Incarnate: The Incredible Journey of Edward Mayus - Preview

Chapter One
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Stephen

I hear the ancient footsteps,
like the motion of the sea,

Sometimes I turn,
there’s someone there,
other times it’s only me.
I am hanging in the balance,
of the reality of man,
Like every sparrow fallen,
Like every grain of sand.

Bob Dylan

Night had darkened Rome. An opened but unpacked suitcase lies at the foot of the bed that anticipates a
journey on a road that will be traveled to meet Edward, my dear brother. The flesh colored crimson stained
cork rolled off the nightstand at the Columbus Hotel, a quick walk from the Vatican. The dogs in the alley
were losing their bark, as the musical aroma of Miles Davis’ Generique is heard from the Jazz cafe behind the
old dark cobblestone path. The open bottle on the night stand breathes in the damp dark air that will mature
the nuanced flavor for the cup my brother and I will share. Sitting on the side of the bed, I reach down to
retrieve the fallen cork with my fingers, while the other hand grips tightly onto a gold-leafed frame holding a
photo that marks the sands of time that was indeed life’s gift. I could not taste life’s cup that was given to me
and that has become my agony. I place the sacred photo-image of a love bitterly released, on the scarred
wooden nightstand. My eyes penetrated the photo; my mind recalled the memory of my beautiful Caterina.

Thoughts drift toward her, not enough cups of coffee shared, but a lifetime of love. My clenched fist
press against my nose and mouth yearning to stop this cork screw to my heart, as I recline backward on the
bed. So many sojourners like me have laid in this bed staring up toward the dirty brown stuccoed-cracked
ceiling hoping the next day to touch transcendence as they take their prayers into Michelangelo’s Sistine
chapel. Tonight, my plastered dome is empty. God’s hand is not reaching down to me, I can hear Caterina's
memory gently whispering to me, "God is not there."

I need Him to be.

Arising, I stand up from my dying agony. I pull out of the suitcase the small glass-tube container with
the lavender top. It is marked with an X Lanciano. I stand looking out the window at the night illuminated
Basilica that beacons God is here. I hold the lavender capped vessel tightly in my hand putting it to my mouth
with a gentle kiss hoping that maybe God is here. This is my “Great Wanting”. The yearning to ease the pain of
my lack of faith because I could not bear to taste the cup before me.

Moving toward the nightstand I set back down on the bed and slid the opened bottle of wine closer to
me. Taking my last look at the lavender capped tube, I held it in my fingers above the neck of the bottle. I
said a prayer that Edward would take this journey so that my spirit would be lifted from this cloud of regret
and shame. I released the long thin capsule to gently plunge into the bottle. The wine in the bottle overflowed
as Edward’s gift gently sank to the bottom with a light clink. Wine was dripping down the label and seeped
onto the floor like tears of blood. Taking the cork, I gently forced the bottle closed again. Not to be enjoyed
until Edward and I commune together. The re-corking of the bottle sprayed droplets of displaced wine onto
the nightstand. My head fell to rest on the pillow, hoping to ease the pain into deep darkness, my new friend,
sleep. I glanced over to the picture of Caterina spotting wine was dripping over her face like tears. Grabbing
the framed icon of my love, I tenderly kissed her image and tasted the wine as if I had just kissed her during a
quiet dinner. For a brief time, I could taste and smell her. The sweet remembrance of her brought momentary
peace until the wine dried bringing me back to the reality that my weakness caused me to lose so many grains
of sand through my life’s hour glass. Anxiety and anticipation of Edward’s future journey rescued me
temporarily as night overtook me.

***
The dogs started barking before the first rays warmed the stained glass of St Peters. I knew I had to get
an early start so that I could see my dear friend Father Francesco Paulo Martelli before catching my flight
home. We had made plans to meet, at Anticco Cafe San Pietro, for an espresso and drop the package off at
the Vatican Post Office. I learned a day earlier that I could not take blood products on the plane and needed
certain license to ship biological specimens. Paulo had agreed to ship my vile from the Vatican.
I could get an outside table at the cafe, and Paulo would meet after the first Mass. Paulo was running
late, and I was getting antsy about missing my flight. Instantly these massive hands grabbed my shoulder with
a loud shout, “Buon giorno mio foretello.” I nearly spilled the last of my espresso all over myself. After some
conversation he asked me about Caterina. He detected that I did not want to go there. Before leaving he
asked, "Are you sure Edward will continue this journey for you?"
"Paulo, Edward is the most honest, and wisest man I know. He will do it not only for me, but for his
own seeking. He has been searching for the God that we know his whole life.”
“Then how come he has not found God?” Paulo in his Italian priest-like voice inquired.

After a quick pondering, I shot back, "I don't know." Grabbing my suitcase and bag containing the
bottle and handed it to my friend.

"Asino muto," he laughed out loud with his hand lifting over his head, indicating how was he going to
get a bottle of wine shipped from the Post Office of the Vatican. He informed me that we would stop at a
shop and get a wooden box to send the bottle.

It took forever to get the check and Paulo could tell I was getting aggravated. “What are you anxious
about Stephen? This is how life happens. You want the universe to bow down to you?” Paulo challenged me.
“Things happen, they always happen, casualità creativo in scatola della libertà di Dio.” Paulo taught me this
long ago. It means creative randomness in God’s box of freedom. Paulo always thought that anxiousness and
impatience were a sign that one was not living his life.

