#I’ll reach out to the priest at their parish and see if they are involved in assisting refugees | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pengychan · 4 years ago

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 23

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: There's Chekhov's gun and then there's Ernesto's poison. You know the rule.

Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit!

***

“This way, all of you, don’t make noise.”

“But Sister Antonia, these are your quarters--”

“And you’ll stay here until you’re told otherwise, chicos. Make no noise. We’ll bring you food here until they’re gone.”

“But the girls…?”

“They wouldn’t take them for their ranks. God willing, they’ll leave them be. We’ll keep them safe, too. Now you stay here, all right?”

A few terrified, wide-eyed glances from the boys. No reply.

“Am I clear?”

“S-sí.”

“Can we pray, Sister?”

“... Quietly,” Sister Antonia said, her voice tight in the way one’s voice gets when it’s so close to breaking up, and she closed the door, turning the key in the lock. When she turned to grab the bookcase and drag it across the floor, Imelda stepped in to help her push it. It left deep scratches on the wooden boards, but no matter. They would cover that with a rug.

“Is Miguel still missing?” Imelda asked, her voice as firm as she could make it. Antonia lowered her gaze with a nod.

“He’s the only one who didn’t come back. None of the boys has seen him since they went out to play hide and seek.”

Imelda bit her lower lip hard enough to almost break the skin. “Nor Óscar, have they?” she forced herself to ask, and the slow nod felt like a blow. Where was he? Where had they both gone? Could it be that they had both made it to her parents’ home, that Miguel had followed Óscar there? Maybe he had, maybe they were both safe.

God, please.

“I’m sorry, Imelda,” Antonia’s voice reached her as though from a mile away, and she scowled. Anger came easier than despair, and it was more than welcome. No point in fearing the worst behind the safety of those walls.

“They may very well be safe and sound,” she snapped, and marched to the door. “I will go out looking. If they ask, I’m looking for some of our girls. Make sure they’re all in - if anyone asks, this is a girls-only institution.”

“... Do you know where Sofía is?” Antonia spoke up, fear now showing in her voice, and it made Imelda pause. As much as she rolled her eyes at their antics, poorly hidden behind hastily closed doors and too thin walls, Imelda knew they cared deeply about one another.

“She’s taking care of something important. She will be here soon. Don’t worry,” she added, and smiled in the attempt to convey a sense of calm she did not feel. “She can handle herself just fine.”

Antonia’s own lips curled in a weak smile. “I won’t tell her you admitted that. Be careful out there. I really do want to see the gringo’s face when Padre Ernesto officiates your wedding.”

Imelda, who rather liked the idea of her wedding actually being both legal and valid in the eyes of God, knew they would probably have to settle for the gringo to officiate it, but that was not the moment to voice that thought. Except that, as she stepped out and ran towards the plaza, she quickly found out that perhaps the gringo would be in no position to officiate anything anymore, either.

“What…?” Imelda stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight of several men quickly carrying a body towards the church on a sheet, dark blood a stark contrast to the man’s pale skin and fair hair. He looked-- was he-- dead?

If they go around shooting priests, none of us is safe.

There was no love lost between her and Father John Johnson, and yet there was a stab of something in her stomach at the idea he may be dead. He had been trying to help, after all. He had left the relative safety of the parish to help its people.

Maybe he just said something stupid. He does it a lot. Only this time they were armed.

“Go call doctor Sachéz,” Imelda heard someone saying as they passed her by, but before she could even voice her question - would the doctor be of any use, was he even still alive? - someone else called out her own name.

“Imelda!”

Ceci’s voice caused her to tear her gaze off the gringo who was perhaps an ex gringo. She was running up to her, hair dishevelled in a way Imelda had never seen it - she had always been dignified, even when they were young girls.

But today was not a normal day.

“They have Miguel,” Ceci panted, grabbing her shoulders. “And Óscar.”

No. No. No.

For a moment, just a moment, the world seemed to spin around her. It was as though sunlight itself faded for a moment, distant screams muffled, leaving the world empty and dark. Imelda’s knees may have buckled, they almost did, but she couldn’t allow herself to collapse.

“Their commander is loco,” Ceci was saying, eyes wide. “He just kept screaming about a deserter, one de la Cruz, and the more we swore none of us knew him the more he lost it. And when Padre Juan stepped in-- Imelda! Wait! Come back!”

Imelda didn’t listen: she just tore away from her grasp and ran, towards the plaza, towards the cries.

They had her brother. They had her charge. She had to go to them.

Whenever she thought about that nightmare scenario, Imelda was so certain of what she’d do: get the pistol she had taken from Ernesto, and use it the second it was necessary. But now that it was happening, she knew that taking out the gun would mean signing her death warrant, and that of God knew how many others in the village. A lone woman with a pistol - she would be killed quickly, and retribution on everyone else would be swift. She would be of no use to anyone dead.

Maybe Ernesto had been right, after all. What involvement she’d had had been from the sidelines. She knew nothing of war; Santa Cecilia knew nothing of war.

But war had come to them, and it was a matter of learning fast or dying.

He just kept screaming about a deserter.

There is no mercy in war, Ernesto had said.

He’s one of our own now. I can’t give him away.

They have Óscar.

I promised we would protect him.

They have Miguel.

We protect our own.

He lied to us.

There must be something we can do. Anything.

As she ran as fast as her robes allowed her, blood rushing in her ears and thoughts going in circles, Imelda could only pray that Ernesto would stay at the González farm, unaware, for as long as possible.

If he returned too early and they found out he was there, and that they hadn’t handed him over, it would spell disaster for all of them.

***

“Miguel!”

Héctor’s scream was loud enough to hurt his throat, and it was still lost under the echo of the gunshot, under the wordless cries of the people of Santa Cecilia trying to back away, the shouts of those calling out for doctor Sanchéz and the stunned cries of ‘he shot him, he shot a man of God ! ’ coming even from the Federales themselves.

It was lost beneath all the confusion, and Miguel’s screams.

“No! What have you done! What have you done!”

“Be still-- be still, brat! Don’t try my patience, there is a bullet for you too if you won’t--!”

“Let me go!”

“I am warning you!”

“Murderer! Let me g--!”

“Wait! Por favor!”

This time, Héctor’s cry was loud enough to be heard. That, and it’s rather hard not to notice someone in a priestly robe throwing himself in front of your horse, gripping the reins and looking up at you with a look of pure anguish on his face.

The commander seemed startled, pistol still in mid-air, and he let his gaze shift from Héctor to the motionless priest bleeding out on the cobblestones, a few men already trying to press on the wound to stop the blood loss, calling for help to take him to the doctor. Héctor didn’t look down, didn’t focus on the fact he had just witnessed a man being shot down, didn’t even think he was putting himself in danger of being next.

All he knew was that the man had Miguel, and he couldn’t have him.

He opened his mouth to plead, but the commander’s eyes were back on him and he spoke up before he could. In his grasp Miguel was shaking, eyes full of tears and skin ashen.

“Are all priests in this village eager to become martyrs? Let go of the reins now, or--”

“I’ll join you,” Héctor blurted out, holding tighter onto the reins. “I beg of you to let him go. I’ll take his place.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline; Miguel, on the other hand, let out a gasp.

“Héctor, no--!” he choked out, only to trail off when the man gave him a shake.

“You know him?”

“He is a warden of the Church. I--”

“Well, go back to the Church. We don’t take in priests.”

“I am a novice, not a priest,” Héctor spoke quickly, and fell on his knees. Blood soaked through the robe, warm and wet, while somewhere behind him Father John was taken away on a sheet. Federales allowed it, most of them probably still stunned at the notion their commander had just shot a priest; many held no more love for the Church than Huerta himself did, but fear of God’s punishment was too ingrained in their hearts since childhood not to hold some weight. “I have taken no vows-- none. I can join the army. I’ll do it right now. I’ll do anything you ask.”

