Chapter 14

God's in His Heaven

Another red car drives by as Idris sits outside the busy cafe, tucked down one of the many side streets of Florence, Italy. He scrolls through follower mail on his laptop. The article has only been up for a day, but thousands of comments already saturate his inbox. An AI filters the comments and emails so that he can easily find the useful information, scattered amongst the other noise.
One email claims to be Dimitri herself, but a quick social media search exposes the truth; a young Russian girl who clearly recently dyed her hair and idolizes Dimitri. Another score of emails claim to have seen Dimitri in different places around the world, none of which seem promising. As far as Idris is concerned, the ballerina fell off the face of the earth. He adjusts the filter, expanding the subject to the papacy and Faith Treaty. A whole new slew of messages move to the top for him to skim through.
Numerous messages are just people sharing their own conspiracy theories with increasing imaginations. Some of Idris’ personal favorites include the claims that Dimitri is one of the four horsemen of the Biblical Revelations (the general consensus being that she’s the horseman of death). Another conspiracist claims that aliens have infiltrated the world governments and that the leveled Russian cities are ground zero for a new civilization of extraterrestrials to begin building. A group of devil worshipers that seem to be based in western Europe all sent dubious messages in reverse Latin –Idris doesn’t bother translating and deletes them all. He adjusts the filters again for Florence and nearby cities.
There’s maybe twenty local messages that Idris picks through. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that most of these messages share insight on local churches and sightings of the pope and, the reason Idris was led to Florence to begin with, the German chancellor, Tessa Braucht. Despite Rome being the home of the pope, more of the religious leaders and politicians involved in the Treaty have been seen around Florence.
One message stands out compared to the rest, not just because it gives an actual church name in which Chancellor Tessa was seen, but because the writer claims to be a nun herself. The sister details her concerns regarding changes happening within her own church as well as the papacy as a whole.
Idris closes his laptop and pulls up directions to her church on his phone, which is within walking distance. He gathers his belongings, sliding them into his pack, and quickly downs the last of the near-cold espresso sharing the table with him. A busser has the mug before he can even set it back down and Idris finds himself up the road and joining the mass of people walking the city streets. He hustles through the city, itching for the fix that a good lead gets him.
Idris weaves through a population of mostly beige-clothed individuals, but with a healthy mix of more colorfully dressed parties mixed in, most of which accent their styles with silk scarves. It’s a new trend that Idris has noticed in the past week or so, and one that he has not joined in on. Like in most places, he feels somewhat out of place in heavier, dark clothing and a half dozen piercings. Ripped dark wash jeans with a chain and an oversized band tee hang off him like a sacrilege to the temple that is his body. He enters the church anyway, accustomed to the dirty looks.
It’s mid morning, so the church isn’t crowded, but the occasional congregant paces, prays, or just sits in the pews silently. Sisters outnumber visiting congregants and a small group of them notices Idris enter and mumbles to each other, keeping their eyes on him. Idris does well to ignore them and scans the large worship chamber. He finds a seat in the front most row of pews, at the edge closest to the door that Idris assumes goes to a priest’s private room.
Idris sits in a ray of light, filtering through the stained glass windows all around, portraying angels and saints as they watch over the room. He listens closely for any noise from beyond the closed door, only catching the occasional muffled sounds of conversation, but nothing clear enough to make sense of. Different nuns cycle in and out of the room through another door on the other side of the speaker’s podium up front, most of which seem to note his presence but nobody says anything. A man coughs from the center of the pews, causing everyone to stir and then return to their peace.
Idris begins to grow bored of trying to listen from afar and steals a glance around to make sure none of the nuns are watching him. He casually stands and begins to pace, going back and forth between the choir stage and several pews back, following the wall and staying as close to the door as he can without drawing attention. He barely catches snippets of two men speaking; something about plans for Sunday morning mass and a need to buy more communion wine. Nothing helpful.
Idris decides to stroll across the room towards the door from which the sisters come and go. He pretends to admire the stained glass depiction of Saint Mary, surrounded by white flowers and backed by a colorful sunset or sunrise.
“Beautiful, right? Too bad she won’t tell you what the priest is talking about in his office, huh?”
The heavily accented voice startles Idris out of his skin, shivers running from the top of his head down to his toes. He turns to find the source, which is a nun not much shorter than him, freckles spattered across her face and hazel eyes studying him from beneath her veil.
“Maybe you can go knock and they’ll let you in, it wouldn’t be much more conspicuous than you’ve already been.” She finishes with a kind smile.
