RAPHANIÈ STEPPED OUT OF THE BATHTUB, enveloped in a cloud of steam that slowly dissipated, as though the air itself carried the weight of his sins. He dried his face with a white towel and wrapped himself in a thick cotton bathrobe. What he desired most at that moment was to disappear for a few days — return to Rome, fulfill the promise he had made to Cardinal Josefo, and withdraw to the Greek monastery that awaited him with open doors for his spiritual retreat. He needed to purify himself, to free himself from the guilt that gnawed at him, from the invisible burden that prevented him from breathing in peace. But purification demanded silence, and silence was what he feared most.
It was then that he heard his cell phone ringing in the bedroom — an ordinary sound, yet at that moment it seemed almost sacred, like a summons. He walked slowly toward the device, his body still damp, his heart beating erratically. It was Saul. The name flashed on the screen like a memory and a wound at the same time.
— ... Father, where are you?...
The journalist's voice sounded firm, though laden with unease.
— How good it is to hear your voice, Saul. I'm in my hotel room — the Italian replied, trying to sound composed, although a trace of exhaustion betrayed the turmoil within his soul.
— ... Didn't we agree that you would attend the press conference?...
— I'm sorry... I had a little problem — he said hesitantly, running a hand through his wet hair.
— ... What do you mean? Is everything all right?...
— No... I think I passed out in the bathtub — he confessed, his tone revealing an embarrassment mingled with vulnerability and shame.
On the other end of the line, Saul's silence was brief but filled with concern.
— ... We had lunch together today...
— I know... and it was precisely after that that everything happened. This afternoon, Jessyca recognized me — he revealed, feeling the weight of those words.
— ... And?... — Saul's voice sounded sharper now, inquisitive.
— I was weak, Saul. Lying has become a reflex, and once again I ran away... away from her, from myself, perhaps even from God — the Italian confessed, lowering his eyes.
On the other end, Saul sighed deeply before answering:
— ... It's just a reminder that holy men also make mistakes and feel fear. Peter denied Jesus three times... and yet he became their leader...
Raphaniè closed his eyes.
— Certainly... — he murmured, absorbing the lesson that echoed like penance.
— ... I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I'd like to see you right afterward...
— I'll be waiting for you. It will be good to see you again — he replied in a calmer, almost hopeful tone.
— ... I'll call when I'm nearby. See you soon...
The silence that followed was almost liturgical. Raphaniè remained motionless, the phone still in his hand, studying his reflection in the dresser mirror — his pale face, his weary eyes, the cross hanging against his chest.
— The phone rang just as I woke up... It must be a sign that I'm meant to stand beside Saul on this mission — he concluded in a low voice, taking a deep breath, like a man accepting the destiny imposed upon him.
He knelt for a moment before the open window, allowing the cold London wind to brush against his face. Outside, the distant sounds of traffic and sirens mingled with the beating of his own heart.
— I need to meet with Jessyca today — he murmured with determination, clutching the crucifix between his fingers. — Before it's too late.
And for the first time in a long while, the priest had the feeling that the true spiritual battle was only just beginning.