possible for procreation.

His birth on the 27^th April 1920 was, however, declared a double tragedy: firstly because his mother did not survive the event; and secondly because his elderly father was left to raise a mentally retarded child. After his father died, the widow Bardone decided to adopt Guido and further decided that, at the age of nine, he should be apprenticed to Marcello, the village baker who, in his turn, decided that Guido possessed a God-given talent for baking bread.

Father Alfonso’s petitions to Higher Inspiration had, to date, remained unanswered. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he was seeking the right words to explain to Guido that sainthood was a posthumous bestowal, and that it could take years, even centuries of Earthly deliberation and Heavenly intercession with no guarantee of canonization at the end of it all.  And Guido, whom Father Alfonso knew was incapable of articulating let alone grasping whole sentences, would not understand.

It also occurred to Father Alfonso that Guido’s decision was not based on the concept of sainthood but rather on what he’d been told of the deeds of saints. After all, Guido generously performed services for people who couldn’t do things for themselves – especially the old, infirm and otherwise affected members of the community. Indeed, his labours were probably as close to saintliness as could be achieved in life.

So, Father Alfonso consulted with Signora Bardone and Marcello as to how to grant Guido’s request without transgressing any Papal Laws. He proposed that the celebration of a saint’s Feast Day might be acceptable in the circumstances – especially if the saint’s earthly deeds closely resembled Guido’s and that he was actively involved in the events.

Together, they narrowed down the choice by excluding, for obvious reasons, the martyrs, wilderness ascetics and confessors. Then they decided upon the last letter of the alphabet because it happened to contain the least number of names to choose from.  At that point, they agreed that the final choice should be left to the Hand of Providence and that they would accept where it lead them.

And so it was that they were guided to Saint Zita whose Feast Day on 27 April fortuitously coincided with Guido’s birthday on the last Sunday of the month.

St. Zita, as Father Alfonso learned from his reference book of Saints, became a popularly acclaimed saint after her death in 1278 in Lucca – the town where she’d spent most of her life in service to a wealthy weaver and from whose kitchen she nourished the poor. Her good deeds and selfless dedication gave rise to reports of supernatural manifestations that did as much to quell her employer’s wrath as they did for her eventual beatification.

Signora Bardone’s concern was that St. Zita was the patroness of maid-servants and that Guido, although no less a servant of God, was by no means a maid.  Marcello argued that baking bread for the poor – as Father Alfonso had suggested Guido did in honour of St. Zita – was all very well but how was he, being equally poor, supposed to provide the flour?

Everything was finally resolved by accepting that the deeds were more important than who committed them and that if the celebration was meant to be, God would provide.

Which He did – not miraculously, but certainly by inspiring Father Alfonso’s words in the right ears wherever possible. Thus, flour arrived: at first in small parcels, but eventually in bags of ever-increasing size as the feast day of St. Zita drew nearer.

On the appointed Sunday, Father Alfonso was obliged to conduct two morning Masses to accommodate the villagers, relatives, friends and visitors – not all of them poor, but none of them more than a season’s harvest away from poverty. And no matter how solemn he wished everyone’s devotions to be, they were distracted by the aroma of baking bread wafting into the church, noisy preparations outside in the village square, and fidgeting children impatient for the festivities to begin.

Upon emerging from the church Father Alfonso gasped at the wondrous vision before him. Gaily decorated tables surrounded a central one laden with more food than he’d seen in a long time, and certainly more than some people had seen in years, perhaps even lifetimes.  Most of it, he was told, delivered by a man around whom everyone was excitedly clustering.

            Signor Stefano Vincenti, as Signora Bardone breathlessly informed Father Alfonso upon introduction, had traveled from Lucca to join the celebration. Signor Vincenti graciously dismissed Father Alfonso’s appreciation by saying that he was honoured and delighted to be present among them and to contribute to St. Zita’s feast day.

            Throughout the festivities there were as many prayers and blessings for the shared bounty as there were toasts and speeches.  Signor Vincenti, however, declined to make a speech, saying only that he hoped that their tribute to St. Zita would become an annual event no matter how meager their offerings to others less fortunate than themselves. Then he surprised everyone by asking to be presented to the person responsible for the most delicious bread he had ever tasted.

Guido, flour-dusted and proudly displaying shiny new birthday boots was brought before him. Signor Vincenti embraced him, kissed him on both cheeks and declared that, in his humble opinion, Guido’s bread was truly inspired by the saints of Heaven.

Guido’s anxious expression prompted Signora Bardone into a simplified explanation. It took some time for him to arrange such thoughts as he was capable of forming about what he’d been told. Then he turned to Father Alfonso who knew that Guido had only comprehended one word; the word he’d been expecting to hear.

When Father Alfonso’s heart was touched by the light in Guido’s eyes he experienced a strange sense of timelessness. He felt as though he was suspended in the hiatus between his heartbeats and that he was being drawn into a golden glow that bathed everything around him.

Then, almost instantaneously, he was back amidst the celebrations and Guido was still awaiting his pronouncement.  And before Father Alfonso was aware of what he was doing, he placed his hand on Guido’s head and granted his request.

And while Guido’s happiness seemed to radiate from his entire body, Father Alfonso’s body continued to feel oddly disconnected from his surroundings – not wholly detached, but not entirely present either. So, at the earliest opportunity he slipped away unnoticed and went in search of quietude.

When he arrived at his garden gate he was surprised to see Guido seated on his favourite wooden bench.  He was clutching a loaf of bread in his hands and appeared to be listening intently to something or someone.  Not wishing to disturb him, Father Alfonso was about to turn away when he saw the figure of a man slowly materializing beside Guido.

In disbelief, Father Alfonso shut his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers as if to obliterate what he’d seen but couldn’t comprehend. When he looked again the two people on the bench seemed to merge into one in a swirl of rainbows and a misty golden light. Then he felt hand touching his and he awoke as if from a dream and Guido was standing beside him, offering him some bread.

At his first tasting of the bread Father Alfonso instantly knew that on that day, a day that had been inspired and guided by Powers beyond his understanding, he had witnessed the blessing of one of God’s Innocents.

When Father Alfonso returned to the festivities, he became conscious of Signor Vincenti in a way that disturbed and excited him at the same time. When he looked directly at him he saw an ordinary man, but when he looked away his eyes were imprinted with images of golden light, rainbows and misty clouds.

That night, as Father Alfonso knelt beside his bed, he could not pray in words. Instead, he simply offered up his experiences of the day together with feelings of gratitude and humility for the Divine Grace and Mercy that the Almighty had bestowed upon him that feast day of St. Zita.

Copyright (c) 2008 by Sonja Bonfiglio - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!
 

COMMENTS FROM OUR COMMISSIONING EDITOR, Jo Holloway:
What an utterly charming tale! Well written, well worded story-telling wrapped in a quirkiness that gave it outstanding character. It was also well presented and properly formatted, with all due care taken over the work. All round, a pleasure to read.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

I am a new-comer to "writing" - not that it hasn't been simmering on the back-burner for most of my life. Getting on with the business of living somehow got in the way. But a simmering pot eventually needs attention; and that point was about a year ago. What an adventure it's been; and without any end in sight. I hope that the "business of writing" will become a new and exciting avenue of exploration in my life.

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