"There once was a plain little piece of string...
     ...all alone and with nothing to do...
     ...each night it would wish more than anything...
     ...to have someone to tie itself to..."
     La Pieta was constructed for music. Vivaldi himself found it marvelously acoustic. And now, so too does one cherub, brushing up after children, sweeping away dust, pieces of string, the remnants of art supplies that somehow, and even he's not quite sure, made it into the nave area. Glitter sparkles as it is swept, along with the particles of Another Day at the orphanage.
     He has been... inspired since his return. Perhaps a little too inspired. He has been filling his hours -- when not with the children or canvasing out in Venice for goods and donations for the children -- cleaning to excess.
     "...then one day a fiddler came wandering by...
     ...and this plain little string quickly caught his eye...
     ...The fiddler said I'll teach you how to sing..."
     The broom meets the stone with a fierce kind of determination. If cleanliness be the way to godliness? Then let me sweep to the very gates of Heaven. Ha. If I were to do that, I'd be arrested. Kit stops, resting his arms on the butt of the broomhandle, and takes a breather. I'm avoiding it. I know I'm avoiding it. And yet... what do I do? Grey eyes lift to follow lines of architecture upward to heaven. "Here I stand," he whispers, "...worrying about glitter on your carpet. And you don't care. You like the glitter and the mess and things that don't make sense." Kit smirks, going back to his brushing. "Cleanliness to godliness indeed," he muffles out under his breath, "...has anyone taken a look at the universe lately?"

     "Hmph," replies Fra Spero, coming out of his office corridor to the nave proper. He has a cup in his hand, remnants of a day doing paperwork. With many of the childer off singing and enjoying holiday festivities, it allows him to finish up mundane work. "A few have," he confirms, nodding at you. Lines pull at his eyes, and his slightly weathered face becomes clearer in the better light of the nave. He is dressed in black clothing, vestments of his station as priest. "But, I don't know what they've decided," he lets you know, lest you think it he with some wisdom.
     "You are doing an excellent job," Fra Spero chirps, looking around at the floor. "The staff, they say that they like having you around, though they do not know why a fine man as you would tend to cleaning," he grins, knowing why.

     Of course you know. You also know the futility of the utility, he imagines. "Tell them, I am hoping it rubs off on my soul. Surely, they would understand that. But," he sets the broom aside, "...no matter how hard I polish, I don't seem to be getting any more sparkly." Hmph, and sweeping doesn't really help all that much either. And I have glitter all over me. Kit brushes glitter from his arms and shoulders and his shirt, looking at you with something more like humble apology. He bows his head. "I am glad that you ... find it to be so, Brother Hope. It is... all I am trying to do, to do a good job. I find it sometimes hard to do with an audience..."
     There are two lions with him, as they ever are. Michael's Chaldean sentinels. His multiple eyes and ears. One is lying near the door. The other near the altar...
     "...but..." he shrugs it off, "... I suppose I will learn. I will... just have to learn." Kit exhales, eyes going to the floor. "I am unworthy for this place, Brother Hope. My only hope is that by... remaining here, by trying hard and sweeping hard if need be, I will become worthy of the children I teach and the duty I attempt..."
     Kit is on the move, slowly, to set the broom aside. "I am reminded of a story," he says softly, but the nave captures his voice and tosses it up for you and all to hear, "...the one of Job. Lately, I have been wondering if I should... read it and refresh my memory."

     That brings a frown to Fra Spero's aging face. "Job," he brightens a little for the name, "...was most beloved by God. His most beloved," he repeats. Maybe you have forgotten that part. "He loved him so much and had such faith in him, that he let him be challenged by Satan. And Job proved what The Father knew all along, and was greatly rewarded for it and held in His bosom."
     His smile grows. "That's the story of Job," he reminds. "Or were you thinking of something else, maybe?"

     "That's the one," Kit says brightly. "The very one. Where the hero," that would be Job, "... wondered why a good soul should be so... put upon, when he, and I'm paraphrasing, I haven't read it since it was set down. But did he not think that he was being punished unfairly? How did he get past that? Hell is filled with souls who were unable..." There's sorrow for that. "If Job had failed, what then of God's Love, or God knew, well as He Does and Must," he waves that away, yes yes, He's Infallable and All-Knowing, of course He knew Job would prevail, "So, if He knew Job would prevail why did He have him challenged so? Or was it to tweak Lucifer's nose, for Lucifer had no idea that Job's faith would prevail..."
     He takes a seat on a pue. "I am being challenged," I know that, "...but I am not ... doing as well as Job. I am wondering why. Why I cannot accept it, Brother Hope. Why, knowing as I do that I am being challenged, I cannot rise to that challenge and prevail..."

