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Walking through the dim corridors, Emmanuel made his way to the Vatican gardens. He slipped quietly through the large doors leading out, a soft evening breeze passing him by.
He smoothed the front of his cassock down, out of habit. Slowly, he made his way down the few steps and onto the pathway through the garden. He grabbed the zucchetto off of his head and ran his fingers through his hair, before placing it back.
As he walked, he paused for a few moments, listening to the birds that lived in the gardens, the sounds of branches being landed on and cheerful chirps sounding around him. He continued down the trail until he saw a glimpse of white through some brush further along the path.
Emmanuel walked until His Holiness was in full view. The man sat on one of the many benches throughout the garden. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted slightly back, like a flower searching for sun.
“Evening, Your Holiness.” Emmanuel spoke softly—just loud enough to be heard, hopefully not loud enough to startle the Pope.
He still jumped slightly, caught off guard, but his expression softened when he remembered himself. “Hello, Your Excellency.” He smiled softly. “And just Vincent is fine.”
“Emmanuel.” He walked up to Vincent and stood next to the empty spot on the bench. “Would it be inappropriate of me to join you?”
“No, no. Of course not. Come, sit, my child.” He pat the space next to him lightly.
Emmanuel nodded his thanks and sat next to Vincent, again smoothing out his cassock.
“Your sermon this morning was quite thought-provoking. It’s been a while since one has had me thinking all day like this.” He stared at the water trickling out of a decorative fountain nearby, falling from the mouth of a lion.
He saw Vincent also staring at the fountain out of the corner of his eye.
“What in particular has stuck with you?”
“I am unsure of how to phrase it, I’m afraid. Though I felt drawn closer to Him by your words.” Emmanuel felt a light sweat prick at his collar.
If this confused Vincent, he did not let it be known; he simply nodded with a soft hum.
“Even though every service I attend I feel closer to Him, there was just something about today that made it different from the others.”
He thought back to the sight of Vincent up at the altar, speaking to all of his brothers. The sun illuminated him from above and to the side, casting him in an ethereal glow. He remembered the pang deep in his chest that he felt, looking at the Holy Father.
The topic of the sermon had been 1 Corinthians 13—His Holiness had spoken of how they had to remember that despite all they did, it meant nothing in the deprivation of love.
“As in 13:8: ‘Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease, as for knowledge, it will come to an end.’, Love never ends.” Emmanuel had watched Vincent’s eyes as he scanned the room, looking at all the faces in front of him. His eyes had briefly flitted over Emmanuel. “We must remember this.”
For many years, something about 1 Corinthians 13 had always stuck out to Emmanuel. And to hear the Holy Father address this verse in his sermon hit Emmanuel somewhere deep in his person.
“I suppose the message just struck a chord with me, somehow.” Emmanuel realized that Vincent had turned and was looking at him, giving him his full attention. His ears felt hot, but he did not turn to meet his gaze. “I am fond of First Corinthians. Especially of 13:13.”
“And now faith; hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love,” Vincent quoted with a smile.
Emmanuel nodded. “It’s a verse that’s followed me since I was a young man. My mother painted a sign for me with it as an ordination gift.”
“Where were you ordained?”
Emmanuel was surprised by the question—he hadn't fully expected Vincent to ask questions about himself. “I was in.. New Mexico, I believe.” He paused. “No, Texas, right on the border.”
He ran his palms over the top of his knees, fiddling with his cassock once more. “El Paso, St. Anthony’s Seminary.”
“Did you ever make it to Mexico?” Vincent continued to look at Emmanuel, seemingly not bothered by the lack of eye contact.
Emmanuel nodded. “Many times. I did two missions there, and one on the West Coast in the States.”
Emmanuel wanted to return the question, though he knew the answer already. He knew what had been published on the Pope, he knew where he grew up, where he studied and was ordained, all the missions he had been on. What could he ask a man he already knew that much about?
“Did you ever go to the States?”
Vincent nodded. “Only to Texas. El Paso too, actually. I helped at the Ysleta Mission in my late teens.” His posture seemed less heavy, like he had removed a book-filled schoolbag.
Emmanuel smiled as he kept looking into the mouth of the fountain’s lion. “What did you think of El Paso? I enjoy the heat, though I am not sure I enjoy it that much.”
A soft chuckle came from Vincent. “Ah, yes. Though, in my case, I was used to that type of weather. Many good people there.” He looked away, glancing down both ways down the paths. “I spent only a few weeks there. I never had the chance to really see what it was about.” The Holy Father shrugged lightly.
Emmanuel simply nodded in response. His hands again went to the front of his cassock, smoothing it out.
They sat in silence, with the sounds of the birds and the fountain filling the space. Emmanuel pulled his left sleeve up just enough to look at the watch he wore.
“My deepest apologies, Vincent. I fear I must get going.” Emmanuel stood, hands running over his cassock once again. He looked back at Vincent. His eyes seemed almost sad, but a small smile was on his lips.
“Yes, I understand.”
Emmanuel bowed lightly. “I appreciate you letting me sit with you.”
Vincent nodded. “Come sit with me tomorrow, around this time.”
“I will.” He smiled at Vincent softly.
“Have a good night, Emmanuel.”
“Thank you, Vincent. A good night to you, as well.”
With that, Emmanuel walked past the bench and down the garden path.