Lucia glides across an abandoned street corner, never glancing down as she trots across the cobbled path. Rain begins to drizzle down her bare, rosy skin as she throws her arms wide open in the air and lets out a crazed cackle. Her silhouette dances as the winds carry her and her hands embrace the wet droplets of water on her fingers. The corners of her mouth curl into a vibrant grin as the memory of a past rainstorm creeps into her mind from seven years before.

***

The sun glistened down upon the majestic, craggy peaks of the Apennine Mountains overlooking Naples in the midst of a sultry, tranquil day. Lucia Mazzoni trudged up a trodden path winding up towards the Monastery della Santa Maria Pietra, a historical ruin known for leaving its visitors with a renewed sense of peace and perspective. Despite the glorious warmth, Lucia was dressed in heavy cotton layers of a taupe oversized pullover, one loose strand trying to break free and ride the slight breeze. When she reached the summit, she sought out shade before slumping down under a monstrous pine tree. She lost herself in the pages of J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey, a book she had recently turned to in her quest to understand life, its meanings, its value, and its frustrations.  

            Suddenly, a clap of thunder roared as a barrage of heavy raindrops plummeted one after another onto her book. Lucia sprang to her feet just as a flash of lightning struck the towering pine, splitting the bark in half with a loud crash as it collapsed onto the ground. Trying to remain brave, for Lucia was not one to get involved with nature, she instinctively drew away from the light, running towards the open darkness where nature could not pursue her. As a flock of grey storm clouds consumed the last of the sparkling sunlight in the skies overhead, she glanced upwards and tried to make sense of her surroundings, but felt simply dwarfed by this overwhelming scene of the sublime. She felt her legs begin to move under her, picking up the pace as she drew closer to a dark figure that grew larger with every footstep. Before she knew it, Lucia had arrived at the front gates of a stone monastery, what must have been the Monastery della Santa Maria Pietra. She saw a heavy, brass handle on a mammoth set of double doors.  Though she leaned against them with all her might, they seemed to be rusted in place, forbidding her entrance.  After a final, desperate push, the heavy doors gave way with a mighty creak, matching the roar of the raging storm. Lucia furtively slipped inside for shelter from the rain and cautiously looked about her.

            Her plan was simply to wait out the storm, but a compelling force drew her towards the inner chapel where she took a seat on one of the vacant pews, which were covered in dust. She drifted off into a dreamless daze. Suddenly, she jolted awake at the sound of a man’s deep voice.

“What are you doing here?” A monk spat condescendingly down at Lucia while maintaining an eerily perfect posture.

“ I...ah...um....” Lucia stammered, shaking at the sudden appearance of this unknown figure. “The storm…” she panted, glancing about for a means of escape.

            “This is not a place for young girls.” He fingered the beaded rosary draped across his robe. “Only members of the Order of Black Friars may worship in this house of God.”

Lucia’s eyes widened. All of a sudden, she was possessed by an inexplicable longing. Stay! Lucia frantically scanned the room to discover who had spoken. Staaaay! But the dank, gloomy chapel was empty except for her and the friar.

“Stay.” This time Lucia was startled by her own voice. “I need to stay.”

A crack of thunder echoed through the chamber.

“One night,” the monk replied disdainfully. “One night—and no longer.”  

Without a sound, he led Lucia up a narrow, winding staircase. The old, weathered floorboards creaked with Lucia’s every step, yet they remained silent under the monk, as if he was weightless. As they reached the top of their steep climb, he turned around to face her.

“You may stay the night. But you will have to repay me for my generosity.” He reached his pale hand under the layers of his robe and extracted a rusty key. He thrust open the dark door with cold force. Through the aperture, Lucia caught sight of an empty cot. A tremor coursed through her small frame.

“What is this place?’ she asked nervously, crossing her arms.

“This is where a past friar laid,” he rejoinder.  “He is no longer with us.”

Stunned and almost at a loss for words, she had the presence of mind to ask one final question. “How is it that you want me to repay you?” she mumbled, afraid to hear his response. In the next moment, the heavy door slammed violently before Lucia heard the sound of the lock click shut. The monk’s stern voice came from outside.

“You must stay within your cell. This is not a place for young girls,” he repeated. Paralyzed with fear, Lucia waited for the sound of his steps to fade, but all she heard was silence. Her limbs went slack upon the thought of passing the night in a dead man’s room.

            The walls of the room were unpainted and bare, except for a hanging holy cross and a foggy mirror. She felt her hands reaching up towards the cross, but when she made contact with the holy object, she felt indifferent towards the dead weight in her palm. As she placed the cross down on the rough floor, she noticed she was quivering from cold and hunger.  Lightheaded and heavyhearted, she opened the closet door in search of the warmth a monk’s robe might provide her. Fumbling in the darkness, Lucia collapsed. The back of the closet gave way, exposing a secret passageway. “A trap door! “she thought. Through the utter darkness, Lucia could barely fix her eyes on the glimpse of light in the far distance.

Trembling with every step, she carried herself further down the low ceilinged hall. Lucia felt as if it were enclosing around her and her heart grew heavy, beating against her chest. For a second, the glow reminded her of a beacon of heaven, but within an instant, this thought vanished. Lucia emerged into the light as she found herself in a monstrous library filled with rows of tall bookshelves nearly scraping the ceiling overhead. As she twirled around the room fluttering her fingers across each book, her grasp stopped at the Book of Ecclesiastes. Without taking her eyes off the book, she glanced over to a tattered chair and sat down with her legs crossed. Before she could read a single sentence, a gust of wind howled and blew her brown locks all around her crown. Luciaaaaa. Luuuucia. She whipped around frantically smacking the back of her chair, searching for the source of the groaning that came behind her.

