(This seems a little bit Father Brown in Italy-(with hint of Marquez, and needs some work, but I enjoyed doing this after Phoenix Writing Group in Horwich Bolton last week . I was curious to wonder about the sound of God’s voice! There was also the far more banal revelation that towers occur many times in narratives.
The Phoenix Writers of Horwich Group meets on a Thursday 10-12 at Horwich resource Centre).
When Paolo first heard the calm whispers in the cathedral tower, he dropped to his knees and wept. ‘It is the voice of God!’ he cried, finally believing for the first time in his life, as he had never felt so understood. His tears blurred his vision, so he did not see what might have been waiting for him on the top stair, nor did he did ask if they had travelled far; he was too busy listening to the walls. .
Down below in the main church, Maria Escada was singing as she changed the pink and yellow flowers on the altar. ‘Paolo. Paolo. Paolo! ‘
‘Three times a minute you call him! What a woman you are – You’ve driven him to the tower-he can’t escape you anywhere poor man!’ said John.
‘Ha ha Mr handy guy. You think you are so clever- his name helps me . My flowers blossom and bloom to the mention of his name- Pao-lo is such a sweet, tender name don’t you feel?
You have too much time to love Maria es- ca-da. He is not the man for you.’
‘And you are I suppose!’ Maria placed the new flowers in the centre of the altar ‘But Believe me john, I am worried for him too. This air is a little different today. It’s not -quiet, it’s- restless for something. ‘
John carried on repairing the church door and tapped at his head.’ I have a head pain.’
‘You are a head pain! -I feel sorry for your wife.’ Maria inclined her head.’ Listen please. ‘
‘I hear only YOU Maria My ex wife? Why? She has nothing to complain about. I am a good man most days.’
‘Paolo too’ said Maria’.’ He is a good man. Every day. Always listening. ‘
‘My virtues are remarkable too- in their own way. ’ said John ‘it just takes a clever woman to appreciate me.’
The church side door opened and a tall blonde woman walked in, smelling of amber and musk. . She nodded across at both her watchers, and then sat down in a front pew and began to pray.
John winked at Maria. ‘This may be a long job today.’
Maria raised her eyes. ‘You.’
‘You wouldn’t want me to change at my age would you? ‘said John.
The blonde’s head started to droop, apparently lost in deep prayer. A minute passed and she began to snore.
‘Poor woman’ smiled Maria . ‘Life tires us all.’
John was about to speak but stopped himself. Maria was right. The air in the church had changed. It was not the incense. It felt busy. Hectic somehow. Like a rush of something going by. Something Warm and electric.
‘I think we should open your door.’ Maria suggested.
‘Of course.’ Said John. ‘After you.’
‘Your voice sounds different.’ Said Maria.’
‘I know’, said John.
‘Ventriloquist handy guy!’ said Maria.
‘You’ve noticed.’
But that is not your voice, thought Maria. That is not your voice John. She walked to the door and opened it slowly. Outside still looked the same. Simple rows of graves, a clean path and the new benches with their special plaques. No breeze to speak of, just sunshine as usual. On the boundary of the church yard a small dog was attempting to inspect something in the grass. The dog glanced up at Maria and started to yelp.
‘John’ said Maria, turning her head. ‘Whose is that dog?’
Never seen him before said John, still in his other voice.
That’s helpful said Maria. What’s he found?
‘He’s mine’ said a new voice and’ he bites strangers’.
