El Santo Ermitaño (The Holy Hermit)

By David Salazar

Some of my earliest memories were of my Grandparents telling stories about The Santo Ermitano (The Holy Hermit), the miracles he performed and the legend he created. I could only find a few excerpts of his life on this continent. It has been over 150 years since he died. I have spent years since my childhood wondering who he was and where he came from. Most of his story as I see it has been a fantasy to me.The facts of his travels here in the US and the way that he died are documented and based in reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477203095

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EL SANTO ERMITAÑO

(The Holy Hermit) 

DAVID SALAZAR

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© 2012 by David Salazar. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/28/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-0308-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-0307-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-0309-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012908019

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Gary Abousleman, Mario Torres, and Carlos Torres

Thank you all for helping me bring the Hermits story to life.

PROLOGUE

RING, RING, RING. The light tinkling sound of the little silver bell echoed softly against the face of the sheer rock wall. From the point where the hooded figure climbed, ascending up the mere thread of a trail to the valley floor below was at least six hundred feet. The narrow trail was barely wide enough to carry a grown man in some places. The dizzying height was the only reality, as the old, bearded man, staff in hand, moved slowly, placing each foot as carefully as if his very life depended on it. One miscalculation, one misstep, and he would have flown to his death, dashed upon the rocks at the foot of the cliff.

The loose shale and small rocks which had been collecting on the trail since the times of Christ and before, were an added challenge to overcome. In the friendly heat and light of summer when the gentle breezes fanned the side of the gargantuan slab of stone wall, the going was treacherous. But in the winter, with actual snow and ice upon the trail, coupled with a cutting cold wind, the journey must have been inconceivably terrifying.

The little silver bell dangled from the top of the long staff which the old man used to prop himself on every few yards because the trail to the top of the mountain was a long, slanted and arduous trek. Perhaps the magic of the bell, ringing out its plaintive peal appeased the spirit of the mountain and afforded the man safe passage. God must have looked down at the man each of the many times that he made his dangerous hike and smiled his favor upon the tall, bearded, incredibly striking old man with the eyes from another world, another dimension or space.

At this incredible height, only swifts and hawks and the occasional eagle were the friends of his soul. Their shrill cries were the soul mate harmony to the tinkling of the little silver bell. How many times had they flown their lazy circles far below him and sensing or seeing him, balanced their wings in the exact proportion of air against feather, to waft slowly by him, curious as to what this creature was. To experience this insane trip as a traveler or a curious explorer would be understandable, for what exactly is it that makes mankind go out to the edge of the envelope of his thrill seeking imagination? But to live in a cave at the nearly halfway point of a sheer two thousand foot cliff, having to tread this steep angled rock footbridge, to climb to the top of the mountain before one could descend into the valley below is the stuff that certain dreams or nightmares are made of.

The old man did not mind the jeopardy in which he placed his life, nor did the insanity of such a regular feat matter to him. His mission was one of love and caring. The charge that he had undertaken was far more important than the mere safety of his vessel, his means of conveyance, his ever fallible body. How many times he had made this trip and traversed the edges of his mortality are probably best left to the mental meanderings of speculation. The reasons for his being there, living as only one of Gods animal creations would, far flung from the beauty and comfort of his earlier life and the incredible monster that followed and haunted his footsteps, forever chasing and nipping at his heels, that is important. Now in the retreating shadow of his memory, that his story may live, that his soul may wander as freely as his feet did all those years ago, and that his spirit may be as balanced on its new travels as his paces were on the perilous trail to his home. The Hermits cave

*     *     *

CHAPTER ONE

THE WARM, SOFT summer breezes flowed over the olive trees and across the beautiful, green rolling hills of Tuscany, wafting their pungent fragrances through the open window of the large, luxurious bedroom. The exquisitely beautiful woman who lay on the bed, gazing out towards the edge of the blue sky and green tree line: the place where the earth kissed the sky, had just called to her servant girl. Claudia . . . please dear would you bring me a bowl of soup? Si Signora, in just two moments! The lady smiled warmly at Claudia. She loved the young servant whom she had raised from infancy. The poor girl had been abandoned at the doors of the convent. The mother superior, knowing of the gentle noblewoman’s kind heart and charitable nature, had inveigled her with the promises of a lifetime of inclusion in the prayers of the holy order of nuns, if she would consent to give the unfortunate little waif a good home. The woman would have accepted her charge without the promise of recompense of any kind, for such was the goodness of her heart . . . and now . . . she thought.