The wind and the moaning subsided at the same moment. In the silence Lucia looked down to find that the book in her hand was no longer the ancient text, Book of Ecclesiastes, but two pieces of parchment stained with handwritten ink.                                                                                          

My dearest Antonio,                                                                           

The recent passing of my twenty-first birthday caused me to realize how necessary it is that I be completely honest with myself concerning my future and my happiness. Not one day has gone by when I have been unsure of my love for you, but I am left with no other option but to present to you a choice: a life of happiness, filled with family and companionship, or a life of spirituality, solitude and devotion to our lord God.  It is not that I disapprove of your current way of life, but it is wrong for us to continue or correspondences if this is the path you choose.

I trust that we will both find happiness with either choice we make; but a part of me cannot help but wish that our futures be one. In no way are my desires to cause you pain and it is not in my style to issue ultimatums, but know that without your decision my life stands in liminality.  

                                                                        Always your steadfast friend,

                                                                                    Electra di Lattini

The eleventh of June

                                                                                    Frattaminore, Naples

            After reading the letter Lucia felt unease as her stomach twisted into knots. She was rattled by the impertinence of this Electra to suggest that a monk should trade religion and obligations at the mere whims of a love-struck girl. For Lucia, a simple feeling should not eclipse the grand aspirations of success and knowledge. As she arose from the chair she looked questioningly towards the stain glass window that depicted the Virgin Mary. Lucia extended her arms towards the window as her fingers gently grazed the red, green, yellow, and blue tinted panels. She noticed that through the colored glass the sunlight was trapped outside and she stood in relative darkness inside the library. With a burst, the Virgin Mary came crashing down into a million delicate shards.

Lucia stood tall in midst of the chaos and let the sunlight steam over, filling her with warmth from the aftermath of the previous storm. She inhaled a slow, deep breath of fresh air from the world outside of the monastery. She smiled as she realized she was not devastated at the destruction of holy mother, but felt peace and contentment instead. Her reverie was interrupted by the noisy din of arguing monks, the echoes of their voices quickly approaching up the hall. Without a moment to spare Lucia furtively retraced her steps back to the room. From the recesses of the cell she could make out each irritated monk claim their own innocence.

“There is no way it could have been my doing. I for one was praying Ave, Virgo, gratia plena in the chapel just now.”

“And I was in the rectory when I heard the crash and came directly over.”

            With each excuse Lucia saw the monks to be the ordinary men that they were, not beholders of higher knowledge, truth, and value. Safe and alone in her room, Lucia tucked her hands in her pockets only to find the remaining letter still there. She crinkled the edges of the paper in her hand, anxious yet eager to discover the contents of what this following letter would hold.

            My dearest Electra,

                        Your letter has shed light on me and opened my eyes to a future of complete happiness. I feel like I have been trapped within these four walls and locked up away from the outside world. For I know I would live a respectable life here with my Brothers of the Black Friars, and I am honored to be selected to take part in such a distinguished order. But if there is one thing I have learned during my time here, it is that a lifetime of solitude and scholarship does not amount to happiness. Mankind thrives off of human connection, relationships, and affection, and that is what I have found with you. The purpose of life as a whole is merely nothing at all. It is in fact that each human has their own purpose and reason for existence and has the power to control their own fate. One must turn not to God, or a teacher, or the Bible, or any text, but to oneself. There, at the core of all of mankind lies the true meaning of life. I have come to my own conclusion that any future not spent living freely with you would not be one worth living. Our meeting by next Sunday’s sunrise at the large pine tree will mark the beginning of our new life together. With the death of slavish convention there is a birth of a light representing life and humanity resurrected within man, and that is my religion.

                                                            With gratitude and affection, your ever humble                                                                                                                        Antonio

                                                                                                The twentieth of June

                                                                        Monastery della Santa Maria Pietra  

            A trickle of crimson stained the last four words. Lucia traced the trail of blood up the side of the page to discover the source to be her finger, which had been pricked while she timidly fiddled with it. Her own blood was playing along the white margins, looking more like a mark of beauty than of harm. She allowed the crinkled letter to drop from her grasp and gracefully float onto the ground. Lucia thought to herself about how disgusted the other monks would have found Antonio and condemned him for abandoning the order. But he was happy. He was free, she realized.

            A flash of excitement ran through her body, making her look beyond the paper in her hands. The once foggy mirror was now spotless and clear. Lucia rushed up to it and gazed at her own image, perfectly framed within the four enclosed walls. “Trapped within these four walls,” she heard herself mutter. She took one glance back at the empty bed and let out a slight laugh and a smirk.  All her former suspicions were dispelled: “The only death that ever existed was one of slavish convention,” she said aloud, startled by the conviction of her own words. Lucia grinned and her reflection smiled back at her, as if she was saying to yourself “You are not alone.” She noticed her cheeks were rosy and her lips the color of blossoming flowers. Feeling the ground beneath her with each step, she found her way to the worn bed and lay supine. Lucia turned her open eyes up at the ceiling. “With the death of slavish convention there is a birth of a light representing life and humanity resurrected within man, and that is my religion.” She placed her warm hands on her beating chest and listened to her breath.

            “And that is my religion.”

***

            Lucia’s eyelashes flutter as her trance fades away gone, with the grey clouds rapidly moving overhead. Standing there in the midst of nature replenishing itself, the rain continues covering her tanned skin. Sparkling and glowing with moisture, Lucia looks like a stained glass window during a storm.