“I’m, um, I-” Idris has a hard time finding his words. “Not sure what you mean.”
The woman chuckles and responds softly, “Don’t worry, even if others have noticed, they wouldn’t come up with any reason to stop you. I’m Giulia.” She offers her hand to shake, which Idris takes.
“Giulia…” His eyes light up. “Oh! Giulia! You’re the one-”
She nods and cuts him off, “Yes, that was me, but you know you could have responded to my message and I would have given you the tour myself instead of you snooping around like a dog with a poor sniffer.”
Idris cringes, “Sorry, didn’t think a sister would be able to do that. I wouldn’t want to put you in a bad situation with your congregation.”
“No worries, would you like the tour?”
Idris glances around, thinking on the offer.
“Well, if you keep acting suspicious then there will be a problem. C’mon.” She leads the way to the nearby door, where several other sisters are idling.
Idris follows several steps behind, but they’re promptly impeded at the doorway.
A nun taller and older than both Giulia and Idris puts her hand out, “Sister Giulia, you know we can’t be leading visitors around just anywhere.”
“Yes Sister Sofia, but he’s the pipe organ technician, remember?” She feigns a look of regret, “Oh no, did I forget to add the appointment to our calendar or tell you?”
The woman purses her lips, “Yes, you must have.” She turns to Idris, “Do you have proof of this? I believe our usual technician tends to… look the part.”
Idris thinks quickly, “Well, I’m technically an apprentice, studying abroad. I was sent to check out the problem and see if I can’t fix it myself. I left my tools out in my car, not wanting to drag it all in and cause an unnecessary disruption. I can go get them if you’d like.”
Sister Giulia chimes in, “Are we not all children of God, regardless of our looks? You personally asked me to make this appointment yesterday, but I’m sure I can reschedule with someone else if you would rather we turn him away.”
The older woman glares down at Giulia.
“We just wouldn’t be able to use the organ for mass tomorrow, if I have to reschedule…” Giulia drives the point home.
Sister Sofia acquiesces, “I suppose, but you are not to leave his side, I don’t want a stranger wandering the halls of our convent.
“Thank you, Sister. I will be better about telling you these things in advance next time as well.”
“That would be best, yes.” She steps to the side, allowing Giulia and Idris to pass through the door.
Giulia takes a sharp right behind the door and leads Idris through a narrow hall, up steep stairs, and into a tight chamber where the pipe organ can be maintained.
Giulia keeps her voice down once they’ve arrived, “We can speak freely in here, just keep it down, sounds do tend to echo.”
“Does this thing actually need fixing?”
“Yeah, but I can do it myself.” She winks, “Don’t tell Sister Sofia.”
“Isn’t lying a sin?” Idris asks while admiring the impressive instrument surrounding him.
She shrugs, “Yeah, but this is for a greater cause.”
“You must be pretty concerned, then. What’s the tea?”
“Well, come listen for yourself.” She moves to the far wall and sits on her knees, bowing down to press her ear to the floor.
Idris realizes that they must be just above the room that he was previously trying to eavesdrop on. He mimics Giulia’s actions, listening through the floor.
The voices are still unclear as Idris listens, “…unbelievable… of course I won’t get in your way… couldn’t ask for more…”
A deeper, clearer voice responds, “We’re all doing our best to keep the others out of the way, as well.”
There’s a gap in the conversation, as Idris assumes the first voice responds with a motion or expression.
“We’re not too worried, but it was worth emphasizing.”
“Exactly… sure the big man is gone? We’re not gonna unleash… locusts or something?”
“Dead, gone, doesn’t matter, he won’t be an issue.”
“…if you’re wrong?”
“We would know.”
Idris pushes himself off his knees and sits back against the wall, “What the he- What am I listening to?”
Giulia pulls her ear away from the floor herself and then stands. Idris is about to stand as well when she waves him off, “You can stay, I’m just going to multitask.” She digs a bag of tools from a small cupboard that Idris hadn’t noticed before and gets to work fixing whatever is wrong with the organ pipes.
“If you know how to fix the organ, why did you tell the other nuns that you’d call someone to do it?”
“I’m fairly new here, they don’t know. And don’t need to know.”
Idris knits his eyebrows in confusion but doesn’t inquire any further.
“Anyway, what you just listened to was the priest of this church, Father Giorgiano, talking to one of his regular, suspicious visitors. They’re planning something big and I don’t believe, no… I know that Giorgiano and his visitors are no followers of our good Lord, may he rest peacefully.” She adds the last statement in an even lower voice.
