“I don’t know. All I remember is getting hit. Do me a favor, please, and call Lola to say I won’t be coming in. Say I’ve got a cold or something.”
Caridad didn’t seem too convinced. “All right. Whatever you say.”
There was a buzz at the front door. She went out. He saw a bottle of painkillers on the bedside table and choked one down without water. She came back to say his uncle was in the living room.
“Should I tell him to come in?”
“No. I’ll go out to him.”
She helped him into his gray cashmere bathrobe and walked him out to the living room. He felt a little dizziness and a lot of pain. In contrast, his uncle was calm and perfectly turned out in his usual clerical collar and black attire. The man was tall and good-looking with a healthy complexion. His familiar amiable smile was gone. He frowned in concern and opened his arms for an embrace, but Elías was barely able to manage a wobbly handshake. Elías painfully maneuvered himself onto the sofa and let Caridad bolster him with cushions to keep him upright. His uncle took his favorite spot in the winged armchair next to the window.
Elías asked Caridad to give them some privacy. She hesitated but was no match for the bishop’s inquisitorial gaze.
“Thank you, daughter,” his uncle said with oily politeness.
She closed the door behind her, obviously annoyed at being kept in the dark.
This was the meeting Elías had been waiting for, the opportunity to clear things up. He hadn’t expected it to take place under these circumstances.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m in one piece, or at least I think so.” He smiled weakly and the bishop nodded. “Would you like a drink?”
“No. Your mother told me what happened. Did you go to the hospital?” Elías shook his head. “Then you must.” There was an agitation behind his uncle’s calm. “You know, don’t you, that blows to the head can cause blood clots? There’s a high risk of stroke if they’re not treated in time.”
“I know, Uncle. Don’t worry.”
“I am worrying.” His uncle rose. “How can I not? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Sit down, Uncle. I’m okay for now. But something worse could still happen. Isn’t that right?”
“You feel like talking?” He took his armchair again. “Good, then, let’s be frank. Tell me what you want to know.”
The sunshine pouring through the picture window provided welcome warmth in midwinter. The Roman amphitheater was open to the public now. He heard the distant murmurs of tourists.
Elías stared at his uncle. The painkiller hadn’t yet kicked in, and his head hurt more than any other part of his body. He wasn’t about to beat around the bush.
“What’s your business with Midas?”
“The ways of the Lord are mysterious.”
Elías waited.
“Christ’s message is the most glorious ever delivered, a message of love, tolerance, and respect. Isn’t it worth the struggle to defend it? We are the ones who must preserve that message and see that it reaches the entire world so all mankind can be sustained by it. We have a great responsibility. I assure you this is an undertaking beyond reproach. Sometimes we’re forced to make decisions not to our liking.”
“I don’t think anyone’s forcing you.”
“Elías, our sacred duty forces us. Excuse the analogy, but think of the Church as a pesticide factory. We handle hazardous materials, chemicals that burn you if you touch them—substances that over the long term may even poison those who handle them with full protective equipment. But those same products stop plagues of locusts. They save crops. The people reap the fruits of the harvest and feed themselves.”
“And so, you have no choice but to deal with poisonous chemicals. Even though they sometimes kill people?”
“Wouldn’t many more perish if the harvest failed?”
“There are other options. How can one defend a Gospel of love with the instruments of the devil?” Elías lifted his uninjured left hand to point to the bandages that swathed his head. He hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, but he knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw.
“My house shall be called the house of prayer for all the nations,” his uncle said. “But you have made of it a den of thieves.”
“Isaiah, chapter 56, verse 7.”
“No. Matthew, chapter 21, verse 13. Jesus took a handful of cords as a whip and drove the merchants from the temple. Do you think they could have been persuaded otherwise? Impossible. At times, violence is a necessary evil, but only those sufficiently pure of spirit can use it. Evil seeks to drag you down to its level. In Herod’s Temple, Jesus showed us how to combat evil, and who are we to question his teachings? Only those of egregious pride would dare.” Elías raised an eyebrow at the rebuke. “We are merely God’s instruments. As such, we follow His plan and strive to spread His word. We err sometimes, for we are only human. We must then repent, seek pardon, and pray for the strength and inspiration needed to continue on the path of righteousness.”
The bishop paused as if expecting a reply. Elías tried to ignore his pain as he reflected on his uncle’s comments. He understood the argument but rejected it. No man could deem himself “sufficiently pure of spirit” to employ evil in pursuit of the Church’s objectives. If his uncle was expecting him to apologize for questioning, for disobeying, he’d have to wait a long, long time.
“The end does not justify the means.”
“Aha, philosophy’s eternal question.” His uncle chuckled. “Tell me: Would you kill a person if, by that act, you could save thousands of lives?”
He felt too sluggish to debate his uncle. “Maybe.”
“If so, you would be in error. The hand of man does not have the power to give life or end it. In fact, a single life is of no importance, and neither are thousands of lives. The only truth, the only justification, is the Word of the Lord. We are here to evangelize and for no other purpose. A great many have died for the sake of the Word; for it, all the saints suffered their martyrdoms. We must be ready to die and even to kill to reach as many souls as possible.”
