David Ashe
2563 1st Ave. South, St. Petersburg, FL 34237
Boy in a Basilica
He leaned back, his feet firmly planted against the flagstones, his arms fully extended in front of
him. The thick brass was cold beneath his small fingers, but he kept a firm grip. Slowly, the great
wooden door swung outward, the emotionless figures carved in relief seeming to step forward. With a
gulp, Riley ducked under an arm holding a large book. Three quick steps later, he was in the warmth and
safety of the old church.
Behind him, the door closed with a muffled boom. Riley cringed at the sound, ducking into the
last row of wooden pews. His heart thudding in his chest seemed to echo in the dark room. There was
no one to hear it, however. The rows and rows of pews were all empty. The great chair beside the pulpit
had no one to fill it. The space behind the altar was blank.
The young boy kept his head down until his breathing subsided. He waited a moment longer,
straining with every muscle to be still and listen. When nothing seemed to be moving, he peeked over
the seatback in front of him. He craned his head backward to show nothing but the tip of his nose and
the tip of his forehead and his two small brown eyes. The coast seemed to be clear, so he stood up a
little. Still nothing. Just to be sure, he clambered onto the top of the seatback, using the wall to stabilize.
He was the only one in the room.
Stifling a giggle, Riley climbed down and began tracing the lines in the wooden pews. Up and
down the pews he hurried, keeping his finger planted on the wood, as though he were in a race. Now
and then, he would look up at that imaginary boy on the other side of the aisle. That boy was bigger,
with thicker fingers. He had a harder time running down each pew, so he was a little behind. Riley
laughed a little and went faster.
Then a book caught his eye. Looking up, that other boy was way behind. He was slow and out of
breath. He needed to get more exercise. So Riley could easily stop a second to look at this book. He had
plenty of time. Making sure to keep his finger firmly planted on that thick bole (it was a good pit stop
anyway), Riley picked up the book. It was red and hard-bound with gold letters. They were pretty letters,
but the boy had no idea what they said. Books were a mystery he did not yet know how to discover.
Some of his teachers thought he was slow, but really, nothing held his attention long enough. Who could
care about math when aliens were taking over your class, or when dinosaurs got loose from the
museum and loved to eat little children trapped in desks?
The book and the race already forgotten, Riley began tugging at a string hanging loose from the
carpet. His finger was still planted on the wood of the seatback, though he could not have told you why.
That string was infinitely important. Without it, he could not tie together his pinkie finger and his ring
finger, which would allow him to push the magical two-finger button to stop the doomsday device from
blowing up the world. And so he pulled and twisted that piece of carpet string. His heart raced, and he
could feel the hope of hundreds (he didn’t know any number bigger than one hundred) upon his
struggling hand.
The string wouldn’t come lose, and so the world blew up. Riley threw himself into the central
aisle, just one more dead person among all the others. Sticking out his tongue, he squeezed his eyes
shut and tried not to fidget. He could never pretend to be asleep. Mom always knew, because his hands
or feet would be gently twitching or shaking.
It got boring pretending to be dead. Riley opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling,
wondering what it was like to really be dead. The hardwood rafters leaped upward to meet at a point
above him, and then the central line of the roof moved ever upward, greeting each new pair of rafters.
The boy’s eyes traced that line all the way to their destination at the apex of the basilica. In that space,
the ceiling leapt upward and gently cradled an enormous bell.
Riley stared at that bell so far above him. If he were a ghost, floating up to heaven, he would
ring that bell on his way past. He would ring it and ring it, and everyone in the town would wonder what
was making the bell ring. He couldn’t contain himself, and a small fit of laughter overtook the boy.
Rolling side to side, he determined to ring that bell right then and there.
Sitting up, he looked around to be sure no one else had come in while he was lying in the aisle.
The room was still empty save for himself. The little imp slowly crept on tiptoe down the long row of
carpet. The altar and the steps up to it and the ground on which it was sitting were all of a beautiful pale
rose granite, the color shining out from the depths of the stone. Riley felt as though he were stepping
upon the deepest part of the earth, the biggest rock he had ever stood upon. Now and then, he would
glance up to that bell so far above him. It was the stone below him and in front of him that captured his
attention.
From far away, even from the first row of pews, it was impossible to see. You could see the
lights making the rose blossom and the cream soften and the stars sparkle within the stone, but you
couldn’t see how the stone drank in the light and then shone with its own. You could see the
smoothness of the finish, but you couldn’t see the layers and layers of rough stone trapped inside,
packed inside that polished surface. Pressing his face to the stone, Riley could see it all.
Still he moved upward with practiced silence. Each time his foot or hand would make a noise,
Riley would hold his breath for a moment before moving onward, ever more slowly. He could not take
his eyes off the stone, and he was part of the stone, swimming through it at the speed of creation. He
was moving upward toward the lights on the ceiling by moving downward through the stone.
It was only the goal of the bell that kept him moving up those steps and then up the side of the
altar and up on top of that sacred table, which to him was only sacred by virtue of its beauty. Even in the
stone he could see the dark shadow of the bell, the glistening green-gold bronze amongst the reflected
brown-burgundy wood. Once he had reached the top of the altar, sitting on hands and knees with his
face pressed against the cold granite, there is no telling how long he remained there. For once in his life,
Riley had no idea of the passage of time.
Suddenly, there was movement and the sound of wings coming from the bell! Riley quickly
looked up, rolling backward from his knees to his feet, in case he needed to run away. He couldn’t see
anything except the great bell and the lights and the wooden rafters. The sound had disappeared.
Remembering his original intention, the boy stood up and reached up toward the bell, but it was
too far away. Reaching into his small pockets, he came up with a button and a small marble in his hand.
They would serve his purpose perfectly! He took one in each hand, planted his feet firmly on the altar
and carefully bent his knees downward. With a great push of his knees, Riley threw his body and his
arms upward, releasing both projectiles toward the bell.
The button flew off-path, hitting a rafter, but the marble flew true and struck the inner side of
the bronze gong. It was not very loud, but it was his! That deep tong echoed around the chamber and
through the boy’s body, making him shiver. Then came that fluttering of wings, white wings interposing
themselves between the altar and the light, casting their heavy shadow down upon him. It was an angel,
brought down by the ringing of the bell! Riley dropped his face down upon the altar, huddling in fear of
such an awesome being. Riley crouched there on hands and knees, waiting for some earthshaking
revelation, waiting for some heavenly power to touch him and make him superhuman. But nothing
came.
The fluttering grew louder for a moment and then faded and disappeared. The angel had come
and looked at him and left again. Riley was vaguely disappointed. He had hoped that it might save him
from having to go to school. He peeked upward, but nothing remained but the bell and the lights and
the rafters. Quickly, the boy climbed down from the table and down the steps.
Riley turned one last time, pausing, looking at the light emanating from the altar. He stood for a
moment, forgetting almost everything, his fears and hopes, his joys and sorrows, just feeling at peace,
looking at those deep colors. And then he looked up again, and he saw the bell, and he remembered the
angel, and he turned and fled down the aisle, leaning his whole body against the weight of the door. He
was jubilant, for he had seen an angel bearing the glory of heaven, and it hadn’t seen the need to
change him or give him anything, for he was already perfect. The book-bearer slowly stepped away from
the basilica, and Riley rushed outward away from him and his fellows, rushing home.
Inside, the belfry pigeons roosted in silence, recovering from their fright. They experienced fear
each time the bell rung forth, but soon after, they forgot. Even now, they sit and listen, glad for the
peacefulness of their home.