Idris files the side note away and presses for more substantial information, “Okay, anyone not actively a part of this cult, no offense, could tell me that the leaders of the church are corrupt. What are they planning? What proof do you have? I’m a journalist, I have to back my theories with something.”
“No offense taken, I’m not a part of their cult. Or any cult, I should add.”
“What are you, a spy?” Idris asks without hesitation.
“In a way, sure, for the Lord.” She finds the rosary hanging over her chest with a fluid motion that only comes from muscle memory and presses it to her lips before continuing. “Regardless, I’m afraid that I can’t get you any physical evidence, really just my word and those you hear from the false priest downstairs.”
Idris sighs, a grumble of frustration hidden by the breath.
“Look, I know that it all has something to do with communion wine and–” She pauses, “I think you should join us for mass tomorrow. Some of the things that Giorgiano says are… concerning… and recently the Pope visited with him and left… different.” Giulia shows genuine concern.
“I don’t necessarily want to, will it be in English?”
Giulia stops her work and her lips tighten at the realization, “No, it’s in Italian.”
Idris huffs in amusement. “Of course.”
“But I can translate for you! We can sit in the back, I’ll tell Sister Sofia that you’re a disciple and wanted to hear the sermon and need the translation!” She almost raises her voice in excitement but manages to keep it down.
“I guess I have nowhere else to be in the morning, what time?”
“Perfect! Eight o’clock, I’ll save you a seat.”
Idris shakes his head and stands as Giulia finishes what she’s doing. Once tidied up, they navigate back downstairs and Giulia leaves Idris at the front doors of the church.
Idris takes a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the sunlight outside and then glances at his watch; just after noon. He has nowhere to be for the rest of the day, so Idris hails a taxi. The next yellow cab that approaches slows to a halt in front of him. As he steps into the backseat of the car, a shout from behind catches him off guard and he finds himself being shoved across the seats by a woman pressing in next to him.
“I’m so sorry, I’m in a huge hurry.” She fixes her hair and leans forward to give directions to the driver in Italian. She leans back and buckles up before turning back to Idris, “Thanks for letting me steal your ride!”
“Seems I didn’t have much of a choice but uhh, glad I could help.” Idris buckles up as well after glancing at the rearview mirror and noticing that the driver is waiting for him to do so.
“You’re the guy looking for that Russian ballerina, right?”
The question surprises him, it’s not often that he’s recognized in public, albeit not impossible. He answers truthfully, “Yeah… I guess I am, among other things.”
“Oh great! Me too! We met briefly before the big performance and exchanged numbers but my calls won’t go through.”
Idris can no longer hide his surprise at what this woman is saying.
“Are you hungry? I know the cutest little trendy spot nearby, I’ll buy.”
“What happened to being in a hurry?”
“It can wait, actually.” She peers out the window as the driver slows to a stop, “We’re already here, c’mon!”
Idris finds himself following her out of the cab and into a cottage-style, sky blue lunch cafe, seemingly against his own will. Before he knows it, he’s seated across from the woman, with a menu in his hands and sparkling waters already fizzing between them. He’s able to get a much better look at her; light brown hair accented by blonde streaks, perfectly straight as it flows out from under her silk scarf and down her back. She’s in a long, flowing maroon skirt and basic, fitted white tee. He feels like he’s seen a million women just like her and yet simultaneously nobody quite so chic.
“The view will grow old by the time we’re done here, don’t worry.”
Idris blinks, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare…”
“No worries.” She yawns.
“I never got your name.”
“Olivia.”
Idris scrambles to dig a notebook and pen from his pack, “Olivia… You mind if I take notes?”
She sets her menu down, “Just Olivia, and no I don’t mind. Do you know what you’re ordering?”
“Wha-? Oh, right,” He glances down at the menu in his hands, realizes he can’t read most of it, and sets it on top of hers at the edge of the table, “You said you know this place, just order for me, I’m not picky.”
“Whatever you say.” She flags down the waiter and orders in Italian, turning back to Idris once the waiter is gone, “So, have you gotten any more leads since your last article?”
He’s having a hard time reading her but holds a poker face. “Oh, not really, not yet. I’ve been following some other leads today since my search for the ballerina has felt like it’s hit a dead end. You said you knew her, though! Maybe you have some insight on where she may have gone, or if she seemed anxious when you last spoke?”
“Well I had only just met her, I wouldn’t say I knew her well enough to know something like that.”
“Listen, I’ve had people claim to know her or even be her, if you’re fucking with me, I’m going to leave. This is a waste of my time.” Idris begins to pack up again as if to leave.
