"Then just as simply, the face of the Holy Mother, began to look out at me from the veil which draped her head and shoulders. It was a face, which... in no way, looked anything like what we have come to believe the Holy Mother looks like. She appears more weary...travel worn...much older than any painting by the Masters. Not so flattering, but calming, reverent as she holds the Christ child to her breast in a protective manner."
"So Aldo, in 2005 you are sixty-seven years of age.. .and in 2055...should you live you will be one hundred seventeen years of age?" I said.
"I do not expect to live to see the second miracle...this is why I have been directed to deliver the painting to the Vatican and to the Holy Father in Rome." He said.
"Now Aldo, what do your parents think of the painting and the miracle?" I asked.
"They do not know of the miracle, nor have they seen the painting." He said.
"Why were you chosen?" I asked.
"Good question...and one I asked of the lady. She said that I was asked to do the painting because of my daily reverence to the Blessed Mother and the Holy Family. She also informed me that my prayers would be answered by the Holy Father in Rome as to my origins and my place in the world. She very specifically cautioned me not to disclose the miracle nor the potential of it until after the event occurred, and then to give the portrait only to the Holy Father." He said.
"Well Aldo, practically speaking...you know that it is highly unlikely that you will be able to personally deliver this portrait to the Holy Father." I said.
"I am confident that the will of the Blessed Mother will be done." He said.
"Are you prepared Aldo, for the thorough investigation by the Vatican of yourself and the portrait?" I asked.
"Certainly, I am willing to be forthcoming at the appropriate time and place."
"And where might that be, Aldo?" I inquired.
"Only in Rome before the Holy Father as requested." He said.
The heat of the late afternoon felt penetrating against Father Francis's light shirt. Aldo Selleri's confession had lasted nearly five hours. Notre Dame had long since spoiled the Spartan fans thirst for Irish blood and Father Francis felt the need to walk about while considering the confession of Aldo Selleri. There was no doubt Aldo truly believed that he had been the instrument of a miracle.. Father Francis knew as well that the mind was more powerful than any muscle a man could muster...he even suspected that it was capable, in a paranormal situation, of even the creation of conditions to paint the faces of a family portrait.
But how do you explain this phenomenon. A grown man swears before God that he witnessed the creation of a face on a canvass. Well Father Francis knew one thing for certain...the Vatican team of experts would descend upon Selleri like locust and before he was capable of uttering Blessed Mother, Selleri would be martinized to the point that he may never again be recognized. Father Francis had not been a witness to the exorcisms carried out by the Vatican sponsored teams but if there was a devil in Aldo Selleri...he would soon have to find a new home.
Poor Aldo, Father Francis thought...going through his entire life without the identification necessary to have a full life. No birth certificate, no driver's license, no passport...each of these items so essential to a life. A life, which had precluded marriage and children for Aldo. Father Francis could not help thinking that this was a criminal act on the part of Aldo's adoptive parents. There was no way that the child would have been removed from their home if they had only performed their duty to this child, and then he would have had the opportunity to a full and lasting life as any American.
But then these are the lengths to which some women are driven in the madness to have children. Nothing matters but to possess the heart, mind and soul of the child regardless of suitability to raise one.
Of course these were the forties and fifties and life took on a decidedly different look and feel. The era of McCarthyism...Better Dead than Red. Everyone in the country was suspicious of any activity or of anyone who exhibited the slightest tendency to be different. Different... was not a good thing... and Aldo's adoptive parents saw to it that he carried the mantle of different...like the scarlet letter, except this one would have been inscribed 'weird'.
Good thing there was plenty to do out on the farm. Aldo stayed busy through the morning and in the afternoon he took classes in English, reading, writing, math, history of the world or American history. Later, he would stay busy with Geometry, Algebra, Trigonometry, Latin, and Spanish...more than a full course and well taught at that.
But as prepared as was Aldo in the world of book sense, he was void of social skills. Nearly backward as though he and his family were members of one of the Amish families but at least as rudimentary as was the social interaction of these sects...there was some social function, Aldo had none of that.
After a fashion, Aldo's family did begin to take him to Mass when he approached the age for the beginning of the sacraments. Confession in those days was a grueling event for most children. Standing in line for your turn to enter the dark confessional and then to hear the sliding partition between the Penitent and the Priest...certain that the person on the other side was straining to hear what sins you had committed in the intervening week. Yes it was true every child had to go to confession every week and receive the absolution of the priest.
First Holy Communion was also a major event. No more sitting in the pew while everyone else marched up the isle to receive the wafer. In 1945, the congregation did not receive wine as they do today...Aldo concluded that the priest and alter boys drank it all. Aldo could not wait to become a server at the Mass and to have his share of some of that delicious nectar of the gods.
Of course he was no stranger to wine...the homemade variety his father made from the bountiful harbor. Not only grape but there was apple, peach and pear as well.
Aldo's adoptive Father was a professional farmer. Everyone in the county knew that if Buck did not have the answer to a particular problem...there was no problem. He knew when and how to kill and cure the hogs or beef, where to harvest the honey and to tap the maple trees. The farm was a bastion of plenty and aside from a few staples from the grocery...all that went on the table was grown and 'put up' for the winter. Corn, green beans, tomatoes, squash, turnips, collard greens, cabbage, potatoes, peppers of all kinds, filled the jars in anticipation of winter. The kitchen was a beehive of activity throughout the summer as each crop brought its own bounty.
And the place had its own symmetry...its own music, which Aldo enjoyed from gathering eggs to weeding the garden, picking the fruit and helping in the kitchen. He learned at the heels of his parents and he learned his lessons well for in his own time Aldo became known as his Father's son and the best farmer in Montgomery County, Ohio.
Of course this left little time for Aldo's passion for painting. Even though it is assumed that farmers have nothing but time on their hands, in the winter, most remain quite busy with winter chores such as fence mending, clearing of brush and seeing to its safe burning. The planting of greenhouse plants for transplanting in the spring and the year round caring of the animals. Most essentially the Dairy cows, who were always with them, seven days per week, twice per day the cows came to the barn for relief and the delivery of rich milk to the families in the city.
They were long days and Aldo did not have the joy of spending any part of them with a partner. Although he had kept company with an occasional female visitor from the church or one of the women from town... Aldo was careful to draw the line on getting to close to any thing that resembled a commitment to marriage. And, in those days women were less apt to take up residence with a man without the exchange of wedding vows.
Certainly something that Aldo would have been most willing to make a commitment to were it not for the delicate matter of his illegal status.
So Aldo was a lonely man, filling his days with busy work to near dark and always turning in as soon after the evening meal as possible. Lest you get the wrong idea of Aldo, you should know that he could kick up his heels on the week-ends. One of his favorite haunts was Newport, Kentucky where gambling,