The old man lighted a pipe, the smell and aroma blending so perfectly with that of the coffee. Agustin was observing The Professor as the old man sat quietly there, looking at the marvel of nature in front of them. For those who do not know Invictus well enough, they would say that he has not changed at all, at least physically, except for the fact that he is thirty two years older now. But in the eyes of Agustin, there was something different with his mentor. He's still trying to figure out what it is, when a cool breeze brought his attention somewhere else. He found himself looking at the hill far away... he can't seem to resist focusing on that hill. Wait... he noticed something... was that someone sitting on top of the hill? A human being? A brute?
"How does it feel to be a bishop?", the old man asked again. Agustin let out a sigh. He was still and quiet for some time. Now, he's just staring at his cup of coffee, trying to collect his thoughts.
Agustin: "I wish to answer you with a THEN AND NOW, sir. I was elated then... ecstatic, euphoric, proud... fame and power, influence and might in my whole being... energetic... unstoppable... a feeling of vindication, too. But that was then."
Invictus was looking at Agustin, whose eyes were focused on his cup of coffee while talking. The old man sat quietly there, waiting if and when his former student would go on.
Agustin: "Now, I feel empty... tired - or better - exhausted... disappointed... guilty... angry... helpless... hopeless... spiritually and mentally numb and dry... even bitter and lonely. It's a long story, Sir Invictus".
"I'm all ears, son. Take your time. You can stay for a couple of days if you want. My house is yours", said the old man. "If you don't feel like talking today or, perhaps, not at all, don't feel obliged. Your mere presence is a pleasure already. Sitting here quietly and enjoying each other's company is more than what I would wish for. In silence, there could be a lot of wisdom. Still remember what I told you before? If ever one opens his mouth, then it should be voluntary and out of free will. Never out of obligation or under pressure. Only then could one be pretty sure that the words genuinely come from an open heart... from a sound mind... from a free spirit... authentic and well thought of... systematic if needed... and perhaps, just perhaps, wisdom might be the special guest during such talks, speeches or conversations. But then again, I have always added that when it comes to truth... to naked truth... I myself would be the first one to oblige and to put pressure. When it comes to truth, one is obliged to speak".
Agustin felt a great relief. He was not in a proper disposition to talk about matters that momentarily burden him. Glad was he, too, that Invictus offered him to stay for a couple of days. He needed the kind of atmosphere that the old man's place offers. Everything seems so serene, so relaxing, so rejuvenating. And - he wished that the old man would do more of the talking. He misses listening to Invictus. Whether in the form of chats, formal lectures, sermons, conferences or even just a thought or two, the words of the old man had always been challenging, soothing, enlightening, thought-provoking, soul-penetrating, heart-warming, and, because Invictus is merciless when it comes to naked truth, his words can be devastating to many. But that is precisely what Agustin misses. So many things that The Professor had said in the past truly happened in his case. He regretted having neglected the regular contact that he promised before he left for further studies abroad.
Agustin was quiet for some time. Invictus was observing him. The bishop was obviously carrying a big burden within himself. A quarter of an hour and still no word from Agustin. Then he looked at Invictus in the eyes...
Agustin: "Sir, why is there suffering? Why is there evil? Why does God allow them?"
Invictus sat quietly, yet looking intently at Agustin. The latter was distracted by a strong gush of cold breeze again, while the dogs suddenly gave alarm in front of the house. The old man excused himself and slowly stood up to see what's up. Agustin remained seated and looked at the hill intently. There is something or someone on top of the hill. He can't be mistaken. "Does Invictus know about the boy? About that 'thing' on the hill? Or is it just my imagination?", thought Agustin. "But it can't be! I saw the boy several times, as well as the being on the hill! I must ask Invictus. I must tell Invictus", he said to himself.
2007-06-24
2007-06-23
Two
Both had their snack quietly. Invictus is not much of a talker, especially during meals. But Agustin did not mind at all; he was enjoying the food and the matching light beer. He had this feeling that the white table cloth, the music of Bach (he hears the music, but can't figure out where it's coming from), the perfect light blue porcelain and the delicately thin crystal Swarovski beer glass made everything so much more appetizing and tasty. And he liked it that they ate in the kitchen and not in the dining room. "I'm still in Invictus' inner circle", he thought to himself. As he finished the last bean of his chilly, his mentor asked him:
Invictus: "So, how does it feel to be the bishop of a huge diocese?"
Agustin: "So much problems, so much intrigues, so much work..."
The old man took a quick look at Agustin's eyes and remained quiet for a while. Then he continued the conversation.
Invictus: "Agustin, I asked you how does it feel to be the bishop of a huge diocese. You're dishing out wrong answers to the right question. My question was: How does it feel? Nothing else".