We walked two blocks toward a small gift store outside the Vatican walls where Paulo knew the shop
owner. I grew increasingly agitated that the shop owner could not find a box to transport the gift of all gifts for
Edward. She is causing me to lose minutes and interfering with what needs to be accomplished. Then finally
she brought from the back a wooden box with an artisan carved wooden top that had Latin words elaborately
etched. Paulo indicated quickly it was okay. Placing the bottle into the box surrounded by shredded paper for
protection; it became apparent that we needed more things to prevent the bottle from moving around. I
unzipped my luggage and pulled out my journals and papers and used them as buffers. We sealed the box and
placed it in a cardboard box for shipping and went straight to the Post Office of the Vatican.

Leaving the Vatican gate, we walked out onto the cobblestone sidewalk toward the Largo deli Alicorni
where a car was waiting to drive me to the airport, compliments of my friend Paulo, I asked him, “Are you
sure that package will make it to Edward, my whole life is in that box?”

“God finest creation is on this small blue planet with all its random dangers, why you worry? Casualità
creativo in scatola della libertà di Dio!” he shouted at me as we embraced one last time. “Arrivederci il mio
Broter il mio amico,” Paulo said to me as he kissed me goodbye.

Turning and walking briskly toward the car that was parked at the crossing where the digital sign
overhead warned walkers; only forty-four seconds were safe to travel. I nearly bumped into an old black man
who was feeding the birds casting his seeds in a spray-like pixie dust that caused the flock to flutter in unison
up and down as they caught their morning brunch. His deep dark eyes, shaded under a blue pin-striped
tattered bill of a rail road hat, met mine as if he knew me. He smiled holding a cigarette loosely in the side of
his mouth. He was like a symphony conductor orchestrating the birds to move at will in any direction he
desired. He reached deep into his bag and slung a spray of seeds high into the air causing me to look up and
there was a white dove like bird hovering in front of me hypnotizing me for a brief interval of time. Then it
flew straight over my head disappearing as I turned to see it vanish. Having turned back toward the Vatican
gate; a flash of metal reflected off the high morning sun caught my eye as a bearded man ran toward my
friend Paulo shouting “Allahu Akbar”!

I screamed “No Pauuu…….!”
Before I could finish my warning, I had dashed the few yards, leaping between my unsuspecting friend
and the blade of death approaching his unsuspecting soul. Thrusting forward, through the screams of
horrified witnesses to man’s evil, I propelled by brother Paulo forward as the blade severed my hand below
the knuckles, but missing my comrade. I stumbled face forward to the ground.
Stunned, my cheek lying on cold cobblestones, while my eyes saw people running away in slow motion
muffling their screams to God. The sign warned thirty-eight blinking seconds. Lifting my head, I gaze into the
eyes of my bloodied friend Paulo now running toward me reaching with horror filled eyes. Raising myself to
my knees I feel the first electric shock of pain race through my arm to my feet as my severed appendage
pushes me into a crawling position. Where is he? Did he run away? Then I hear the scream again of
approaching death, “Allahu Akbar!”
I can hear the swooshing sound as the blade cuts through the air, piercing the muffled screams. Then
instantly I am falling and tumbling through the air in slow motion. I can see the revolving blue sky of an
upside-down world, as I'm falling through the air; then bracing myself as I see the hard-cobblestoned ground
approaching fast expecting great pain upon impact. One slight turn squinting my eyes tightly only to feel a
small thud as my head hits the stone paver. Suddenly a muffling of scuffle and sounds of wrestling washes
over me and I see my attacker pushed to the ground by the Vatican guards. They are driving his neck into the
stones as his face looks with grimace upon me. He is obviously in deep anguishing pain. My thoughts are with
him. I want to tell him I forgive him but I feel paralyzed but move my lips but I cannot hear. Glancing above
at the entangled men the sign ticks off to twenty-nine seconds.
Paulo bleeding from his head is standing over me crying out to God. He drops to his knees. I want so
much for him to embrace me; tell me everything will be alright; that they will be able to repair my hand. He is
caressing someone on the ground rocking back and forth wailing to God, “Why . . . Why!”
Then the arm of the victim flops to the ground with its hand tightly fisted. I can see briefly the ring. My
mind screams! It is the ring Caterina had given me. Then in terror I realized; he is holding me. The sign read
twenty-one seconds. Just then a piece of plastic is thrown over me casting darkness on my last seconds on
this earth. I am shocked that I have very little pain except for the end of the many dreams I still desired. The
smell of blood surrounds me like when you get a bloody nose. I can feel the senses draining from my mind
being replaced by a sense of calm and anxious anticipation. I cannot make out any noise now. Everything is
becoming silently slow, but memories are pouring forth over my soul. They are coming to me as if welcoming
me. Some memories are from loved ones who have died, others are welcoming me that I am leaving behind.
These memories of the past are present this moment; as if there is no time. The last sound I hear is the rapid
staccato beeps from the warning sign signaling that the time has passed.
I am waiting.

I’m still waiting.
I’m afraid to think a thought, because if I can’t, maybe this is the end.
I am still conscious.
I still am.
I am here . . . somewhere.
Waiting until it comes to me. Finally, my first thought is to Edward. Take the journey, my beloved
brother.
Oh, wow! I’m still….
I’m laughing inside for joy.