How quickly these fourteen years had flown by. The once ragged little girl has blossomed into an extremely attractive young lady. Such is the flow of life’s river, coursing through the rocky spaces of the hours and minutes that compose the distance of our allotted time to run, till we eventually flow back to the ocean of Gods bounty.

Signora, I have made you some bean soup. I hope that you will enjoy it as I have added a few more herbs to the mix, said Claudia, as she carefully placed the large, beautiful ceramic bowl on the bedside table. The master is expected home this evening, so I have made enough soup for him as well. I know that he will insist that I add a piece of salt pork to the pot, so I have separated out another portion for you should you want some more later this afternoon. You are sweet, my dear, I simply don’t know what I would do without you. You would probably find another girl as ugly as me! Ugly! Giuseppe is ugly, you my dear are definitely not ugly. Giuseppe was the name given to the gargoyle that sat upon the corner of the portico at the entrance gate just beyond the portcullis.

Perhaps Giuseppe will marry me! No one else seems interested! The sweet lady smiled and mused to herself. ‘Ah, yes, the innocent rambling of the adolescent dreamer, wishing with a prayer to be in love, and praying with a wish to be left alone.’ Don’t hurry, your time will arrive before you know it, and when you least expect it. Were you madly in love Signora? Did you know it right away? Were you afraid when you realized it? The girl, ever anxious to fathom this new burgeoning reality in her awareness, fired the volley of questions. The signora should eat now, you need your strength. Does the bambino kick? Does it move around in there? Can it hear us? Once again, the yearling calf-like curiosity of youthful zest. A dozen questions, in one breath! Yes! yes, and yes! You funny little one.

Camilla, born into position, privilege and luxury. She represented that one tenth of one percent of the worlds billions that have passed through this mortal plane. The very fine, thin, skim of cream upon the surface of the deep milk of humanity. Fortunate indeed are those very few who are allowed to ascend the ladder of life to the highest rungs and once there, climb over the walls of hope into the fields of abundance. Life had been very comfortable, and now it was to be doubly blessed with the arrival of her first child. This event in her life would bring full meaning to the reason of her placement upon this Earth. She would be fulfilled and in turn fulfill, the exchange of God’s wishes and the woman’s dreams. Another dimensional circle completed. Many were the times she had wished for, prayed for a child of her own issue, who could bring the spark of light back into the darkness of her soul.

Claudia! called out the master as he entered the room. Where is that girl? Si signori, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, I have been with the signora, her time is coming soon I believe, and I don’t want to be far away in her moment of need. How is the signora? Does she require anything? No signori.

Donna Aldiana has arrived signora! Claudia had just opened the windows allowing a fresh puff of air to enter the room. From the open window the servant girl could see the carriage arriving and a rush of excitement moved through her body, for she knew that the woman who rode in the carriage was a person of great stature. Life with the signora had always afforded the young servant the most delightful potpourri of social petals and scents for the masters were well known and it never failed that there would be many gatherings and social events. She especially loved to stand at the top of the stairs when the masters were hosting a gathering and watch to see what all of the fancy people were wearing. She could dream away for hours, visualizing herself dancing and cavorting alongside the beautiful people. Sometimes, when the younger, closer to her own age royals attended, she would watch completely entranced by the splendor of the affluent groups, wishing deep in her heart, that she could laugh and dance with them. ‘What must they talk about?’ Claudia Her reverie shattered, the girl returned to reality. Si signora.

Please child go . . . . quickly, escort her in. Hurry now, you know what I’ve taught you, never leave an elder standing alone and never leave them waiting. Si signora. The girl hurriedly moved across the long marble floor and out to the entrance hall, where the doorman Aldo had just opened the door. The girl curtsied and nodded a slight bow to the old woman who looked as if she was from a time one hundred years earlier. Her clothes were exquisite, but did not follow the fashion of the times. The cut was outdated but the garments were obviously new, which led the girl to believe that the woman was wealthy enough to have her clothes custom tailored as was the practice of the rich.

The mistress of the house is awaiting you signora please follow me. The old woman smiled and a definite twinkle escaped her eye. She had known Claudia since she was first brought to this house, for it was she who had named her. That is what Donna Aldiana specialized in, giving the most favorable names to newborn children, for it was a widely held belief that it was essential to understand the qualities of your family name, and that the baby’s name must be chosen according to the precepts of the Kabala and numerologic philosophy of which the woman was a purported master.

It was crucially important that the baby’s name be balanced by a few significant factors in this most auspicious of all choices, for the choice demanded an extensive analysis which would encompass the legal name, nicknames, the family surname, combined names, previous names and a business signature of the parents. These factors would contribute to one’s entire personality, potential and compatibility in personal and business relationships and indeed, one’s entire life.

