The Glimpse of Reality

In the fifteenth century A.D. Gloaming. An inn on the edge of an
Italian lake. A stone cross with a pedestal of steps. A very old
friar sitting on the steps. The angelus rings. The friar prays
and crosses himself. A girl ferries a boat to the shore and comes
up the bank to the cross.


THE GIRL. Father: were you sent here by a boy from--

THE FRIAR [in a high, piping, but clear voice] I'm a very old man.
Oh, very old. Old enough to be your great grandfather, my
daughter. Oh, very very old.

THE GIRL. But were you sent here by a boy from--

THE FRIAR. Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Quite a boy, he was. Very
young. And I'm very old. Oh, very very old, dear daughter.

THE GIRL. Are you a holy man?

THE FRIAR [ecstatically] Oh, very holy. Very, very, very, very
holy.

THE GIRL. But have you your wits still about you, father? Can you
absolve me from a great sin?

THE FRIAR. Oh yes, yes, yes. A very great sin. I'm very old; but
Ive my wits about me. I'm one hundred and thirteen years old, by
the grace of Our Lady; but I still remember all my Latin; and I can
bind and loose; and I'm very very wise; for I'm old and have left
far behind me the world, the flesh, and the devil. You see I am
blind, daughter; but when a boy told me that there was a duty for
me to do here, I came without a guide, straight to this spot, led
by St Barbara. She led me to this stone, daughter. It's a
comfortable stone to me: she has blessed it for me.

THE GIRL. It's a cross, father.

THE FRIAR [piping rapturously] Oh blessed, blessed, ever blessed
be my holy patroness for leading me to this sacred spot. Is there
any building near this, daughter? The boy mentioned an inn.

THE GIRL. There is an inn, father, not twenty yards away. It's
kept by my father, Squarcio.

THE FRIAR. And is there a barn where a very very old man may sleep
and have a handful of peas for his supper?

THE GIRL. There is bed and board both for holy men who will take
the guilt of our sins from us. Swear to me on the cross that you
are a very holy man.

THE FRIAR. I'll do better than that, daughter. I'll prove my
holiness to you by a miracle.

THE GIRL. A miracle!

THE FRIAR. A most miraculous miracle. A wonderful miracle! When I
was only eighteen years of age I was already famous for my
devoutness. When the hand of the blessed Saint Barbara, which was
chopped off in the days when the church was persecuted, was found
at Viterbo, I was selected by the Pope himself to carry it to Rome
for that blessed lady's festival there; and since that my hand has
never grown old. It remains young and warm and plump whilst the
rest of my body is withered almost to dust, and my voice is cracked
and become the whistling you now hear.

THE GIRL. Is that true? Let me see. [He takes her hand in his.
She kneels and kisses it fervently] Oh, it's true. You are a
saint. Heaven has sent you in answer to my prayer.

THE FRIAR. As soft as your neck, is it not? [He caresses her
neck].

THE GIRL. It thrills me: it is wonderful.

THE FRIAR. It thrills me also, daughter. That, too, is a miracle
at my age.

THE GIRL. Father--

THE FRIAR. Come closer, daughter. I'm very very old and very very
very deaf: you must speak quite close to my ear if you speak low.
[She kneels with her breast against his arm and her chin on his
shoulder]. Good. Good. Thats better. Oh, I'm very very old.