     "Why do you think you are not doing as well as Job?" Fra Spero asks. "You do not recall how Job called out to the father? When his family died, when his wealth was gone, when his health was taken from him? When he asked God why such was happening to him? He asked too," Fra Spero reminds, "...it is a natural question. And I doubt it was to tweak anything, but to provide a model, just as you look to Job now. Is there nothing you can learn from Job's story? His own doubts and fears. His love for God? His lack of understanding? And, then, his own ability to continue to love? Prevail..." Fra Spero counters, "...is not the right word. He Loved and Trusted The Father. That is all. It is not a war, it was not a war for Job either. That is not the language of that story. He would not yield his love. That...is what brought him deliverance and his restoration."
     And that may be the most direct thing he has said since your arrival.
     "Reread," Fra Spero suggests. "See what it is that delivers Job," he smiles.
     The cup is turned up at his lips and sipped for a moment. "When will you be leaving us?" he casually asks, moving to lean against the edge of a pew. "The children will miss you, when it is your time to go..."

     Leave you? Leave? That catches him off-guard. I'm going somewhere? "I... I had not thought of leaving. Not anytime soon. I haven't even begun, I do not think." Do you know something? "But... maybe I am not where I need to be to do them good," he answers his own question. "And now... I do not know where that would be. Maybe..."
     And then he's struck by something. Something that halts his voice, makes it stick right in the middle of his throat...
     "... that's what I have to find out," he says. "Maybe... before I can truly help them, I have to... work this through. For as the Master says, I cannot lead my Word, it must lead me. And this is what I have been doing when I sweep and I clean. Even when I teach the children to sing, and sometimes answer dreams, mostly tend to them like a gardener tends an orchard, until it fruits," he is talking to himself, mostly. And then he looks to you. "I have been grasping the forgiveness I have wanted...around the throat, throttling for it to be returned to me, having never... meant to do Wrong in the first place. But that is not the point." Kit shakes his head and stands. "That's not the point of it at all..."
     This is what we call divine epiphany. The lions lift their four heads and stare at him...
     "I have to let it go or in my effort to redeem myself I Fall, Brother Hope. And that is what I am doing. I am... Falling. I think.... I think I do have to go..." Tell me, tell me now if I am chasing my tail even moreso, if I am spiraling as I Fall, if I am moving with pride. I can't tell anymore. When Up becomes Down, when Right becomes Wrong, how does one know how or where to fly?

     "You did Wrong?" Fra Spero asks, jumping into your epiphany. "Whoever said that?"
     "Breaking Law does not necessarilly mean Wrong."
     He sips his drink again. "Ask the Archangel of Fire, next time you see it," he says softly. He doesn't comment on the rest of your words, not sure where you're going with the line of logic, or what acts you had or had not done in your search.

     The cherub flies so quickly! Not known for their speed, it is surprising, the Chaldean lions open their mouths and angelic pours from it. How is it we have managed to keep up. They've grown a sense of humor since leaving Michael's Citadel, perhaps.

     "I do not understand the difference," Kit admits quietly, calming, returning to his seat. He sighs. "I do not know much. What I thought I knew, maybe I did not know. For how can breaking law be doing Right, Brother Hope? How could it be Right that one who does Right should be outcast from Heaven and on-guard on earth? So, if I did not do Wrong, then... what did I do to bring this to me?" Grey eyes twinkle. "And now we are ...back to Job. I cannot get out of this....circle..."
     Just be quiet a minute, Christopher. He exhales, an arm rest on the back of the pue, he puts his head in his hand. He rubs his eyes. "I am sorry, Fra Spero," he whispers. "I am not doing well with this, as you see. This... this is why I do not think I am doing as well as Job." And Our Master honored me. Gave me a new name. I do not deserve that either. Look at me. Kit stands after another minute. "I will go sweep the children's play area. It is a mess from today's project. I helped them make wish boxes. Tomorrow, they are to have an hour of music. I will be teaching them a new song to sing. Mostly, I will be trying to fix the organ." Yes, subject changed. Broom grabbed.
     "Is there anything you would like done to the building? Anything painted?"