Donna Aldiana how wonderful to see you, thank you for coming. My child Camilla, it is indeed a privilege to be here. I named your mother, I named you, and now, I will name your child which I understand is anxiously awaiting to enter this wonderful world that you have planned for him. Him? Can you tell, will it be a boy? Yes my dear, I can see it in your eyes and in the color of your skin. You will bring forth a son.

Camilla Maria, your middle name has been dormant, waiting for you to bear a child. Now as a mother you shall be closer than ever to the blessed mother Maria. From now on that name shall be used, not only by you but, by your son as well. His middle name shall be Maria. I feel that he will need the purity of that name to protect him, for I sense much restlessness and trepidation in his later years. I fear for his safety and although he may not be in mortal danger, I feel a sense of urgency associated with his life as a traveler, for I feel that he will travel extensively. His name should be Giovanni Maria. Donna Aldiana had chosen. The name would be given to the priest to be entered into the registry of souls, and preparations for the child’s baptism would commence. Donna Aldiana had never been wrong, the child would be a boy. How do you know that signora? Queried the young, curious Claudia. Claudia! Don’t be impertinent! Chided the mistress. Oh how wonderful laughed the old woman. I remember my own inquisitive nature when I was about your age. The old teachings are the most powerful. Sadly, they are being lost to us. I fear they will diminish into oblivion before too long. I am one of the very few practitioners of the ancient knowledge and even I, who have dedicated most of my life to the study of the ancient crafts, don’t know an ounce worth of those truths. I will share this little knowledge with both of you today. If you wish for me to impart it of course? Wild horses could not have dragged either Camilla or Claudia out of that room. Both of them were as two small children, wide eyed and eager to partake of the old woman’s incredible gift of knowledge.

As a child grows inside of its mother’s womb, it draws completely for its survival from its mother’s every aspect be it physical or emotional, and most importantly, spiritually. Physically it is obvious how the mother nurtures the living, growing child within her. If the mother eats pure and wonderful food, so in turn, the child receives strong nourishment. Emotionally, the child is being formed from the mothers range of emotions which will be imparted to the child’s new growing mind. If the mother experiences happiness, such feelings will be shared with the new innocent. The same is true of sadness or trauma. Spiritually, the mother is the conduit between the flow of God’s grace and the child’s new soul. It becomes evident how good begets good. Every child is born innocent, evil is learned. Male children draw distinctly different chemicals from the mothers blood because they are formulating different biological functions. This chemical ‘imbalance’ if you will, manifests in the mothers skin coloring. Because the mother is an entity unto herself, as she carries another completely different entity inside of her she is affected by the sex of that child. A female child is in complete harmony with the female mother. A male child has male energy which conflicts with the mothers female aspects. As the eyes are the windows to the soul, the spark of light is very different in the mothers eyes according to the gender of the child. I have seen hundreds of mothers eyes . . . it never fails. The truth shows up there in the skin and the eyes. These truths are as old as the pyramids themselves. It is said that Christ learned much of his earthly knowledge in Egypt. Sadly, so many great truths and mysteries are no longer known. How much incredible knowledge must have been lost forever when the great library of Alexandria was burned. And so . . . the world moves forward, gaining little, losing much.

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Father Giuseppe tells me that Camilla is about to give birth. Yes your eminence, the mother is very close to delivery according to Don Matteo. He has been very animated lately about the arrival of a son. Has a name been chosen for him? The displeased look upon the cardinal’s face belied his distaste of the subject. Yes your eminence, evidently the mother has been in counsel with Donna Aldiana. I wish these were different times. I do not appreciate watching as holy mother the church is eroded away. Earlier doctrines would not have allowed for this type of heresy to be tolerated. Donna Aldiana is not only rich, she is also very powerful, your holy eminence. The two clerics huddled over their repast of mutton and garlic stew. The gloominess of the quarters spoke of denial and a long practiced, turned inward, jealously guarded hoarding of power. Denial (in and of itself) is not necessarily a bad thing, but coupled with a sanctimonious outlook, it allows openings for perversion. Heretics used to be burned at the stake, no matter what their wealth or social standing and the church by confiscation, saved their evil holdings from further perdition. The glow from the many candles cast an eerie, dance of light over the two huddled figures, and the dripping wax seemed to mirror the mutton fat globules that floated on the surface of the soup. People had much more respect for the church in those times and God’s messengers here on earth were held in much higher esteem. Yes eminence, the saving of souls is a very difficult, and at times unappreciated, calling—but knowing that God’s domain is preserved against the evil brings its own rewards, and to God’s true servants it is a holy obligation.

