The grey tunic Buono bought was threadbare and patched, but at least no one could mistake it for a monk’s habit. He stripped off his wet under-tunic and draped it over the branch of an olive tree to dry. He put on his new garment and lay down under the tree. The wool scratched his bare skin and roots poked into his back, but it didn’t matter. Buono only felt his body grow heavy, sinking into the earth like a stone into mud.
He dreamed he was back in the lagoon, deep in its blue-green haze. Water pounded in his ears. The disk of sunlight on the water’s surface was far, far above. His feet touched bottom, and he realized he was holding a large stone. He dropped it and kicked himself free of the soft mud that sucked at his toes. His throat burned for air. He flapped and thrashed his limbs. His mouth begged to scream, to gulp a lungful of cool water, but he kept it clamped shut. He reached for the dark shape floating above him.
Hands grasped his and pulled him aboard the boat. He lay in the bottom, coughing and gagging. A face hovered over him, the same face that had often peered down into his cradle. It was wiser now, lined with age, and it was framed by a fur-trimmed purple cap.
“Aberto?”
His older brother frowned down at him. “I am not often called by that name, my son. I am Innocentus, bishop of Ravenna. Linus, do you know this man?”
“No, your Grace, I do not.” Brother Linus crouched next to the bishop, studying Buono’s face. Another man rowed.
“Aberto, don’t you know me? I’m your brother, En—” A spew of seawater gushed from his mouth and choked off the word.
“All men are brothers,” the bishop said.
“That’s not what I mean! I’m—” He threw his head over the side as a flood of water rushed up from his belly. He retched into the lagoon.
Brother Linus patted his shoulder-blade. “Don’t try to talk any more.”
“Do you suppose this man is drunk?” the bishop asked.
Linus frowned. “I should hope not. It’s barely nine in the morning.”
Buono stared into both mens’ eyes. “Don’t you know me? Either of you?”
“I do not,” Linus said.
“Nor I,” said the bishop.
The man rowing the boat turned his face to them. It radiated pure, white light. Buono squeezed his eyes shut and cringed away.
“I do not know him either,” the rower said, “for he does not know Me.”
Linus and the bishop looked at each other. Without a word, they seized Buono by the arms and tumbled him over the side. He sank to the bottom, screaming the air out of his lungs. Seawater crushed him and filled him. High above, the sun’s glint on the water dimmed to blackness.