No amount words can ever do justice to the uniqueness of Fr Marius Zerafa, OP. His wit was renowned and his personality filled rooms with the light and love he so warmly embodied. It is no surprise that he would regularly reply that “If I were any better, I’d be dangerous” when asked how he had been doing.
My “naughty cousin”, as I called him, was courageous and had a great sense of humour. Honest, humble, hard-working and endearingly hard-headed. He was intrinsically kind and an empath by nature, never too busy for anyone who sought his help, without ever expecting anything in return. He’d lovingly introduce me by saying: “This is my favourite cousin.”
A chat with him at the priory or a nearby café was usually followed by a tour of his cell and workshop that housed his works of art and “genuine fakes”, spilling into the adjacent corridor. Visitors were greeted by a sign reading ‘Bless this mess!’. A free spirit with a magnificent soul, those who have crossed paths with him will surely agree.
Others who may not know him will notice that his formidable character bursts through in the very first pages of his yet unpublished book, Memories, which he completed a week before his passing. His numerous achievements, extensive and impressive as they are and were, need not be repeated here.
My earliest memory of him as a little girl is when he helped my father decide on the most appropriate place to hang a large painting at home. Ultimately, it was hung in the only suitable spot available, above a fireplace, with the proviso that we should never light the fire again.
I felt disappointed as I enjoyed roasting chestnuts over the flames and thought it was cheeky of him to order us about. Back then, I would have never imagined that, in the ensuing years, he’d become an integral part of my life – my teacher and mentor and, later, my rock and confidant – whom I loved wholeheartedly.
He was my grandfather’s, Paul Boffa, greatest admirer- Lara Boffa
We chatted a lot and at length. Art, his “Ziju Pawl” and politics were always on the agenda. We got closer when my late father was first taken ill 20 years ago. He was very fond of him and I believe it was then that he decided to take me under his wings. I fondly recall us surface-cleaning antique paintings together, listening to Edith Piaf in the background.
When travelling together, he would always promise me “a VIP tour and the best ice-cream in town”, wherever it was we were headed to. The many friends who travelled with him know that a pair of good walking shoes were essential, as was the stamina to keep up with him.
More recently, his guidance was most important to me. He never stopped thinking – worrying, at times – about everyone: former colleagues of his at St Albert College, his fellow Dominicans, relatives, friends and his students from all around the globe. He would recite St Thomas Aquinas prayers for them daily.
He loved his Zerafa and Boffa families boundlessly and he would quote Dodie Smith’s play, Dear Octopus, if one of us acted up. But his greatest passion was art: local and foreign artists, all the great masters and, above all, Caravaggio. He was the mastermind behind the successful recovery of Caravaggio’s Saint Jerome that had been stolen from St John’s Co-Cathedral in the 1980s. He risked his life, and sanity, and dealt with the threat of being kidnapped in the process, all for the love of art.
Malta is hugely indebted to him.
He was my grandfather’s, Paul Boffa, greatest admirer. I believe that my cousin was the truest ‘Boffa’ of us all. It is by virtue of his admiration and endless loyalty towards his uncle that related historical accounts have been set straight over the decades and that Sir Paul Boffa’s memory lives on.
We managed to celebrate his 93rd birthday over dinner, on October 13. He didn’t want a big party but jokingly declared that he wanted to meet his relatives and friends over a week-long booze-up. Ninety-three and, nonetheless, younger at heart than I am; there was half a century between us. Recently, he tirelessly worked at restoring Deporres Hall and his fraternity’s church in Sliema.
In hospital, he told us that he hoped to be back home by Tuesday, due to his many commitments. He was right, he was back home on Tuesday but it was because we met to sadly bid him our last farewell. There were more projects in the pipeline. “One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star”, he’d quote from Nietzsche, with his contagious grin.
There was a different glint in his eyes in the past few months. “I’ve lived a full life. No regrets.” That is what he told me on the day which was to be his last, his departure to “pastures new”. I will never forget what we said during our last conversations and I will surely keep all the promises I made to him.
As was his wont, he looked me straight in the eye before I left his side, flexed his arm and clenched his fist - shaking it as a sign of his indefatigable strength. “Coraggio,” he loudly asserted. We were hoping against hope that he would return to what he always referred to as his state of “normal abnormality” but our hearts told us otherwise.
“… Lead, Saviour, lead me home in childlike faith,
“Home to my God.
“To rest forever after earthly strife
“In the calm light of everlasting life.’’
With profound love and gratitude to my dearest naughty cousin. The life you painted for yourself was, indeed, a beautiful work of art. Chapeau.