There was a hiccupping sob, tears spilling down Miguel’s cheeks. He was always such a lively boy, so smart, always up to something - but now he only looked like the scared child he was. Héctor desperately wanted to comfort him, but he dared not tear his gaze from that of the commander, whose harsh expression had softened even so slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was… calmer.

“You seem to care about this muchacho an awful lot.”

“He’s like a son to me,” Héctor said, and he realized the truth of it only as it left his lips. Miguel let out another sob, trying to wipe his eyes.

“Héctor…” he managed, and Héctor finally dared smile at the boy. A shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“It will be all right, chamaco, I promise,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it, and looked back at the soldier, who stared back a few moments… and finally lowered the pistol, putting it back in the holster.

“What is your name?”

“Héctor, señor.”

“Héctor and what else?”

“Just Héctor. I-- I have no family.”

“Can you hold a gun?”

“Sí.”

“Shoot?”

“I-- only tried a few times. But I will learn.”

“Mph. I guess it’s something. We can’t be picky these days.”

“You won’t regret it. I swear.”

The man sighed. Much later on, Héctor would wonder if the look he gave him that moment truly was somewhat apologetic, or if it had just been his imagination. To his last day, he would never be entirely sure. “... Very well, Just Héctor. I am Commander Hernández. Welcome to the Federal Army,” he said, and let go of Miguel. The boy jumped off the horse and was in Héctor’s arms the next moment, crying hard, face pressed against his shoulder.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go,” he sobbed, holding on tight. “You’ve got to get married-- I’m sorry I was so mad at you-- please don’t go--”

I’m sorry, Imelda.

“It will be all right,” Héctor managed, trying to sound as optimistic as he could. “I’ll be back once this is over and I’ll have plenty of stories to tell.”

Miguel sniffled, still holding on tight. “Promise,” he choked out.

“I swear.”

Another shuddering breath. “Did you-- do you really--?”

“All right, all right, enough. Just looking at you makes my teeth rot.”

Gustavo’s voice rang out suddenly, and Miguel was torn from Héctor’s arms before he could react. He tried to protest, to break free, but Gustavo had already pushed him back towards Chicharrón, who trapped him in a steely grip the boy had no chance of escaping - Héctor would know, he had been on the receiving end of that a few times before.

As the old gravedigger began pulling Miguel away despite his protests, and Héctor stood - so much blood on the cobblestones, surely the gringo was dead - Commander Hernández gave Gustavo a somewhat weary glance. “And you are…?”

“Gustavo Torres, señor. I wish to join your ranks,” Gustavo said, making a dismissive gesture towards the plaza behind him. “I’ve had enough of this place. I am a good shooter, too,” he added. Héctor knew that was an absolute lie: Gustavo couldn't even hit his own foot with any type of firearm. What the hell was he going on about - and why join the Federales? He was a pendejo, that much was no mystery, but since well did he support Huerta? What was going on?

Commander Hernández tilted his head, seemingly taken aback of for entirely different reasons. It probably wasn’t often anyone volunteered to join. “... Well then. If you’re willing to join, I see no reason to deny you.”

“Uh, Commander…” a soldier approached them, looking a little shaken up. Either he was new to all this, or he found his commander had gone a step too far in shooting a man of God in cold blood - gringo or not. He gestured towards a group of people behind him, separated from the rest of the plaza; all men of varying ages… and, to Héctor’s horror, among them there was a boy. Óscar. “We have the thirty men you ask--.”

“No you don’t,” Gustavo muttered. “What you have is twenty-eight men and a half,” a pointed look in Héctor’s direction, “plus a child. The muchacho with glasses over there? Those two bottle ends on his face are not enough to make him usable with a gun. He couldn’t tell his sister from a donkey. I mean, sometimes no one can,” he added, making Héctor want more than anything to wrap his hands around his neck, thumbs on the throat, and squeeze.

But he could see what he was trying to do, so he held his tongue and his hands. Just barely.

Commander Hernández raised an eyebrow. “If this is an attempt at taking the boy’s place, it is rather transparent,” he said, and Gustavo shrugged.

“Then I can replace anyone else,” he replied. Either he did an excellent job at sounding like he didn’t give a damn either way, or he really didn’t give a damn either way. “Or you leave with thirty-one men. It just seems fair to warn you that the boy’s eyesight is awful and he’d make a poor soldier.”

Commander Hernández turned back to look directly at Óscar, who pressed himself against the wall under his gaze as though trying to make himself feel smaller, all skinny limbs and huge glasses. In the end, the man shrugged. “Mmh. Those glasses do seem awfully thick, and you do look like you’d make a better soldier,” he said, and he gestured for the closest soldier to let him go. Cries of mercy for others rose up from sisters, wives, parents - but none was heeded. There would be no more mercy that day.

As he watched in relief Óscar being pushed away from the lineup, eyes wide and bewildered, Héctor only vaguely heard the commander’s orders for his men to give the new recruit uniforms, get supplies and fresh horses from the village, and be ready to leave within the hour. He let out a long breath and turned to Gustavo.

“Gracias,” he murmured, only to get an annoyed look in return.

“Don’t thank me. If we survive this, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Let me guess. This is all my fault?”

“Of course it is. It’s always your fault, somehow,” Gustavo grunted, glaring at the ground while they walked to get their uniforms. “We can only hope the puta is going to follow my instructions and get us help.”

A thought crossed Héctor’s mind, unexpected and blinding as the flare of a match in a darkened room. He found himself blinking, taken aback. He had no clue who the puta may be, but the rest was… revealing. “Those messages-- the instructions-- was it y ouch! ”

“Scream it for everyone to hear, why don’t you!” Gustavo hissed, falling back into step after stomping on Héctor’s foot. It caused him to walk a bit awkwardly, but he didn’t protest or say anything more. Only after a folded uniform was pushed into his arms - obviously used, ill-fitting and with specks on it that looked a lot like dried blood - did Héctor dare turn, heart heavy in his chest, hoping to get at least one last glimpse of Imelda before he left.

And, for the second time that day, he got his wish. Imelda stood at the front of the crowd, holding onto Óscar. He was already taller than she was, but she cradled his head the way she did when she was a girl and he was just a young child. Miguel was there, too, having somehow escaped Cheech’s grasp. He was holding onto her robe but, unlike Óscar, he was looking towards him. Both him and Imelda were, his face tear-soaked and blotchy and hers terribly grave, and terribly pale.

I’m sorry, he ached to tell them both. Stay safe. I love you. I’ll be back soon.

But they were too far away, and he could only hope his glance would be enough to tell them that. He could only hope they knew.

When I return, Héctor thought, refusing to contemplate any other scenario, to add any ifs to that. He’d be back, whatever it took. When I return and we marry, Miguel will stay with us.

Only then, with that thought in mind, Héctor was able to give them a weak smile.

***

Had it not been for her brother holding onto her like he hadn’t in years, or for Miguel clinging to her robe while shaking with hiccuping sobs, Imelda may have ran forward. She may have pushed through, to the commander, and screamed to him that she knew where to find the deserter he wanted - that he could have him, if he released everyone else.

One man’s life against thirty. Thirty men, including the one she loved, that could be released in exchange for one.

I could save him. I could save them all, here and now.

Later on she would not be proud of what she came so close to doing, but neither would she be ashamed. She had promised Ernesto she would protect him from the Federal Army if it came to it, and she had meant it; if it came to taking a bullet to keep that promise, she’d have taken the bullet. But letting other people do the same… that was where she balked.

As much as it tore at her heart, she knew Héctor had made his choice. He must have known that giving Ernesto away would save him and Miguel both, but he had decided to take Miguel’s place and keep Ernesto safe instead. The others, though, had no choice at all. Twenty-nine men who knew nothing of Ernesto’s deceit and could not make their own decision as to whether he should be protected with their lives or not.

There were young husbands, young fathers, family men who may never return home, leaving widows and orphans and lonely parents. Who were they to make that choice for all of them? Who was she to do it?

We protect our own.

He is one of ours, too.

One life. One life against thirty.

Héctor may never forgive me.