Many of God’s true believers such as Celdo Moretti, whom God has beneficently blessed with the riches of the world, said the cardinal as he looked lovingly at the ruby encrusted gold ring which sparkled upon his pudgy finger, "do not hesitate to further the teachings of holy mother the church. It is no surprise that they share the wealth God has bestowed upon them with the church. God, in his ongoing beneficence, speaks through us, his humble servants who further the blessings to those fortunate followers such as Moretti, by sending more of the faithful to them for the purpose of trade and commerce. For instance, a merchant recently petitioned me, asking to intercede on his behalf. He was trying to sell linen material, and as the church has much use for this material, he was hoping to procure a contract to sell his material to the main body of the holy orders. I informed him of the fact that we were already doing business with the firm of Moretti., but if he wished to sell his goods to that vendor at a reduced rate, I would certainly advise the council on his behalf. He gladly accepted for he knew that the volume of his sales would grow immensely . . . . (as would the tithing from Moretti.)

So many of the faithful merchants give so very generously by way of thanking God and his chosen representatives here on earth. Just remember, and never forget, that the whole college of cardinals need not be bothered with the trivialities of bookkeeping matters, that duty falls to us, the members of the council. Yes eminence, but what would happen should someone reveal these details to another cardinal outside of our council? I fear that one could consider such an act contrary to the purposes of the holy church, and as such heretical, at which point, God would take care of those matters through his divine guidance. Burning at the stake was certainly a more spectacular and impressive way to rid the holy body of Christ and his followers of the evil which would endeavor to despoil, however there are many other methods of dealing with the dangers posed by the evil threat."

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Father Giuseppe, please come in. Thank you your excellency. I came as soon as the courier contacted me. I wish to speak with you concerning your new assignment. You are reassigning me your excellency? Yes my son . . . . holy mother the church is in desperate need of your ministrations in Sicily, and it will only be a temporary move, you shall be brought back here to your parish by the end of the year. Father Antonius will be replacing you here. Please see to it that he is made aware of the schedule of events (on the roster) of your parish. I shall miss my parishioner’s your excellency, for I have made many friends among them. Remember my son, when doing the Lord’s work we must not be selfish, we must accept that God’s work is the highest priority and that we, as soldiers in his army of good, in order to fight the incredible evil of the devil and his legions, must remain free from human attachments. We as God’s servants can ill afford the luxury of cozy friendships, as that may lead us astray and into the wiles of the evil one, who is forever scheming a way to ensnare the army of God.

The bishop sat across the large oak table from the small priest. It was as if he had pulled the strings on a puppet, for every word seemed to tear at the small man. The bishop wore a black silk cassock, the edges of which were embroidered with a fine red stitch, around his neck hung a thick gold chain from which was suspended a gold, jewel encrusted crucifix. Upon the middle finger of his right hand rode a ring of illustrious size, also cast out of solid gold with a veritable rainbow of jewels floating around its circumference. Upon the middle finger of his left hand, another equally resplendent gold band glinted in the sunlight that bathed his hands with the splashes of a moving jeweled rainbow created by the stained glass window. The small priest wore a meager black cassock (which showed a few places here and there), which had been stitched by hand, probably by a young acolyte or house maid. The priest smelled of tallow and smoke, for years of stuffy masses and votive candles had imbued his very pores with the essence of expurgated sins. The bishop smelled of perfume and fine oils, probably frankincense, and from the top of his cupola cap to the fine embroidered soft leather shoes on his feet, he veritably reeked of (soft spoiled) affluence. Bless you my son, go out and do the Lord’s work. The condescending attitude was so very demeaning, but the prelate leveled it so adroitly that it was accepted as a blessing by the little church mouse of a man. Thank you eminence. With that sentiment, he was out—back to the trenches, the foot soldier, back at the front line, back to the fray of battle, the ongoing war between good and evil, be it real or contrived, back to the pitched battle for souls and all of the monetary blood that could be drained upon the battlefield of fear and ignorance.

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The moon played its little tricks along the trees and bushes that led the edges of the country lane to the low slung cottage, easily deluding the man’s mind into thinking that things that weren’t there, sneaking in and out of the shadows might be. From inside the cottage, a little glow of light no bigger than the rays from a lira votive candle, tried to sneak a look at the dark figure that had just walked in through the open door. Come in holy one. cackled the old crone of a woman with the white mat of dirty hair. Aunt Agrippina, may God’s blessings be upon you and your home. Nephew Antonius, blessings I can do without for I will only need them when I’m gone, I have need of money. The message was as succinct as a threat—as blatant as