Agustin: "Sorry, Sir... I had been too long away from you and too long preoccupied with other things. I must have lost my sense of keenness. Yes... so far from the academic world for a long time..."
Invictus: "Well, I just noticed that you give me answers that I have not even asked for. What is with you, dear Agustin? You were always one of my best THINKERS. Would you want to tell me your story? More than two decades... that's long enough. I am all ears now, if you want to talk. Come, let us sit on the porch facing the north. You will like the view there".
They both stood up. Agustin offered to help clean up the kitchen table but Invictus was on his way already. "Sir, should I bring these things to the sink?", Agustin asked. "Mr. Bishop, do as you please.", was the reply he got. And so it happened that His Excellency, the Archbishop of Salisburo, the most powerful man in a diocese of more than forty-two million Roman Catholics, started picking up the plates, bowls, glasses, bread knives, spoons and forks and table mats piece by piece, and brought them to the kitchen sink. From the window above the wash basin, he could see the entrance gate to the cottage, the beautifully landscaped garden wherever he set his eyes upon, the marble statues of various Greek and Roman mythology characters, philosophers and theologians of the Old World, the dogs, and... the boy again! Same facial expression, this time standing near the gate, carrying a thick pile of papers with both hands, but the dogs were neither reacting nor barking. "Strange.", he thought to himself... "Very strange".
He washed his hands with a light blue liquid soap and wiped them with an indigo hand towel so soft and smooth that he wished to have it as a sort of Linus' security blanket. A small white label on a corner says: Made in Austria. As he lifted his head again, the young boy was gone...
He wanted to follow Invictus to the porch now, but the great atmosphere of the kitchen area caught his attention once more. As in the whole cottage, everything was in magnificent wood. But, unlike the guest room, the draperies, seat cushions & throw pillows at the coffee table and kitchen set were of light blue motif instead of purple. Between the sink and the kitchen table where they ate was a sort of a combination of bar, dining, food preparation table where three 20th century style lamps of white & blue hung above. There was also an integrated wash basin and mini ref.
At the far corner of the kitchen was an antique coffee table for two with matching hand-carved chairs. A big window facing the west, where he first saw the boy, was right beside the breakfast corner. There were books and paintings in the kitchen area as well. "The Professor is a unique creation", he smiled to himself. Being a curious man by nature, he took a look at the paintings and books. The frames of Matthias Grünewald's and Gustav Klimt's paintings were as crafty as the paintings themselves. He counted eight pieces of precious art on the walls. The bookshelves were a bit more simple and conservative than those in the guest room. But the carvings were different as well... very much different: there were pillars, double-headed eagles, sets of 3 torches, square and compasses... the sun, the moon, stars, triangles, an all-seeing eye...
The books impressed him: A full collection of the best South American authors in Philosophy, Social Sciences and Theology. Such a delight to see Clodovis and Leonardo Boff, Jon Sobrino, Enrique Dussel, Dom Camara, Oscar Romero, and so many other brilliant heads lined up in front of his eyes in the form of books!
He then went to the porch facing the north. He's looking forward to a long talk with The Professor. He missed such talks. Invictus was an excellent listener and adviser. "I hope he still is", he said to himself. "The man has gone through so many things in life already. And his write-ups and articles in the past decade were slowly moving away from his usual strict scientific-systematic approach to something more for the general public, more of insights and personal thoughts based on experience. Less theories and references". Although he liked all of Invictus' articles, he sort of misses that hard-core philosophical approach of his former mentor.
He saw Invictus sitting on one of the four dark wood chairs surrounding a splendid 17th century round table. "Sorry for keeping you waiting", said Agustin, as he chose a seat opposite his former mentor. The glossy mint green upholstery and throw pillows felt good and relaxing. A set of dark green ceramic for coffee and tea for two was waiting patiently on the table.
The Professor was right: the view facing the north was spectacular! A vast green meadow, two streams flowing in different directions from a blue-green colored river... hundred-year-old acacia trees beyond the river, a row of mango and coconut trees creating a sort of borderline line left and right, and a hill at the far end. Crows flying in groups of ten or twelve... a falcon circling around the hill... what a sight!
Invictus: "Coffee, tea, juice or mineral water?"
Agustin: "I'd rather have coffee, sir. Should I brew some?"
Invictus: "I made a fresh pot already. Agustin was always a coffee drinker. That I still remember".
The old man stood up and opened a door leading to his library, where he always had his favorite percolator. In a few moments, he was sitting with Agustin, enjoying the unique flavor of the native Batangas coffee.
Invictus: "So, how does it feel to be the bishop of a huge diocese?"
Agustin: "So much problems, so much intrigues, so much work..."
The old man took a quick look at Agustin's eyes and remained quiet for a while. Then he continued the conversation.