He can hate me, if it means he’ll be alive to do it.

Imelda watched, her head wrapped in silence, as Héctor took a uniform and finally, for the first time, looked back. Their gazes met, the coldness in the pit of Imelda’s stomach turned to ache, and the idiota did the unthinkable. He had the galls to smile at her, and somehow it was the most heartbreaking thing she ever had to endure - seeing that smile, and knowing it may be the last time she did.

No. No, she couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t let that smile be taken away from the world a day too soon than it had to, no matter if she would never again see it directed at her. She would live with it. They both would.

With a long breath, Imelda made peace with the fact she may never be able to sleep well again as long as she lived, and gently pushed Óscar away. “Go home,” she told him, stroking his cheek, and went to step forward and go speak with the commander.

Only to stop as Miguel’s grip on her robe tightened and he pulled her back, looking up at her with a tear-streaked face. “Don’t do it,” he choked out, and Imelda’s blood ran cold. It was as though the child had read her intentions on her face, plain as day. “I promised him he’d be safe here. I promised.”

Oh, my little one. It was too much responsibility to put on you.

Imelda swallowed, unable to speak for a few moments. “Miguel…” she managed, her voice barely audible, most of it stuck somewhere in her throat. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. Sometimes we need to make-- choices we’d never want to make.”

“I don’t want to choose,” Miguel pleaded, still holding on with both hands. “I don’t want either of them to die. He-- he’s loco, you didn’t see how he shot Padre J-Juan, he… he really hates Ernesto, I don’t know why, we can’t let him have him…!”

She sighed, and crouched down, wiping his face with a sleeve. “Miguel, listen to me--”

“No. You listen before you do something I assure you you’d regret.”

Sofía spoke suddenly before Imelda could say anything more, crouching next to her as though to comfort Miguel as well. “First of all, lower your voice, Jesus Christ. Second, don’t do anything. We can kick Ernesto around for putting us into this mess later, and I’ll be first in line, but no need to see him hang.”

“None of those men has ever been in a battle. If they take them--”

“We’ll take them back.” Sofía pushed something into her hand, a folded piece of paper. “We will have reinforcements.”

“What…” Imelda read the brief message, taken aback. Then she read it again, and again, and again; the handwriting itself struck her as much as the content itself. “Wait… this is…?”

“Same handwriting as the instructions you’ve been getting, yes. It was Gustavo all along.”

Somehow, Imelda may have been less surprised to be told that the Pope himself had been behind the entire thing. Gustavo, of all people? Someone who never cared about anyone other than himself?

Except that he took Óscar’s place just now. I owe him. Oh God, he made me owe him. He will never shut up about it, will he?

“It-- what?” was all Imelda managed to say in the end, stunned. But it made sense, suddenly - how José and his men had known their bell needed repair, and why they had come running to fix it after Ernesto’s unsuccessful attempt, once Gustavo took it upon himself to find a solution. She knew there was something behind it, but she had no idea what. Now she knew.

The bell had always been their means to call for help.

Once they have left, ring the bell to a death knell and don’t stop. Help will come. Tell them to follow the trail. They’ll know.

“Wait, what… what did Gustavo do?” Miguel was asking, confusion overriding his anguish. Sofía smiled, and pulled him close.

“Don’t worry, niño. We’ll fix everything,” she said, brushing back his hair. She smiled, but even her smile was wrong, sharp, teeth ground tightly. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Imelda stood slowly, slipping the note in her sleeve, and glanced up. Now all she could see were people huddled together mourning their losses, while soldiers took all that was not nailed down in the small weekly market. The men the Federales had chosen to join their ranks were gone, Héctor with them, without so much a last word between them.

No matter. This is not the end. We’ll bring them back. By any means necessary.

“... Let’s take Miguel back to safety, and be ready to ring the bell once they’re gone.”

“And what do you plan on doing?”

“There is something in my room I need to retrieve, and a horse I need to borrow,” Imelda said, very quietly, as they began walking away from the plaza. Sofía still held onto the hand of a very confused Miguel; she knew she was referring to the pistol, she had to know what she meant to do, but she didn’t say as much aloud or try to talk her out of it.

“Of course,” was all she said. "Be careful.”

“What’s happening?” Miguel asked, his voice small. Desperately wanting to be hopeful, but terrified of seeing that hope shattered. “How… can you really fix this?”

“... I’ll do my damndest,” Imelda replied, getting a somewhat shaky laugh from Sofía.

“If the gringo heard you, he’d have a heart attack.”

“Oh!” Miguel seemed to recoil. “Padre Juan! Is he-- did they get him help?”

“Huh?” Sofía looked down, taken aback. “What happened to the gringo?”

“He was shot.” Miguel swallowed, and tugged at her sleeve. “He was trying to save me and… and… can we go to doctor Sanchéz first? Por favor-- just to see if he’s… if…”

His voice faded, and Sofía looked over at Imelda with a bitter smile. “First one points a gun at me, then they shoot a priest. Our robes aren’t much of an armor anymore,” she said, and turned back to Miguel. “... I’ll send one of the sisters to see him as soon as you’re safe with the others, and let you know how he’s getting on. I promise.”

Miguel protested, but not too much. He was exhausted, still in shock for everything he had gone through in the span of little over an hour, and all things considered it was testament to his resilience that he was not curled into a ball and screaming.

He let Sofía lead him back to the orphanage, and Imelda watched them disappear with a long sigh. He was safe now. He could rest. Her own work, however, had only just begun.

Imelda gave another quick glance behind her, towards the plaza, before she headed back to her room, where a pistol lay hidden beneath a floorboard, waiting to be loaded. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to it; she had hoped the Federales would spare their village until the end of that war. But there they were, and there she was.

It was time to see if the hours spent learning to load and aim had been worth something.

***

All right, so maybe the painfully slow trip to the González farm had been worth it, after all.

Ernesto was almost entirely sure his half-assed blessing had precisely nothing to do with the young bull suddenly realizing what went where and enthusiastically getting to work - too enthusiastically, he had definitely seen more bull than he ever needed to see in his life - but he had to admit, the timing had been nothing short of amazing.

The look on old Manuel’s face had been a sight to behold, and the fresh eggs he had gifted him immediately afterwards were a nice plus. He’d probably been moments away from falling on his knees and declaring him a true miracle worker, which would have been flattering but also rather awkward, right next to a bull and a cow getting down to business.

Ah, he couldn’t wait to tell Juan his blessing had worked, after all. Maybe he’d suggest Manuel González to name any resulting male calf Ernesto and a female Juanita, just to be spiteful. That would teach him.

Ernesto was snickering to himself at the idea when suddenly, on the other side of the hill, the bell of Santa Cecilia’s church began tolling - slowly, with long gaps between strikes. It was enough to make the smile fade from his face, heart dropping somewhere in his stomach as always whenever he heard that sound. A death knell.

What happened? Who died? I was away only hours, what did they do?

It may be nothing, of course; one of the old parishioners may have kicked it, a sad but not really unusual occurrence. With some luck, it may be the insufferable gravedigger. Maybe the sexton had finally fallen off the stairs and broken his stupid neck.

But that couldn’t be it. The death knell would only ring out during a funeral, or… or maybe the damn Pope had died, didn’t all churches do that if news came that the Pope croaked? He was almost sure they did. Or maybe someone had just climbed on top of the belltower to fuck with the bell for no reason.

I was only gone for a few hours. What can possibly happen in a few hours?

Anything, was the answer. He’d learned the hard way that anything can do wrong in a few hours. Everything can go to shit in less than a few hours, and something in his gut told him that was exactly what had happened. Trying to keep a sudden wave of panic at bay, Ernesto spurred the stupid donkey to go faster until he reached the top of the hill, and looked down.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe; it was as though something had taken hold of his lungs, and squeezed all air out of him. From way up there in the distance, nothing about Santa Cecilia looked amiss - but it was not the village itself he stared at. What made his blood run cold was the column of men on horses and carts further west, leaving it behind. Federales.