     "No," Fra Spero replies, narrowing his eyes at you. "Thank you, though." He turns his cup up again, then realizes it's empty. "I think the question you are asking is not about understanding the difference. You are being disingenous. You want to know something else," he posits.
     "As far as I know, you transgressed Law," he repeats. "Yes, you. Despite however things may be, Right or Wrong, you did something you should not have, apparently. Or, you think that the end justifies the means?"

     "I do not mean to be disingenous." That much is genuine. He is slow now about what he does. Every little motion made with care. The broom, even, set gently aside. No, no he will not be sweeping anymore tonight. "I do not think that the end justifies the means, no. That was Lucifer's argument, wasn't it?" Grey eyes settle on you, the look is quite sad. "From what little I remember of all that. I think it was, among other things. But in this case, the ends and the means weren't known to me. I was, I believe, doing the best I could for my word at the time in America. I did not consciously say: I am going to attune myself to Soldekai, make him an archangel, and get a treat at the end. I didn't think about how it would affect me, or what I might get out of it. That's a demon's argument."
     Kit laughs a little, but not out of joy. It's more like terror, well, if he could truly know terror. "That's what it is. A demon's argument. I should not wonder why I am under arrest and outcast from Heaven. Only a being," his voice trembles a little, "...enveloped in the dark arms of pride would think of his own injury. I'm worried about falling?" Kit shakes his head, and a hand lifts to wipe his eyes. "It has already happened, hasn't it. That I am making the argument at all, that it is even a question from my lips. That I dare to trouble you, let alone God's Ear with this pitiful grasping. Isn't that the proof of it."

     Fra Spero's eyes widen to hear elements of the case. Is that what has brought you here? He looks up and around the nave for a moment, letting you both stand in silence.
     "Well," he says softly. "Maybe we should not talk about such...things...in the nave, hmm?" No, he had no idea that was underlying it all. And why should he? Fra Spero coughs and looks faintly discomfited. "What I can only say," he turns, as if to head back to his study, "...is if you had Fallen, we would not be standing here, having this conversation in the nave."

     "Maybe... we have been... because I had to realize it. Sometimes..." his voice goes soft. "...sometimes I have heard it happens that way, Brother Hope. Would it be wrong of me to say I was hoping for something a bit more... dramatic?" Kit tries to laugh, but he cannot. It's not funny. "Good night, Fra Spero... ah... about the children..."
     He looks down and around, to the lions that are visibly curious and now incredibly quiet. Not purring. Just standing, waiting for him. "Maybe I will be able to tell them goodbye. It would not be... good for them to have people disappear from their lives without explanation. I do not want them to think it was them, or that they did not sing well enough, you know... how children can absorb it all, think it is them. Why should they have to absorb any of this..."
     He doesn't follow you, but turns toward the door, toward his coat and scarf that lay draped over one of the rear pues. The lions move after him, one moving to the door, the other coming up behind him.

     "There is no need for you to leave them," Fra Spero offers, coming to a full stand instead of leaning on the pew. "But, yes, when you decide to go, we should tell them gently. If you go, they will miss you, you know this, yes?" He lets his head fall to his shoulder as he watches you go.

     He nods. "I... maybe I will just take a couple of days." An attempt at reason. Kit puts on his scarf and coat, a good woolen coat. The scarf is striped red and yellow. The coat is black. "I will come back after I... recover from my winter chills. Will... that be alright, Fra Spero?" He looks at the buttons as he fastens them, he pulls on his gloves.
     "Thank you for speaking with me. God hold you in His Grace, and sleep well. I will... come by in a couple of days." Either to stay or to go. That, will be up to God and His Grace...

     "Absolutely," Fra Spero says, waving his empty hand. "Whatever you decide, know that you are welcome here...always. The children love you, and you are a true help to us." He smiles broadly, nodding as he turns to head towards his study again. "And do not forget to reread Job hmm?"

     "I won't forget..." He holds the door open, letting the lions move before him. Remembered courtesy. It is becoming second nature. Hands in his pockets, Kit strolls out into the snow.

Posted by rowan at May 18, 2003 02:39 PM