“Wait! Seriously, I did meet her, a week before the performance. I met her at a party, we chatted for a bit and then she had to leave.”
Idris reopens the notebook and continues taking notes. “Party?”
“Yeah you know, a fun get together with music and drinks?”
Idris rolls his eyes, “The German dancers I spoke to seemed to think she was a bit of a shut-in, never went out with the troupe or even spoke much to them. Why would she be at this party? What was it for?”
“Why would I know? As I said, I just met her the one time.”
“You were in Berlin, then? What kind of party was it?”
Her eyes widen for a moment –caught in a lie that, had Idris not been studying her face, may have gone undetected. She quickly finds an answer, “Fine, you got me. I happen to be a friend of Chancellor Braucht. It was a dinner party for Dimitri and I happened to be invited. The Chancellor wanted to wish her luck personally and invited me, knowing that I’m a fan of ballet. I was already going to Berlin for the performance, so I was happy to extend my stay and go a week early.”
“Wait wait wait. A friend of the German Chancellor?”
She nods, “We met several years back, it was a business thing before she ever even ran for office, I won’t bore you with the details.”
Idris squints at her, “Right. Anyway, what did you talk about with Dimitri?”
Olivia relaxes as they return to the more pressing subject, “We talked about ballet and–”
The waiter arrives with a platter of food and arranges it in front of each of them. Olivia is quick to pick up a fork and take the first bite, but sets the fork down immediately after. Idris begins eating, making a noticeable dent in the pile of pasta in front of him.
“So, ballet and…” Idris inquires between bites.
“She talked about her crazy grandmother that she had been living with in some cabin in the woods.”
“Okay, that’s… something. Except that I doubt that home is accessible anymore. I’m afraid I can’t put any new theories together with this info. What about the Chancellor? Have you asked her?”
“It’s come up a few times, she has no clues either.”
Idris throws his hands up in defeat, “I don’t know what to say. Maybe she’s just not meant to be found.”
Olivia drums her fingers on the table and grumbles under her breath, “I’m sure she’d love that…”
Idris pauses and raises an eyebrow, “Would she, now?”
Olivia is a deer in the headlights.
“So you do know more.” The raised eyebrow manages to grow more inquisitive.
“Just that she was supposed to rejoin the Chancellor after the performance. I knew she wouldn’t want to, just not that she would disappear altogether.”
Idris makes note of this. “Hold on, this is good to know. That means she’s most likely missing by choice, no? This isn’t some conspiracy to cover up a homicide or something.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess I never assumed that to begin with.”
There’s a growl in his voice when he responds, “Maybe you should have started with that.” He takes a breath and continues calmly, “What if the next step isn’t finding her, but finding a way to make her come to us!”
Olivia looks interested, “Go on…”
“Well, I’ll need to think on that. Can we meet again tomorrow?”
“Sure, I can make time.” She goes to grab his notebook, “May I?”
Idris nods and she scribbles down an address and time, sliding it back to him before adding, “I’ll take care of the bill, see you tomorrow.”
Olivia stays seated, clearly expecting Idris to be the one to leave, so he awkwardly gathers his things and exits the cafe. Once again, he hails a taxi, but this time nobody joins him for the ride back to his hotel.
*****
The church is full this time when Idris enters, nearly every space taken in the pews. He made the conscious decision to dress in dark grey slacks and a white button-up, less out of respect for the congregation and more for the sake of being incognito. He scans the monotone crowd until he notices a nun waving him down from the very back corner of the pews. Giulia scoots over to give him the aisle seat.
“Welcome back! Glad you made it.” She’s energetically looking around the room as she speaks instead of looking at Idris. Finding who she’s looking for, she purses her lips in the direction she wants Idris to look and speaks in a hushed tone, “Don’t stare, but that’s the man that was talking to the priest yesterday.”
Idris follows her gaze from the edge of his vision and takes a mental photograph of the man in question, leaning against the wall towards the front of the room. Thirty-something white guy with short, dirty blonde hair. “Who is he, any idea?”
“A man just short of the devil.”
Idris whips his head around to look directly at Giulia, “Wow, okay, that’s a bit much. Wouldn’t he be screaming in agony just by being in a church or something?”
“Remember I told you already, this church is corrupt, so he’s fine. He’s welcome, in fact. Probably welcome in most churches these days, unfortunately.” Her whisper is hardly audible through the chatter of congregants as they wait for the sermon to begin.
“I don’t wanna ask.”