They’re leaving, Ernesto thought, hands shaking on the reins. It’s all right, he told himself, but it was a lie and he knew it. The Federal Army never left anything behind if not devastation, and the bell kept going on and on and on, the continuous death knell making him want to scream. He could taste bile, stomach clenching.

Dead, dead, dead.

There it was again before his eyes - the men who stood blindfolded before the firing squad, his own rifle gleaming in the sun, the wails of women and children and the elderly quieted down by the deafening bangs once the order was shouted and they obeyed. When they left those villages, too, had he heard the church’s bell ringing to a death knell. Mourning.

Santa Cecilia was in mourning. His village, his parish. His people. His friends. Who did they take? Who did they kill?

Not me. They’re leaving, they must not have been here for me. It’s all that matters, isn’t it?

… Isn’t it?

Ernesto didn’t answer his own question. He shut down all thought the way he desperately tried to shut out the ringing of the bell, and spurred the donkey down the hill as quickly as he could, heart hammering somewhere in his throat.

***

They’re mourning us already.

The thought was enough to almost break him, but Héctor forced himself to keep going, holding onto the reins of the horse he had been given, clad in the too-small uniform that had been drenched with someone else’s sweat and blood. Forcing himself not to turn, not to break, because he knew that if he did he may never be able to put himself back together.

Was that how soldiers got through it? Was that how Ernesto had survived until he'd found refuse in Santa Cecilia - by focusing on nothing but the road ahead, never turning back to look at what they may never see again?

No. I will be home again. I’ll be with them again.

Héctor held tightly onto the reins and followed the horse in front of him, holding onto that thought with all he had.

***

They’ll come as soon as they get the message. They must.

Towards the back of the convoy, Gustavo shot a glance ahead towards the commander. He kept riding, not turning once. Thinking the bells were ringing to mourn them, most likely, or the stupid gringo priest who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, or both. Either way, he would be wrong… but he didn’t know that. He wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Gustavo Torres pulled a knotted-up handkerchief from his pocket, one of several he’d stuffed in, and prepared to let it drop as soon as the column of men turned to another path.

***

With how little he’d lasted in bed the one night she had been dumb enough to spend with him, Sofía had written off Gustavo’s stamina as non-existing. However now, with her arms already aching from ringing the bell no more than a few minutes, she had to take that back.

Not that she would say that aloud, let alone in his presence, but apparently he wasn’t bitching for no reason when he said bellringing was more work than it looked like.

No matter. Keep ringing. Keep going. Help will come.

So she did keep going, letting her gaze wander towards the column of men, their men among them, leaving the village right ahead of her. She kept ringing as she noticed Imelda leaving the parish down below, clearly having recovered the pistol they had taken from Ernesto and heading towards her parents’ home to… borrow one of their horses.

Be careful, Sofía thought, and might have prayed for her safety if she still believed God gave a damn. Instead she bit her lips and kept pulling. Kept ringing, focusing on nothing else.

And thus failing to notice Ernesto rushing down the hill, into the village and towards the plaza as quickly as the donkey - and then his legs - could carry him.

***

“They came upon us like locusts--”

“I turned and they were there--”

“They took my son! My only child, what will I do--”

“Why didn’t God smite them where they stood!”

“Thirty men, my brother among them, I ran but I was too late, I couldn’t say goodbye--”

Ernesto heard all of it, heard the cries and pleas, the anger and pain, but they seemed so very distant. He stood on the spot, reeling, eyes fixed on the ground in the middle of the devastated marketplace.

There was blood. There was so much blood, soaking into dirt and pooling in the cracks between cobblestones. People and carts and horses had stepped over it in the chaos, tracking it everywhere; no matter where he turned, there was blood. A trail of it left the plaza, away from it, towards the church. Only one clear trail.

Only one body.

“Who…?” Ernesto managed to ask. His ears were buzzing, and his tongue felt too large. The reply came like a blow to the pit of his stomach.

The Delgado widow crossed herself, her skin pale as ash. “Their commander knows no God. He tried to take an orphan, the boy Brother Héctor spent so much time with-- Marco, was i--”

“Miguel?” Ernesto blurted out, horror stealing his breath for a moment. He looked at the woman with wide eyes, feeling as though all strength was sapped away from his body. All that blood, it seemed impossible it had all come from a child. It felt like a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

No, not him. It can’t be. Héctor will never recover.

“Yes, Miguel… the poor child, he was so scared. Padre Juan tried to save him, to stop that man, but that beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!”

“What-- Juan?” Ernesto looked around again, at the blood, at the weeping people all around - and back towards the church, where the trail led. Above him, all around him, the death knell kept ringing.

“He shot-- Juan?”

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“Sí. Ah, it was horrible. He fell back, and didn’t move-- so much blood, I couldn’t bear to watch.”

Ernesto staggered back, light-headed, struggling to make sense of what had happened. How had it happened? Only hours earlier, Juan had been alive and well - in a good mood, even. Messing with him by sending him out to bless a stupid bull. He’d chuckled, patted his arm like the insufferable bastard he was, promised there would be no Latin lesson that evening.

And now there would be Latin lessons at all, ever again, because that idiota could learn every stupid rule of an useless dead launguage but didn’t have enough brains not to step between a man with a gun and his target.

Bile rose to Ernesto’s throat, and he closed his eyes. Behind his eyelid the sun still shone, merciless, and he stood in the desert, beneath two swaying hanging corpses, talking to a priest on the brink of death. Left to die for trying to be merciful when the world would not, for trying to put himself between prisoner and executioner.

It was a bad call, Padre, Ernesto had said.

It was my duty, Padre Joaquín had replied.

Stupid priest. Stupid gringo.

High above, the bell kept ringing.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

When Ernesto heard himself speaking again, his voice was barely audible to his own ears. “... And Miguel?” he managed. Had Juan’s death at least been worth something, anything at all?

“Oh, the child is safe-- Brother Héctor took his place, it was heartbreaking to see, but at least he has a chance of coming back alive.”

Ah, of course. Of fucking course Saint Héctor had taken the boy’s place. What was it with that village that made everyone so damn inclined to martyrdom? What was it about Santa Cecilia that made those who lived there so eager to die a stupid death?

God damn you, stop dying on me. Stop leaving me behind.

“Padre Ernesto, will you pray to God for our men’s return?” a voice spoke up, and Ernesto turned to face a small, scared crowd. It was the first time he got to linger in a village after the Federal Army left it behind, and he found he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the anger, the pain, the pleading looks. He couldn’t stand how the first thing they chose to do was praying to a God who would not hear, or chose not to listen.

God had never been any good to Ernesto. He had long since learned that if you want a job well done, you have to do it yourself.

Ernesto gave a kind smile, seething with anger behind it. Anger was good, though. Anger would get things done. Anger was something solid to cling on to, so that he could ignore that other thing gnawing at him, threatening to undo him if he let himself acknowledge it.

He knew what he had to do.

“Of course,” Ernesto said, still smiling. “I will immediately retire to pray for their safe return in the chapel. If you’ll excuse me.”

He rushed towards the parish before any of them could say one more word - and before any of them could mention anything about the deserter they were looking for. He followed the blood trail for a distance and then diverged towards the back of the church, the death knell unbearably loud in his ears. He did his best to shut it out, to focus on the small voice in the back of his head. Juan’s voice, back when they had only just met.

“As the founder of my order said, todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina.”

Any means to find the divine will.

Ernesto had seen the wisdom in de Loyola’s words then, and he certainly saw it now. By the time he reached the small shed where holy wine was stored, among other things, the blood rushing in his ears almost covered the incessant ringing of the bell. His hand closed around the cold metal key in his pocket, and bared his teeth in a smile that was almost a snarl, jaw clenched so tightly his face hurt.

He had no idea what the divine will was, and neither did he care. He knew his own will, and he would see it become reality.

“Todo modo,” he gritted out, and turned the key in the lock.

***

“... Do you think he has any chance of pulling through, Doctor Sanchéz?”

