“Corpo di Cristo.” “Amen.” It occurred to young Padre Antonio, as he distributed communion at first mass, that he really should have washed his hands first. His fingers still felt slightly viscous, turning claggy on the hosts. He swore silently, simultaneously praying forgiveness both for his profanity and for his solitary cockcrow concupiscence. Donna Anna, mantilla-clad and luscious, widowed at thirty, knelt at the alta...

His loins spent, Anna dismissed, Padre Antonio deliberately left his hands unwashed so that, at evening mass, between collect and acclamation, he might furtively enjoy that heavenly-hellish aroma which lingered so powerfully on his lips and fingers: sweet, pungent, rich as treacle. “Corpo di Cristo.” “Amen.” Kneeling to receive, bewimpled Suor Angelica recognised that scent too – similar to her own, yet subtly different,...

“Sangue di Cristo,” intoned Padre Antonio, as full-bodied Suor Dolcina drank deeply from the silver chalice, Precious Blood rich and honeyed on her tongue. “Amen.” A crimson droplet trickled across her lower lip. She savoured it, and saved it, gently touching a plump finger to her mouth. As she shared a kneeler with Angelica, her scarlet digit intruded under the folds of her fellow novice’s habit. And where she touched he...

“Father Antonio!” smirked 16-year-old Giovanni as he arrived for liturgy practice. “Guess what? Those two sisters from the convent – they were touching each other at communion!” The young priest smiled knowingly. “Best not to snitch, Gianni. We have secrets too – remember?” The boy’s eyes dipped. “Sì, Padre…” Wordlessly, mindlessly, he turned to lean over the sacrarium, eyes hollow with anticipated humiliation. He heard t...