“What about the fifth commandment?”
“I can’t believe you’re that naïve, Elías. Laws are made to control the common people and keep them in check. They’re not for the rulers. Rulers must be above the law in order to protect our flock from the wicked.”
“I disagree.”
“I know, and that distresses me. When one employs the instruments of evil, they must be kept under control, and that requires meticulous planning. Do you understand?”
Elías’s head ached, and he felt like throwing up. “No.”
“If you go outside the lines, evil is going to be there, waiting. I can’t help you. Do I make myself clear?” Elías nodded. “Obey me, or I can’t protect you.”
That threat hurt far worse than the beating.
“I hear you loud and clear.” Now he was both in pain and completely bewildered. “What happened with the Lignum Crucis?”
“We have it in hand. Thanks to you, of course.”
“Did Don Anselmo have it?”
“Bull’s-eye. You always were a very smart boy.”
Elías was afraid to ask the next question. “And Don Anselmo, is he okay?”
“Don Anselmo was very elderly, and his heart—”
“Was? What happened?”
“I called on him this morning. At first, he denied everything and insisted the Carmelites had the cross. I told him we’d searched the convent and that the cross was nowhere to be found.”
“And the reliquary?”
“We didn’t locate the reliquary, but that doesn’t matter.”
Elías said nothing. Had Midas kept it for himself?
“The Blessed Tree was what mattered. After some very frank exchanges, we were obliged to search his residence. And he had it—can you believe it?—hidden in his bed frame. He’d commissioned a cabinetmaker to make a special headboard with a glass compartment f
or the cross.”
“The cross was protecting him.”
“That’s what he thought. Mere ravings of senile old man. Faith moves mountains, my son, but that same faith killed him.”
“He died?”
“When we removed the cross from its hiding place, the poor man had a fit and gave himself a heart attack. He collapsed on the spot.” His uncle paused theatrically. “Despite his transgressions, he’ll be buried with a ceremony befitting his long service to the Church.”
“And the Carmelite sisters? Are they okay?”
“Of course they are. Midas’s agents questioned the nuns, that’s all. The women knew nothing, so the men left.”
“I was there,” Elías shot back. “I heard the screaming.”
“Nonsense!” the bishop declared. “Unlike some people, those men know how to obey. They spoke to the nuns, the nuns knew nothing, the men left. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” His scowl turned to a beatific grin. “All that matters is that we’ve recovered the cross and it’s finally going back where it belongs. We’ll present it during the pope’s visit, and the miracle will take on new life. You must see how vital this is. Such a miracle will allow us to save thousands of souls worldwide, especially here in Europe where, as you know, more and more are lured away by materialism and consumerism. They give in to their passions, do whatever they want, commit all the mortal sins. The miracle of the cross will call many back to the way of the Truth. We have only a week left.”
A quiet ding announced an incoming message on his uncle’s phone. He glanced at it and frowned.
“My presence is required for the funeral arrangements.” He rose but leaned over Elías and stared deep into his eyes. “I’m counting on you not to forget what I said.” He patted Elías’s cheek and then took his nephew’s face in his hands. “If you disobey me, I won’t be able to protect you.” He kissed his nephew’s brow and left. Elías heard him say good-bye to Caridad in the hall.
Elías sat on the sofa, immersed in despair. God’s message remained cryptic, but his uncle’s couldn’t be clearer.
32
He stayed on the sofa, idly looking through the living room window at tourists wandering through the two-thousand-year-old ruins, cameras in their hands and baseball caps on their heads. Caridad came in after seeing his uncle off.
“Can I take you to the hospital now?”
“Soon,” he answered reluctantly, “but give me some time to rest first.”
His headache was less insistent; perhaps his uncle’s departure had done him good. But he still dreaded the thought of getting dressed and going to the hospital to wait three or four hours for an examination. Caridad shook her head in exasperation but left him alone.
His mind drifted aimlessly and offered him confused images of recent events, the sacred cross, and the anticlerical pseudo-Bacon. He came to two conclusions from the discussion with his uncle: First, that in order to promote his notion of the Gospel, the bishop would stop at nothing, not even murder. Second, that his uncle’s actions and his alliance with Midas were unacceptable. Obeying him was impossible, and Elías refused to drop the investigation.
He struggled up from the sofa and grabbed his wife’s laptop from the coffee table. He sank into an armchair, opened a web browser, and scanned the latest headlines. There was no mention of the death of the bishop emeritus or the attack on the Carmelites. The first probably hadn’t been announced yet, and the second never would be. He shut the computer in frustration.
Delia suddenly charged into the room. He hadn’t heard his sister arrive. He hadn’t even heard the buzzer.
“Wow, sweetie, aren’t you a mess! No doubt now which of us is better looking. Up, now. Get dressed; we’ve got to get you to the hospital. You can tell me all about it on the way there.”
Elías didn’t move. He just stared at her. Then he said, “Okay, but then you’ll have to do something for me.”