The man didn’t reply right away, washing his hands in a bowl of warm water that had by now turned almost completely red, as had the towels strewn about. For several moments all Antonia could hear was the quiet splashing of water, the distant echo of the bell ringing outside - what was Sofía doing? - and the painful-sounding gasps as Father John Johnson struggled to draw in each breath, eyes shut, skin pale and clammy, covered by a sheet.

“Mph. I stitched up all I could, but my guess is that he’ll be the gravedigger’s problem before sundown. I have never seen a man lose as much blood as he did and live to tell the tale.”

Ah. Antonia nodded, folding her hands. There was no love lost between John Johnson and… any of the sisters, really, but this was not something she would wish on anyone.

He tried to stop them.

“I see,” she finally said. “We will pray for him.”

“Getting Padre Ernesto to come as soon as he returns would be a better use of your time. He will need the final rites,” Sanchéz muttered. Antonia barely had enough time to open her mouth to let him know she would when she was cut off by a groan. They both turned towards the bed; the gringo was still unconscious, but stirring weakly. Or was he regaining consciousness? Had he heard them? Or--

“Er-- nest--o,” he choked out, and that was it. His head fell back on the pillow and he made no more noise except for a weak, low whimper.

After a long silence, doctor Sanchéz sighed. “... Go get him, for Christ’s sake, so he can give this poor bastard his final rites.”

Antonia nodded, something heavy in her chest, and went out to do just that. She was told almost as soon as she stepped outside that Padre Ernesto had indeed returned, and headed to the church to pray… only that he was not there. He was not in the chapel, not in the living quarters - not in the yard, nor in the orchard, or in the orphanage to comfort the children, or even back at the plaza. No one had seen him since.

Padre Ernesto had returned, they told her... only that now he wasn’t anywhere.

***

Chicharrón needed a drink.

It wasn’t that the events of the day had left him shaken, that he had felt powerless, or that he was terrified out of his mind of how quickly Héctor would die in battle, after a lifetime learning how to handle a guitar and barely touching a rifle. It wasn’t that he worried about Miguel’s state of mind, or that he was generally so upset even Juanita looked crestfallen.

No, of course not. He was too old for that nonsense. He needed a drink for reasons unrelated to the day's mess, that was all, and he knew just where to find it.

But it seemed someone had found it before he did, because the shed’s door was open and what caskets of holy wine had been left were gone.

Of course, better of them to have found the wine rather than any weapons or other supplies hidden away - that would have probably made them decide to burn Santa Cecilia to the ground - but that was the last straw and Chicharrón was suddenly too furious to even try and see a silver lining to anything.

“Those bastards! Even the wine! Is nothing sacred anymore?”

Chicharrón would have kicked the door, if not for the fact he would have probably lost his balance or even broken his peg leg, so he did the next most reasonable thing, and punched it.

“YOWCHGODDAMNIT!”

He punched the door again for good measure - his hand already hurt, anyway - and limped inside. Maybe they had left at least some wine, at least a casket; it wouldn’t hurt to check.

As luck would have it, there was one casket left, but Chicharrón didn’t pick it up right away. For a long time he could just stand frozen on the spot, staring at the empty space where something else had been stored. Something that was not wine at all.

Well, look at that. Had those damn idiots taken the rat poison, too? God, he hoped they thought it to be sugar or something or the other. He hoped they would eat it and choke on it.

Chicharrón limped right out of the shed with the remaining casket under his arm, slamming the door shut behind him and getting ready to toast to that wish - entirely unaware of the fact that a priest who was not a priest at all was currently clambering up the hill with two donkeys, one of whom carrying nothing but caskets of wine, hellbent on making that wish come true. By any means necessary.

High up in the belltower, the bell kept ringing.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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tournesolia · 5 years ago

Text

Lost Eden Kanato Maniac Prologue Translation

I returned to my room immediately after

hearing the priest and Kino-kun's conversation.

I wonder if they're looking for the perpetrator

who eavesdropped on them by now.

Now that I think about it,

I can't escape from the mansion today.

Giving up, I pulled a blanket over

myself and closed my eyes.

The warmth of my former

ordinary life filled my head.

It was before I met Kanato-kun

and the other vampires.

The memories of when I lived

peacefully with my father...

*flashback

Seiji : Yui, are the preparations for Easter going well ?

Yui : Yes, of course.

I painted some eggs. Look at them, father !

Seiji : They're amazing !

You're getting better than last year. Well done.

Yui : Thank you !

Seiji : However...

*Seiji wipes Yui's cheeks

Yui : Ah...

Seiji : Don't get too absorbed in this. You got paint on your cheeks.

Yui : Ah... Sorry about that.

Seiji : Take a shower. I'll be preparing dinner in the meantime.

Yui : Is that okay ? Today was my turn to make dinner.

Seiji : Don't worry about it. I had you spend the whole day preparing the Easter.

I need to show you that I have something of a father sometimes.

Yui : Thank you, father !

*end of flashback

Yui : (My father was gentle and I loved him...)

(But... our days spent together suddenly ended in one day.)

(Father got suddenly summoned in a foreign church...)

And he sent me at the Sakamaki mansion...

…

(Now that I think about it, many things happened...)

(But I never thought father came back to Japan...)

Why didn't he tell me sooner... ?

(Was there a reason he didn't let me know... ?)

… Ah... !

(That’s right, when I first came to the Sakamaki mansion,)

(I became skeptical that my dad sold me as a sacrificial bride...)

(Is that the reason he didn't tell me...?)

Father...

(Why are you teaming up with Kino-kun...?)

??? : Hey.

Yui : Ah... !

Kino : You listened to our conversation, didn't you ? You heard everything.

Yui : … I'm sorry for eavesdropping.

Kino : That's fine, I don't mind it.

So, what are you gonna do ? Do you wanna meet your father ?

Yui : W-Well...

Kino : I can arrange a meeting with him if you want...

Yui : (Obviously, there's no way I wouldn't want to meet him.)

(But to be honest... I'm scared to see him right now.)

(Because of my feelings for Kanato-kun who's a vampire.)

(My father is a churchman so there's no way he will allow that.)

(Besides...)

(If it's really him who sold me to the vampires...)

(I don't think I want to meet him again...)

(I don't know what to answer...)

Kino : … Looks like you're misunderstanding something.

Seiji reached the bishop position and took control of the Japanese parish in order to get you back.

He knew the church sold you as the sacrificial bride,

He defeated the previous bishop who was behind it and took control.

Yui : Is that... so... ?

(Thank godness. Father wasn't the one who sold me...)

Kino : … Anyway, it's already too late for him.

Because even if he gets the highest influence, his only daughter is bound by a vampire.

Yui : … !

Kino : … Hey, you're getting it now, don’t you ?

The priest from earlier came here... for you.

Humans don't stand a chance against vampires, after all.

So they really didn't want to deal with the people of the Demon World... thus they joined hands with us.

Yui : You... joined hands... ?

Kino : That's right. Actually, I'm the leader of the Resistance centered around the ghouls.

Yui : (The ghouls ? Are they a kind of demons... ? And by resistance, does Kino-kun mean he's a rebel ?)

(He talked about interfering with Adam's apple plan... Is it the Resistance's purpose...?)

Kino : Well well, talking about myself doesn't matter for now.

I'll tell you some special news, instead.

Yui : Special news... ?

Kino : You see, the church requested us to rescue you from the vampires.

Yui : Eh !?

They went to the point of requesting you... ?

Is my father planning to do something to the vampires, by any chance... ?

Kino : Correeeeect ! Hehe... He'll probably kill them all.

Because Seiji doesn't appreciate that evil beings are invading the earth.

Yui : … !

Kino : The church requested us to annihilate any influence from the Demon World in the Human World and rescuing you at the same time.

The Human World once chose to coexist with the evil beings...

But now, Sakamaki Tougo, that is the Lord of the Demon World Karl Heinz, is gone. This is a great opportunity, don't you think ?

It seems they took this opportunity to plan the end of the coexistence.