Invictus: "Agustin, I asked you how does it feel to be the bishop of a huge diocese. You're dishing out wrong answers to the right question. My question was: How does it feel? Nothing else".
Agustin: "Sorry, Sir... I had been too long away from you and too long preoccupied with other things. I must have lost my sense of keenness. Yes... so far from the academic world for a long time..."
Invictus: "Well, I just noticed that you give me answers that I have not even asked for. What is with you, dear Agustin? You were always one of my best THINKERS. Would you want to tell me your story? More than two decades... that's long enough. I am all ears now, if you want to talk. Come, let us sit on the porch facing the north. You will like the view there".
They both stood up. Agustin offered to help clean up the kitchen table but Invictus was on his way already. "Sir, should I bring these things to the sink?", Agustin asked. "Mr. Bishop, do as you please.", was the reply he got. And so it happened that His Excellency, the Archbishop of Salisburo, the most powerful man in a diocese of more than forty-two million Roman Catholics, started picking up the plates, bowls, glasses, bread knives, spoons and forks and table mats piece by piece, and brought them to the kitchen sink. From the window above the wash basin, he could see the entrance gate to the cottage, the beautifully landscaped garden wherever he set his eyes upon, the marble statues of various Greek and Roman mythology characters, philosophers and theologians of the Old World, the dogs, and... the boy again! Same facial expression, this time standing near the gate, carrying a thick pile of papers with both hands, but the dogs were neither reacting nor barking. "Strange.", he thought to himself... "Very strange".
He washed his hands with a light blue liquid soap and wiped them with an indigo hand towel so soft and smooth that he wished to have it as a sort of Linus' security blanket. A small white label on a corner says: Made in Austria. As he lifted his head again, the young boy was gone...
He wanted to follow Invictus to the porch now, but the great atmosphere of the kitchen area caught his attention once more. As in the whole cottage, everything was in magnificent wood. But, unlike the guest room, the draperies, seat cushions & throw pillows at the coffee table and kitchen set were of light blue motif instead of purple. Between the sink and the kitchen table where they ate was a sort of a combination of bar, dining, food preparation table where three 20th century style lamps of white & blue hung above. There was also an integrated wash basin and mini ref.
At the far corner of the kitchen was an antique coffee table for two with matching hand-carved chairs. A big window facing the west, where he first saw the boy, was right beside the breakfast corner. There were books and paintings in the kitchen area as well. "The Professor is a unique creation", he smiled to himself. Being a curious man by nature, he took a look at the paintings and books. The frames of Matthias Grünewald's and Gustav Klimt's paintings were as crafty as the paintings themselves. He counted eight pieces of precious art on the walls. The bookshelves were a bit more simple and conservative than those in the guest room. But the carvings were different as well... very much different: there were pillars, double-headed eagles, sets of 3 torches, square and compasses... the sun, the moon, stars, triangles, an all-seeing eye...
The books impressed him: A full collection of the best South American authors in Philosophy, Social Sciences and Theology. Such a delight to see Clodovis and Leonardo Boff, Jon Sobrino, Enrique Dussel, Dom Camara, Oscar Romero, and so many other brilliant heads lined up in front of his eyes in the form of books!
He then went to the porch facing the north. He's looking forward to a long talk with The Professor. He missed such talks. Invictus was an excellent listener and adviser. "I hope he still is", he said to himself. "The man has gone through so many things in life already. And his write-ups and articles in the past decade were slowly moving away from his usual strict scientific-systematic approach to something more for the general public, more of insights and personal thoughts based on experience. Less theories and references". Although he liked all of Invictus' articles, he sort of misses that hard-core philosophical approach of his former mentor.
He saw Invictus sitting on one of the four dark wood chairs surrounding a splendid 17th century round table. "Sorry for keeping you waiting", said Agustin, as he chose a seat opposite his former mentor. The glossy mint green upholstery and throw pillows felt good and relaxing. A set of dark green ceramic for coffee and tea for two was waiting patiently on the table.
The Professor was right: the view facing the north was spectacular! A vast green meadow, two streams flowing in different directions from a blue-green colored river... hundred-year-old acacia trees beyond the river, a row of mango and coconut trees creating a sort of borderline line left and right, and a hill at the far end. Crows flying in groups of ten or twelve... a falcon circling around the hill... what a sight!
Invictus: "Coffee, tea, juice or mineral water?"
Agustin: "I'd rather have coffee, sir. Should I brew some?"
Invictus: "I made a fresh pot already. Agustin was always a coffee drinker. That I still remember".
The old man stood up and opened a door leading to his library, where he always had his favorite percolator. In a few moments, he was sitting with Agustin, enjoying the unique flavor of the native Batangas coffee.
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