He made his way to the bathroom. While the shower warmed up, he ventured to the mirror. One black eye, very swollen, completely bloodshot, but he could open it, and his vision was unimpaired. Dark bruises marred his forehead, cheeks, and upper lip. At least they hadn’t broken his nose. He took off his robe and pajamas. The mirror steamed over. It was very painful to breathe and move, but he didn’t think anything important was broken. Maybe just a rib or two. It could have been far worse.
He’d have to be more careful from now on.
After a short shower, he pulled on jeans and a blue plaid shirt that he didn’t try to tuck in. He located his smashed cell phone, extracted the SIM card, and inserted it in an old iPhone he kept as a backup. Fortunately, it still had all his apps. He shuffled into green sneakers with red stripes on them. He collected his spotless trench coat and faithful fedora from the hooks in the hallway. Caridad must have already had them cleaned. His wife made no move to accompany them, which seemed strange, but he gave her a farewell kiss anyway. He put on sunglasses, and then brother and sister emerged onto the street.
Delia’s ten-year-old white sedan was double parked at the bottom of the hill. Elías climbed in gingerly, groaning as he moved.
“You’re even more of a wreck than I realized,” Delia observed cheerfully.
Elías smiled back. “How so?”
“Your shirt is untucked and it clashes with your sneakers. Not exactly your style.” She roared through the narrow downtown streets.
“Maybe I’m getting fed up with style.”
His sister raised an eyebrow. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”
Elías glanced out at the building that sheltered the only remains of the Punic Wall. Whenever he passed it, he imagined Hannibal and his elephants parading through the city gates on their way to the catastrophic defeat of his campaign against Rome.
“Seems I stuck my nose in something I shouldn’t have.”
“Are you going to the police?”
“Not worth it. I don’t know who they were.”
“Okay, it’s your call. I don’t trust the cops much anyway.”
“Did Caridad ask you to come?”
“Of course she did. And so did Mama. They know I’m the only one you’ll listen to. Mama was beside herself when you refused to go to the hospital. Said she couldn’t bear the sight of you looking like that, so she just left.”
“What about your job?”
“Don’t be an idiot. Right now, my kicked puppy of a brother needs me more than the doggies at my clinic.” Elías tried to smile but probably produced something more like a grimace. “Sara can take care of them until I get back. They can always call me if there’s an emergency.”
They reached Santa Lucía Hospital, just outside the city. He was surprised to be called to the X-ray station almost immediately. Delia ignored four calls from Caridad in the half hour before the attending physician appeared. He was a tall man with a jutting Neanderthal jaw. The doctor said, amazingly, nothing was broken and there were no signs of clots or internal bleeding. He offered to admit Elías for observation, but they declined. They left.
His sister took her place behind the wheel again. “Call Caridad, okay? Your wife’s a pain in the ass.”
Elías obeyed. “Yes, dear, we’re still waiting. There’s a crowd here. No, don’t worry, I’m fine. This is going to take a long time, so I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”
His sister looked over with a broad grin. “Where to?”
“Head for La Unión.”
“Aye, aye, captain!”
At the roundabout, she took the turnoff toward the mining village.
“You going to tell me what happened?”
Elías couldn’t tell her what the bishop was mixed up in, but she’d know instantly if he tried to lie. So he replied with a question of his own.
“What’s your honest opinion of our uncle?”
She turned to him in astonishment. “Uncle beat you up?”
“Of course not!” Elías saw a curve coming up. “Delia, eyes on
the road. I barely survived a beating, and now you’re going to kill me in a car crash.”
“Sorry.”
“So, tell me: What do you really think of him?”
“You know what I think. He’s a bore, always yammering away at Mama. I think he’s a bit sweet on her, and she doesn’t object.”
“He’s been like a father to us,” Elías said tentatively.
“A father to you is what you mean.” They drove past abandoned industrial sites that were typical of the mining region. Everything was in tones of gray and red, uninhabited and strewn with rock like some Martian landscape. “You’ve always been his favorite, his shining star. Before you turned out to be a big stinking disappointment.”
“I didn’t do anything to disappoint Uncle!”
“Of course you did. Don’t be a fool. You didn’t go to seminary.” She laughed scornfully. “Anyway, no way you were going to get a priest’s collar, you little porn fiend.”
“Hey! I had one or two sex magazines. Like any other teenager.”
“Eight or ten, you mean.”
“So what? I didn’t go to seminary because I didn’t hear the call. Other things interested me more.”
“Sex, for one.” His sister saw his disgusted expression and hooted with laughter. “C’mon, I’m just teasing! Don’t get mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Anyway, at least you apologized for it.”
“I never did.”
“Sure you did, silly. Mama hauled you off to him for confession.”
“You’re wrong about that. For once, Mama stood up for me. She told Uncle it was my decision whether to go to seminary, and that if I wasn’t convinced—”
“Whoa, I had no idea. A gold star for the old lady.” A moment passed in silence, then Delia said, “Life’s weird. You wiggle out of the hands of the Church and fall into the clutches of that tacky little girl.”
“I know you’ve never liked my wife.”
“Sandra’s the one I liked.”
“Delia, that’s really hurtful, considering how Sandra left me and never told me why.”
“You never got it, did you? Sandra panicked, you moron!”
The Dark Circus Page 18