… So, if you choose your father, Kanato will become your enemy.

And if you choose Kanato, Seiji will no longer be your father...

Yui : No way... !

Kino : Hey, what are you going to do ?

You know you have to choose between your father and Kanato, right ?

Yui : … I...

(I can't decide so easily.)

(At first, I didn't want to get involved with vampires, I wanted to run away from them...)

(But now... Kanato-kun became very important to me.)

(I'm scared to lose him if I choose father...)

Kino : Well, you don't have to decide right away.

If you desire to meet your father, I'll arrange a meeting at any time.

However, those church guys will probably go to the point of purging us thoughtlessly, so...

I'm not gonna give you back to them that easily.

Yui : …

(Come to think of it, he's right.)

(The church and the Resistance are allies for now, but the latter is originally treated as evil...)

(So when everything is over, the Church will purge Kino-kun and his allies.)

(But then... Why do they let the church use them without complaining ?)

(Is there any other purpose the Resistance wants to achieve besides preventing Adam's apple plan...?)

Kino : Well, I'll be leaving. I have plenty of things to do.

Yui : (… It may be better to not ask him now.)

O-Okay... Thank you for everything you told me.

*Kino leaves the room

Yui : Sigh...

(I'm concerned about Kino-kun, but...)

(I'm even more worried about Kanato-kun and his brothers...)

(They surely don't know that the Church and the Resistance are targeting them.)

(Even the demons will target Kanato-kun, the current Lord.)

(I must get out of here and at least let him know that the danger is imminent.)

*Yui opens the door and checks the surroundings

Yui : … There's no one... ?

(I thought my room would guarded...)

(… This may be my only chance to escape !)

Scene change : Kanashi Tower

Kanato : …

(I thought I would see her from the top of Kanashi Tower, but she's nowhere to be found...)

(… Not a sign...)

Security guard : G-Get down out of here, kid !

Kanato : Um... ?

Security guard : I don't know how you got up here but it's dangerous !! This is a forbidden area !

If you can't get down, I'll be on my way... ! Hang on !

*the guard starts climbing

Kanato : Tch... What a noisy pest.

*Kanato attacks the guard with his powers

Security guard : Uguh... !?

UWAAAAAAAAAH !!

*he falls

Kanato : … Serves you right.

This is what you get for bothering me.

Because those who get in my way should disappear.

…

Aaah... I found you... Yui-san.

You came to me... I'm so happy.

I'm coming to you right away, okay ? Hehe...

And I will end your life with my own hands.

Scene change : Park

Yui : (I managed to escape but I shouldn't stay here for too long.)

(I never know when the Resistance will find me...)

Eh... ?

(I just heard a huge sound, as if something dropped...)

*Yui approaches towards the origin of the sound

Yui : Kyaaaaaa !!

(A dead body !? How !?)

??? : I finally found you.

Yui : … !?

Kanato : I looked everywhere for you, Yui-san.

I came to pick you up.

Yui : Kanato-kun...

(The atmosphere is very different, as if something's off...)

Kanato : That chunk... Aaah, so this is where he fell.

Yui : Is this... your doing... ?

Kanato : Yes, that's right.

He tried to get in my way, so I got rid of him.

It doesn’t matter that such an insect dies, don’t you think ?

Yui : An insect... ?

(He killed a person, how can he stay so calm...?)

*Yui backs off

Kanato : Hehe... Why are you having such a look ?

Hey, please don't run away.

*Kanato uses his powers on Yui

Yui : Kyaaa !?

(I can't move... ! Is this also Kanato-kun's powers !?)

K-Kanato-kun... Let me go !

Kanato : No way. If I do as you say, you will run away from me, right ?

*Kanato gets closer

Kanato : You know, Yui-san, I've been thinking about killing you.

Yui : … W-Why... ?

*Kanato starts strangling her

Kanato : I've always... always been troubled.

Why did I get powers I never wanted... ?

Why are my brothers keeping a distance from me ?

But I finally realized : it's all your fault.

My mind is so troubled and disturbed... because your very existence keeps haunting me until the very end.

Yui : … !

Kanato : If you're gone, I won't go through those painful feelings any longer.

If I just drive you out... other people may take you away.

*Kanato takes out a knife

Kanato : So please die now.

I will kill you... with my love.

Yui : N-No... ! Stop ! Kanato-kun !!

*lots of crows show up

Kanato : … !

Yui : (Eh...?)

??? : My my, I just came in time.

Kino : Good evening. My name's Kino. I'm glad I can finally talk with you directly.

Yui : Kino-kun... ! Why ?

Kanato : … Do you know that guy ?

Yui : Ah...

Kino : Ahaha, don't be so scared.

I just let you out and look after Kanato so you could lure him.

Yui : (… So he lightened the security of his mansion and let me escape on purpose...?)

Kino : Sorry ? But I had to use you so I could be able to meet Kanato.

Kanato : Tch... Don't talk to her without my permission !

*Kanato attacks Kino with his powers

Kino : Woops... Geez... I only wanted to talk to you.

But... Hehe, I'll have some fun with you since that looks interesting !

Kanato's powers are very strong so be very careful y'all, okay ?

Yui : (The crows turned into humans...!?)

Male ghoul A : Understood, master Kino.

Male ghoul B : We will definitely protect you, master Kino.

Kanato : … Ghouls ? Why are those guys... ?

Kino : They're my companions. They're all good boys.

I need you to calm down, so I'm putting them to work... Like this !

Kanato : Guh... !

Kino : This net is magical. You can't get out of here easily.

Yui : Kanato-kun !!

*Yui runs towards Kanato but someone grabs her

Yui : !?

Kino : No no no. You have to stay with me.

He almost killed you, you know ? You should quit coming to his rescue.

Yui : B-But...

Kanato : You worms... Don't touch her !

*Kanato breaks the net with his powers

Male ghoul A : This guy... He broke the spell so easily !?

Male ghoul B : Master Kino, please step back !

Kino : Aaah... It didn't work, huh.

Guys, turn back to your crow form, I'll take care of the rest.

… Yui, you step back as well. If you get hit by magic power, you'll die.

Yui : O-Okay...

Kanato : … What are you whispering about !!?

*Kanato uses his powers, putting the whole park on fire

The magic power Kanato-kun released

was very powerful, the park quickly

became a sea of flames.

The only thing I could do was watching

him fighting with Kino-kun...

It became an extremely huge

turmoil before I realized it.

People started to gather around.

Kino : Tsk... We've been noticed after all...

Kanato : Yui-san, this way !

Yui : Eh ? Kyaaa !?

*Kanato runs away with Yui

Kino : Ah~ah, what a shame. They managed to escape.

A frontal attack doesn't work on him. I'll remember that...

… More importantly, now...

Sigh... I must escape too before it gets complicated.

Scene change : Sakamaki castle – Entrance hall

Kanato : – Well, please come in.

Yui : … Y-Yes...

Kanato : There's a lot of things I'd like to ask you, but... It doesn't matter anymore.

No one will disturb us here right away.

I can finally kill you.

Yui : Ah... No !

*Yui runs away

Kanato : You won't escape !

*Kanato runs after her

Scene change : Sakamaki castle – Bedroom

*Yui enters the room and locks the door behind

Yui : Haa... Haa...

(Kanato-kun's serious... ! What should I do ? Where can I hide...?)

*hug sound coming from the door

Yui : Ah !?

Kanato : I know you're here. Hey, please come out.

Yui : C-Calm down ! Kanato-kun !

I can't accept to be killed like that... !

Kanato : …

… Well, fine. My brothers are trapped in the torture chamber, and Kino doesn't know this place.

I have every opportunities to kill you, so I'll grant you a little grace.

Please repent for how much you disturbed my mind in the meantime...

*Kanato walks away

Yui : …

(I'm alone in the Demon World with Kanato-kun in that state... What should I do ?)