“I won’t say more in public anyways. Besides, here comes Father Giorgiano.”
Idris averts his attention to the front of the room, the stranger leaving his thoughts as the priest exits his office. He’s a tall wire of a man, thinning hair combed over his otherwise bald scalp and white liturgical vestment only making him look more menacing. The chattering in the room goes quiet, replaced by the ominous sounds of the pipe organ –which rings clear enough that nobody would know it was broken before today.
Father Giorgiano allows the organ player to finish before clearing his throat. He stands like an elm behind the podium, firm despite looking like the wind could blow him over. A microphone amplifies his voice, “Buonasera…”
Idris can understand the evening’s greeting but his Italian language skills end there. Luckily, Giulia makes up for his shortcoming and translates quietly after a short introductory prayer;
“Father Giorgiano speaks of virtue a lot –what it means to be pious and a good Christian. He says that it is not our place to judge others, but it is our job to help shepherd sinners in the right direction… Now he’s talking about God’s duty to enact justice and how we should judge ourselves before facing God. The world is wrought with sin and we must choose the grace of God to purge ourselves of such… here we go, now he’s getting into the stuff that I’m most worried about. He is reading from Revelations and saying that there are signs that the Rapture is nearly upon us. Tragedy tries to tear the world apart, the skies are splitting, ocean levels have risen, sickness rampant, there’s a diaspora happening around the world as families flee baked, infertile lands, flooded coasts, and war-torn nations.
He says that a time will come in which we must judge ourselves worthy of the grace of God and take matters into our hands… Will we face God ourselves or turn away from his grace to live in Hell on Earth?”
Idris has been listening intently as well as studying the faces of those around him. Most people in the pews nod along to what the priest is saying, a spark of devotion in the eyes of some, wrinkles of concern around the eyes of others, all showing a level of faith that Idris was never able to achieve when he attended Jum’ah with his family as a child.
“What does he mean by all of this?” Idris leans in close to Giulia to ask the question.
“That’s the burning question, isn’t it?”
Idris leans back and crosses his arms, his brows knit in concern.
Giulia continues translating, “Now he’s just going on about having no shame in expressing faith outwardly. Not just walking the talk, I mean he’s pushing for people to buy proper clothing, share on social media, decorate their homes with religious symbols, it’s like a commercial.”
Idris suppresses a chuckle, “Yeah I think I’ve heard enough. I’m sure he’s also asking for more donations to the church on top of the tithes that members already pay?”
Giulia presses her lips together in a very telling way.
“Of course.”
“We can chat after the sermon, it’s almost over.”
They sit in silence for the remainder of the sermon and Idris politely declines the communion wafers and wine when they’re passed around, much to the disdain of the sister who offers. “It’s never too late,” she comments before moving on.
It doesn’t take long before people begin standing and filing out of the building, leaving space for the handful of remaining parties to chat more privately.
Giulia turns to Idris, “So? Thoughts, feelings, questions?”
“For one; you’re right that Giorgiano’s sermon was unnerving, but two; fear mongering has always been a tactic, as far as I’m concerned. I haven’t attended a religious service in close to a decade, but how is this significantly worse than a history of rewriting the supposed word of God to benefit those in power? This is old news.”
“I understand what you’re saying, and you’re right. There’s thousands of years worth of false prophets and corrupt congregations, but I just know this one’s different, there’s too many pawns at play.”
“How do you know? God told you?”
Giulia opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, repeating a couple of times as she contemplates her words.
Idris has a tired look on his face.
“You’ve been saying yourself that you think something big is going to happen! So clearly it’s not unprecedented for me to feel the same.”
He nods in acceptance, “I’ll give you that. I’m not trying to downplay this, it’s just my job to be skeptical.”
Giulia nods in return this time and then her eyes flick towards the front of the room, where Sister Sofia stands, watching them with a stern look. “I ought to go, I’ve pushed my luck the past few days.”
“Thank you for all of this, Giulia, reach out if you hear more.” Idris stands and steps out of the pew, giving Giulia space to exit as well.
She pauses after following him up, “I would say God bless, but he no longer holds such power. God moved out years ago, quietly and with a bag he’d been packing for decades. And trust me, Idris, these new idols that have taken up residence have only ill intent. Godspeed.” Giulia bows her head slightly and then lifts her dress enough to scurry off to the other sisters.
Idris turns on his heels and marches out of the church, scratching at the stubble on his chin as he ponders the foreboding message that the nun left him. He needs a drink, and communion wine definitely won’t cut it.