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WHILE SHE STILL WENT TO CHURCH, Caterina preferred to sit in the back row of the pews and observe other churchgoers. One could easily draft a persons character from the way they behaved in such an intimate setting of a prayer, when one is supposed to open their soul, take off the masks their presented to the material world and expose their hearts.
The old preacher would stand behind the altar, arms outstretched like a shrivelled, white and gold crow, spinning the tales of martyrdom and pain, and death.
It's always seemed to her that Christianity revolved around death.
It was much later that she realised that people never truly took their deceptive masks off, not truly, and no amount of confession would purify the black tar that started to collect on her soul. Somewhere along the line, she stopped her Sunday visits until they turned into occasional wedding or a funeral.
The smell of incense burned deep in her nose, crawling into her lungs, suffocating like an invisible hand of guilt squeezing her pale throat. "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return," rung ominously in her head.
Every victory was equally bitter and sweet, but on the day set for burying the one woman who was more than a mother figure for her brought only emptiness and cold.
The service was held on the first of June, the day after the Darby, on the St. Andrews church graveyard. It was hardly a grand affair, for Maria had no direct family still living, but all her fellow workers, employees of Cardinale Import congregated in the churchyard, waiting to say their last farewells.
Caterina stood aside while they exchanged smalltalk with the priest, eyes unfocused and simply nodding every time someone dared to come over and shake her hand in condolences. Most of the time they avoided her, the black veil concealing her face, and equally well hiding her red rimmed eyes away from the public.
Her legs had gone numb from standing on one spot for a while now, lightheadedness creeping up her spine, but enough knock her off her feet.
A woman was trekking determinatedly towards her. Caterina could vaguely remember her as one of the office workers of the Company.
"She gave her whole life to your family and this", she poked her chest with her bony finger, eyes alight with tears and unspeakable rage, "this is how you repay her. Cardinale pezzonovanti, the lot of you. I nostril figli morivano per te."
Our sons die for you, she said, I am the one asking them to lay down their lives for my cause. The woman retreated, still throwing dirty looks over her shoulders for a good measure.
The graveyard emptied quickly, and still she stold there, staring at the cold, stone slab. There was a piece of folded paper she kept in the left coat pocket, and she unfolded it with shaky hands. There were old tear stains marking the edged still, the paper turning yellow from age.