Maniac prologue : End

#Diabolik Lovers #diabolik lovers translations #diabolik lovers lost eden #Sakamaki Kanato #Komori Yui #Kino #Maniac Prologue

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dweemeister · 6 years ago

Photo

One Foot in Heaven (1941)

Christian films, sometimes derisively referred to as “faith-based films”, in the United States have undergone a resurgence in the last decade. Whether the film is explicitly Christian or contains Christian themes, such films have existed since the early silent era. Numerous contemporary Christian films – not all of which have been made or produced by those who are artists before proselytists – have been burdened with a reputation for being sanctimonious, inviting the converted while repelling everyone else. That reputation, largely deserved, was nonexistent during the height of the Hollywood Studio System (1930s-late ‘50s), when films touching upon religion looked upon their subjects and themes with reverence while respecting that the audiences congregating in theaters might be of different or of no religious faith.

Irving Rapper’s One Foot in Heaven – released on home media for the first time in March 2015 – presents its religious themes seriously, yet never intrudes on the beliefs of others. There is a notable exchange between William Spence (Fredric March), the film’s protagonist and (by that point in the film) a well-established minister, and Dr. Horrigan (Jerome Cowan), who has been openly disparaging of the Christians in town. The two engage in discourse about what can be seen, heard, smelled, touched. Can a soul or one’s faith be seen, heard smelled, our touched? And if not, does it still exist? This line of questioning is followed by a line of thought that – during an argument over religion – one seldom hears in real life or in fiction:

DR. HORRIGAN: Well, that’s just sophistry! Pretty good, though – worthy of old Socrates himself… WILLIAM SPENCE: …Alright, you admire Socrates– DR. HORRIGAN: –As a philosopher, I do… But you don’t hear people going around claiming Socrates is divine; as far as that goes, Christ was a good teacher. WILLIAM SPENCE: Why don’t leave the religious angle out of Christianity and respect it as a good rule of living?

youtube

It was this moment where One Foot in Heaven extinguished whatever doubt I, as someone who is nonreligious, may have held in its intentions. It takes two to make a disagreement civil. Credit Dr. Horrigan for realizing, “Christ was a good teacher.” Credit Will Spence for not attempting to reach an understanding, and seeing no need to condemn Dr. Horrigan and respecting the fact that he is not Christian (no Bible quotations to be heard in this scene).

One Foot in Heaven is based on Hartzell Spence’s biography of the same name that he wrote about his father. The film follows Will Spence and his wife, Hope Morris Spence (Martha Scott; fresh off starring in an emotional leading role in 1940′s Our Town) as Will enters the ministry, all while raising a family in places far from their original dreams. Life in these small towns is humbling, but wherever the Spences go, despite the local drama, there are always parishioners who will support them just as Will serves the communities he is assigned to. Though the Spence children are not nearly as prominent as their parents, we also see how difficult it is being the child of a priest. This is an episodic, intimate drama graced with good humor, showing a man and his family living sincerely as the times and people around them change.

The film begins in 1904 in Stratford, Ontario. William Spence is in medical school, but has found his calling to become a Methodist minister. Hope Morris, his future bride and from a wealthy family, is encouraging of these new aspirations where her parents are not. With no ministerial vacancies in Canada, they move to small-town Iowa – the townspeople live simply, with everyone knowing each other’s faces. The Spences raise their children there: Hartzell (Frankie Thomas at age 18; Peter Caldwell as younger Hartzell), Eileen (Elisabeth Fraser at age 17; Carlotta Jelm as younger Eileen), and Frazer (Casey Johnson; the kerfuffle around Frazer’s baptism and naming is warmly humorous passage). The family adjusts as the children grow, the United States enters World War I, and multiple moves across the central U.S.

As a minister, Will is aware of what he is not an expert in – he never pretends to be something he is not. He is always approachable and hyper-local (declining a potential posting as a missionary to Africa or Asia, he quips that, “the real heathens are in the church”). One Foot in Heaven’s most memorable scene involves Will learning that Hartzell has been to the local cinema. Attending the cinema, so say Will’s superiors (or popular evangelical belief perhaps), cultivates sinful behavior – something turn-of-the-century old time religion said about billiards, all types of gambling, speaking about divorce too loudly. Will warns his son not to do so again, as such actions embarrass the moral authority that he wields. Hartzell objects, to which Will says that he will accompany his son to the movies and point out why the artform only promotes sin. Some time after, they pay the admission for The Silent Man (1917; the director and star of that film, William S. Hart, was a guest of honor at One Foot in Heaven’s premiere) – attracting the stares of the patrons who can scarcely believe the local pastor is at the theater. The lights dim. The flicker of the projector and the nitrate film reel fill the room. And to Will’s surprise, the film contains worthwhile messages extolling virtue, honesty, and a disgust for injustice. Will acknowledges he has been wrong and how quick to judgment he was.

This, too, is where One Foot in Heaven refutes many of the attitudes found in modern-day Christian films. Will demonstrates a willingness to change prior views, to heed the words and feelings of the young generations that will someday be sitting in the pews of his church and, perhaps, one of them standing at his pulpit. He and Hope may initially approach a situation in anger or frustration, but work through their problems with kindness in mind, and leave the scenario able to laugh at themselves thinking about their predicament or how foolish they might have been before. Cultural change is not to be fought, but welcomed. Christian fundamentals will endure (and have endured) such changes anyways. What repulses non-Christians from modern Christian cinema is the perception that many of those films carry an evangelical righteousness that make nonbelievers look like wet towels or hot-headed ignoramuses (after a heated dispute with a nonbeliever, “I’ll pray for you” is probably not a helpful thing to say). How refreshing One Foot in Heaven is to avoid all these traps of losing the empathy of non-Christian viewers, putting it in the company of The Song of Bernadette (1943) and Ben-Hur (1959).

Screenwriter Casey Robinson (1935′s Captain Blood; 1940′s All This, and Heaven Too) has crafted beautiful dialogue for the sermons, endowing the character of William Spence with a minster’s ideal literacy. But once the plot exits the first few years of the Spences’ life in Iowa, the screenplay begins to accelerate the proceedings. The Spences’ years in Iowa take the time to relax, to soak in all the quiet pleasantries and meaningful conversations between characters and have them reflect on what has transpired. From their first and subpar parsonage home (to the disapproval of the infant children, it is next to the fire station), church politics, and the aforementioned segment where Will has learned that Hartzell has been sneaking into the local cinema, one feels the weight of time’s passage in the opening two-thirds of the film. What happens to the Spences following the American entry into World War I feels underdeveloped, and the 1920s seem like a narrative blur that is dominated by controversies with Mrs. Sandow (Beulah Bondi) and the Thurstons (Gene Lockhart and Laura Hope Crews).

Hartzell Spence, who wanted Raymond Massey (who was commanding headlines on Broadway for his turn as the President-to-be in Abe Lincoln in Illinois) to star as his father, settled on Fredric March upon her mother’s recommendation. Warner Bros. indeed chose March, but only because of the fact March was considered one of Hollywood’s premier actors and a dependable box office draw. Olivia de Havilland was Warners’ first choice for Hope, but their executives wanted to pair her with Errol Flynn (yet again) for 1941′s They Died with Their Boots On. Scott and especially March are excellent in One Foot in Heaven – March truly shines as Will when speaking to his parishioners and in the film’s final moments; Scott (whose stage background made her suspect to overacting during this production, but was assisted by March to help address these tendencies) is tremendous when attempting to show Will a different way to think about a dilemma. The inside jokes between Will and Hope all work thanks to both actors. March would later consider One Foot in Heaven to be a favorite among the films he appeared in.

This was Irving Rapper’s second film as a director. He usually worked as a dialogue director for Warner Bros., but his crowning achievement – Now, Voyager (1942) – was a year away. Rapper keeps his camera relatively close to the actors and the action, lending One Foot in Heaven an air of intimacy. Composer Max Steiner’s score is gorgeous, with his signature stirring string melodies leading the film’s musical identity. Steiner arranged Samuel John Stone’s hymn, “The Church’s One Foundation”, as the score’s spiritual center. Following its release, One Foot in Heaven – despite receiving acclaim from film critics, who were more influential on their readers than today’s critics – was considerably more popular in rural America than urban America. A publicity campaign geared towards rural parishes paid dividends. One Foot in Heaven remained a fixture in small-town American cinemas following the United States’ entry into World War II; its rural-skewed popularity probably contributed to its unavailability on home media until rather recently.

