What's to become of me after this? Gian Maria asked himself in desolation when, late that night, he returned to the hotel with Miranda and Picot.
Carlo Cipriani got into the taxi. He was tired, bone-weary, actually, despite the fact that the flight from Barcelona had taken only two hours.
It had been hard for him to say good-bye to Mercedes, Hans, and Bruno. They had tried so hard to convince him that the bonds that joined them were stronger than life or death. They were right—except for his children, he loved no one as much as he loved his three friends. He would sacrifice anything for them, but he thought the time had come to finally find some peace in his life, and he could do that only by distancing himself from them.
He had no reproach for Mercedes, nor had Bruno and Hans. She hadn't told them what she'd done—there was no reason to; they'd known the minute they saw her. She looked wonderful, transformed, radiant, and she told them that for the first time in her life she'd been sleeping like a baby. Hans couldn't bear to tell her how he felt about what she'd done, and Bruno simply wept.
Now, back in Rome, Carlo told himself that he had to make a new start on what remained of his life. He told the taxi to take him to St. Peter's Square, in the Vatican.
When he entered the basilica, the shadowy quietness of the space brought him calm.
Inspector Garcia was entering St. Peter's Square at the same time, on his way to the basilica to find Gian Maria. He'd convinced his superiors to let him follow a hunch and go to Rome, to talk to the young priest one more time.
Once inside the cathedral, the inspector hesitated, scanning the immense space. He paid no attention to the old man making his way to one of the confessionals.
As Carlo Cipriani closed the curtain behind him and knelt, he could see how the young priest had aged—his once-serene face was clouded with bitterness, and his eyes had changed.
"Mi benedica, Padre, perche ho peccato."
"What is your sin, my son?"
"I am responsible for the murder of two people. May God forgive me, and may my son forgive me also!" "Do you repent of these sins?" "Yes, Father."
"Then may God forgive you, and may God forgive me for not forgiving you."
Inspector Garcia saw the old man emerge from the confessional, his eyes filled with tears. It looked like he was having trouble breathing, and he seemed about to faint.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine—thank you," said Cipriani, walking away and not looking back.
Gian Maria came out of the confessional. He looked unsurprised to see the inspector and moved forward to shake his hand.
"I'm sorry to have come all this way to bother you, Father, but I'd like to talk to you again. You don't have to if you don't want to . . . ," the inspector said to him.
Gian Maria looked at Inspector Garcia without answering. Then, as he began to walk alongside him, he saw his father fall to his knees before Michelangelo's "Pieta" and hide his face in his hands. He felt a wave of pity for the old man, and for himself.
The skies were gray in Rome that day, and rain was falling over all the living and the dead.
about the author
JULIA NAVARRO is a Madrid-based journalist and political analyst for Agencia OTR/Europa Press, and a correspondent for other prominent Spanish radio and television networks and print media; she also writes a weekly column for Tiempo magazine and is the author of several non-fiction books on contemporary political affairs. Bantam Dell published the English translation of her first novel, the international bestseller The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud, in 2006. Her latest historical thriller, The Blood of the Innocents, is currently topping bestseller lists in Europe.
ANDREW HURLEY is best known for his translation of Jorge Luis Borges's Collected Fictions and Reinaldo Arenas's "Pentagony" novels, among many other translated works of literature, criticism, history, and memoir. He lives and works in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
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