It would be easy to write off One Foot in Heaven as anecdotal treacle. Listen and look closer. It is a film of enduring faith but, regardless of one’s faith, it celebrates lives dedicated to the purpose of serving others. One need not attend Sunday services or believe in God to intuit that.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

#One Foot in Heaven #Irving Rapper #Fredric March #Martha Scott #Beulah Bondi #Gene Lockhart #Elisabeth Fraser #Harry Davenport #Laura Hope Crews #Casey Robinson #Hartzell Spence #Max Steiner #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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pope-francis-quotes · 7 years ago

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20th December >> (Zenit) Pope Francis’ Address at today’s General Audience (Full Text): On Holy Mass’ Rites of Introduction ‘ I recommend: please teach the children to do the Sign of the Cross well!’ (Photo ~ General Audience - CTV Screenshot) This morning’s General Audience was held at 9:35 in Paul VI Hall, where the Holy Father Francis met with groups of pilgrims and faithful from Italy and from all over the world. Continuing with the new series of catecheses, in his address in Italian the Pope focused his meditation on the Holy Mass’ Rites of Introduction. After summarizing his catechesis in several languages, the Holy Father expressed special greetings to groups of faithful present. The General Audience ended with the singing of the Pater Noster and the Apostolic Blessing. * * * The Holy Father’s Catechesis Dear Brothers and Sisters, good morning! Today I would like to get to the heart of the Eucharistic Celebration. The Mass is made up of two parts, which are the Liturgy of the Word and the Eucharistic Liturgy, so closely joined between them as to form one act of worship (Cf. Sacrosanctum Concilium, 56; Ordinamento Generale del Messale Romano, 28). Introduced by some preparatory rites and concluded with others, the celebration is, therefore, one body and it can’t be separated; however, for a better understanding, I will try to explain its various moments, each one of which is capable of touching and involving a dimension of our humanity. It’s necessary to know these holy signs to live the Mass fully and savor all its beauty. When the people are gathered, the celebration opens with the introductory rites, including the entrance of those celebrating or of the celebrant, the greeting – “The Lord be with you,” “Peace be with you,” — , the penitential act – “I confess,” where we ask for forgiveness of our sins –, the Kyrie eleison, the hymn of the Gloria and the Collect prayer: it’s called “Collect Prayer,” not because the collection of the offerings is made there: it’s the collection of the prayer intentions of all the peoples, and that collection of the people’s intention goes up to Heaven as prayer. The purpose – of these introductory rites — is such as to have the “faithful, gathered together, form a community, and dispose themselves to listen with faith to the Word of God and to celebrate worthily the Eucharist” (Ordinamento Generale del Messale Romano, 46). It’s not a good habit to look at one’s watch and say: “I’m on time, I’ll arrive after the sermon and with this I will fulfil the precept.” The Mass begins with the sign of the Cross, with these introductory rites, because there we begin to adore God as a community. And, therefore, it’s important to plan not to arrive late, but rather in advance to prepare one’s heart for this rite, for this celebration of the community. While normally the entrance hymn is being sung, the priest with the other ministers reaches the presbytery in procession, and here he greets the altar with a bow and, in sign of veneration, kisses it and, when there is incense, he incenses it. Why? Because the altar is Christ: it’s a figure of Christ. When we look at the altar, we look in fact where Christ is. The Altar is Christ. These gestures, which risk passing unobserved, are very significant, because they express from the beginning that the Mass is an encounter of love with Christ, who “offering His body on the cross [. . . ] becomes altar, victim and priest” (Easter Preface V). In fact, the altar, in as much as sign of Christ, “is the center of the thanksgiving that is fulfilled with the Eucharist” (Ordinamento Generale del Messale Romano, 296), and the whole community around the altar, which is Christ: not to look at <faces> but to look at Christ, because Christ is at the center of the community, He’s not far from it. Then there is the sign of the cross. The priest that presides traces it on himself and the same is done by all the members of the assembly, aware that the liturgical act is carried out “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” And here I pass to another very small argument. Have you seen how children make the sign of the cross? They don’t know what they do: sometimes they make a design, which isn’t the sign of the cross. Please: mothers and fathers, grandparents, teach children from the beginning – when very small – to do the sign of the cross well. And explain to them what it is to have Jesus’ cross as protection. And the Mass begins with the sign of the cross. The whole prayer moves, so to speak, in the realm of the Most Holy Trinity – “In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” –, which is the realm of infinite communion; it has as its origin and as its end the love of God One and Triune, manifested and given to us in the Cross of Christ. In fact, His Paschal Mystery is a gift of the Trinity, and the Eucharist always flows from His pierced Heart. Therefore, by signing ourselves with the sign of the cross, not only do we remember our Baptism, but we affirm that the liturgical prayer is the encounter with God in Christ Jesus, who was incarnated for us, died on the cross and rose glorious. Therefore, the priest addresses the liturgical greeting with the expression: “The Lord be with you” or another similar one – there are several –; and the assembly responds: “And with your spirit.” We are in dialogue; we are at the beginning of the Mass and we must think of the meaning of all these gestures and words. We are entering a “symphony,” in which various tones of voices resound, including times of silence, in view of creating “agreement” among all the participants, namely, to recognize one another animated by one Spirit and by one same end. In fact “the priestly greeting and the people’s response manifest the mystery of the gathered Church” (Ordinamento Generale del Messale Romano, 50). Expressed thus is the common faith and the mutual desire to be with the Lord and to live in unity with the whole community. And this is a praying symphony, which is being created and presents immediately a very touching moment, because the one who presides invites all to acknowledge their sins. We are all sinners. I don’t know, perhaps one of you isn’t a sinner . . . If someone isn’t a sinner, please raise his hand, so we can all see. But there aren’t any raised hands; ok, your faith is good! We are all sinners and, therefore, we ask for forgiveness at the beginning of the Mass. It’s the penitential act. It’s not only about thinking of the sins committed, but much more: it’s the invitation to acknowledge ourselves sinners before God and before the community, before brothers, with humility and sincerity, as the publican in the Temple. If the Eucharist truly renders present the Paschal Mystery, namely the passage of Christ from death to life, then the first thing we should do is to recognize what are our situations of death to be able to rise with Him to new life. This makes us understand how important the penitential act is. And, therefore, we will take up this argument in the next catechesis. We go step by step in the explanation of the Mass. However, I recommend: please teach the children to do the Sign of the Cross well! [Original text: Italian] [ZENIT’s translation by Virginia M. Forrester] In Italian Dear Italian-speaking pilgrims, welcome! I would like to thank the Cuban Circus for this beautiful show! Thank you! I’m happy to receive the new Priests of the Legionaries of Christ, with their brethren and relatives; the Priests of the Saint Joseph of Rome International Missionary College and the parishes of Alvito and of Mary Most Holy Annunziata of Siano. I exhort you all to renew your adherence to the poor, humble and obedient Christ, to transmit the love and mercy of God in today’s ecclesial context. I greet the school Institutes, the families of the Personnel dependent of the Major Air Force; the delegations of the municipalities of Bolsena and of Cagnano Amiterno and the directors and artists of the Circus of Cuba. A special greeting goes to young people, the sick and newlyweds. Dear young people, prepare yourselves for the mystery of the Lord’s Birth with the obedience of faith and the humility that were Mary’s. You, dear sick, draw from Her that same strength of love for Jesus who comes among us. And you, dear newlyweds, contemplate the example of the Holy Family at Bethlehem, to practice the same virtues in your journey of family life. And after the Blessing, I would like to hear this choir that sings well! [Original text: Italian] [ZENIT’s translation by Virginia M. Forrester]

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