The Last Cato (29 page)

T
rue to his Swiss-German nature, the captain refused to rest a single day, and despite Farag’s and my insistence, he showed up the next afternoon at my lab, his head bandaged, ready to risk his life again. To him there was more to that demented story than hunting down and capturing some relic thieves. Captain Glauser-Röist seemed consumed by the idea of getting the jump on the Staurofilakes and their earthly paradise. Maybe for him those initiation tests represented more than a personal challenge. For me they were only a provocation, like a glove flung at my feet which I chose to pick up.

I awoke on Thursday around noon, recovered from the terrible spiritual and physical wear and tear from the previous week. It felt good to open my eyes and find myself in my own bed in my own room, surrounded by my own things. The eleven or twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep felt marvelous. Despite all the bruises, the muscle spasms in my legs, and my strange new tattoo, I felt at peace and relaxed for the first time in a long time, as if everything were in order.

But this pleasant feeling barely lasted a moment. From my bed, the covers pulled all the way up to my ears, I could still hear the phone ring and I figured the call was for me. But not even when Valeria came in to wake me up did my good mood change. There really was nothing like a good night’s sleep.

It was Farag on the phone. In an uncharacteristically furious voice, he told me that the captain wanted us to meet at the lab after lunch. I insisted the Rock stay in bed for at least a day, but Boswell, angrier than I was, shouted that he’d tried everything. I begged him to calm down and not worry so much about someone who didn’t take his own health seriously. I asked how he was feeling, and in a much calmer and gentler tone he said he had just woken up a couple of hours ago. He said aside from the scar on his arm, still green but less swollen, if he didn’t touch the bump on his head, he was fine. He had rested and eaten a huge breakfast.

So, we decided to meet in my lab at four. In the meantime, I had lunch with my sisters, prayed in our chapel, and called home to see how everyone was doing. I couldn’t believe I had three whole hours all to myself. I needed it to get my feet back on the ground.

Fresh as a rose, a happy smile on my lips, I walked from my house to the Vatican, enjoying the fresh air and the afternoon sun. How little we value things until we lose them! The light on my face infused me with the joy of living. The streets, the noise, the traffic, and the chaos brought me back to my normal daily routine. That’s how the world was, so why complain when anything could be beautiful, depending on your point of view? If you look at things the right way, even dirty asphalt or an oil spot or a piece of paper thrown on the ground can seem beautiful. Especially if you had been sure you’d never see them again.

I ducked into the Al Mio Caffè to get a cappuccino. Being so close to the Swiss Guards’ barracks, it was always packed with young guards talking loudly and laughing raucously. People like me also came and went on their way to work or home. Besides being a very pleasant place, it served a terrific cappuccino.

I finally arrived at the Hypogeum five minutes early. Work was back to normal on the fourth level of the basement, as if the craziness brought on by the Iyasus Codex had been wiped from everyone’s mind. I was surprised when my staff greeted me congenially; some even waved. With a timid, awkward gesture, I responded to everyone, then flew into my lab to hide, asking myself what strange miracle might have caused such a change of attitude. Perhaps they had finally discovered that after all I was human and that my feeling of well-being was contagious.

I was just hanging my coat and purse when Farag and the captain showed up. A lovely bandage covered the captain’s huge blond head, but from under his eyebrows, metallic flashes forecast stormy weather.

“I’m enjoying the beautiful day, Captain,” I warned him as a greeting, “and I don’t feel like seeing gloomy faces.”

“Who’s gloomy?” he answered dryly.

Farag wasn’t in a good mood either. Apparently whatever had happened at the Rock’s house had been apocalyptic. The captain didn’t even take off his jacket or make a move to sit down.

“In fifteen minutes I have an audience with His Holiness and His Eminence Cardinal Sodano. It’s very important, so I will be gone for a couple of hours. In the meantime, I need you to read Dante’s next cornice. When I get back, we’ll finalize our plans.”

Without another word, he disappeared out the door. A heavy silence lingered in the lab. I didn’t know if I should dare ask Farag what had happened.

“You know something, Ottavia?” He was still looking at the door. “Glauser-Röist is coming unhinged.”

“You shouldn’t have insisted he rest. When someone as stubborn as the captain wants to do something, you have to let him do it, even if it kills him.”

“If that were all it was!” He gave me a strange look. “Am I my brother’s keeper? I get it that Kaspar is a grown-up and can do what he likes. It’s just… Look, I don’t know, but this story about the Staurofilakes is driving him crazy. Either he’s trying to win a medal or he wants to prove to himself that he’s Superman or something. Maybe he’s using this adventure the way other people drink—to forget or to selfdestruct.”

“I was thinking the same thing this morning. I mean this afternoon.” I took my glasses out and put them on. “For you and me, this is an adventure we were drawn into voluntarily, out of interest and curiosity. For him it’s something more. He doesn’t give a damn about anything—getting rest, my father’s and brother’s deaths, the fact that you lost your life and your job in Egypt. He has us racing against time as if the theft of one relic was a major catastrophe.”

“I don’t agree. I think he was deeply sorry about your father and brother’s accident and he’s worried about my situation. But he
is
obsessed with the Staurofilakes. The moment he woke up this morning, he called Sodano. They talked for a long time, and during the conversation he had to lie down a couple of times, because he was on the verge of collapsing. He still hadn’t had breakfast when he shut himself away in his office (the one you were poking around in, remember?), opening and closing drawers and files. While I ate and showered, he staggered around the house, shouting in pain, sitting down a moment to recover, then getting up to do more. He hasn’t had breakfast or lunch since the sandwich in the Cloaca.”

“He’s going nuts.”

We grew silent again, as if there were nothing more to say about Glauser-Röist. I’m sure we both were thinking the same thing. Finally I sighed deeply.

“Shall we get to work?” I asked, trying to get his spirits up. “Ascent to the second comice of
Purgatory.
Canto XIII.”

“You could read it out loud,” he proposed, stretching out in an easy chair propping his feet up on the computer box sitting on the floor. “Since I’ve already read it, we can comment on it.”

“Do I have to read it?”

“I can, if you like; but the thing is, I’m comfortable here and I like the view.”

I ignored his flip comments, so I started to recite Dante’s verses.

“Now we are standing on the highest step,
where, for a second time, we saw a ledge
cut in the mount that heals all those who climb…”
*

“Our alter egos, Virgil and Dante, come to a new cornice that was smaller than the previous one. They walk quite a way, looking for some soul to tell them how to keep climbing. Suddenly Dante hears voices saying
‘Vinum non habent,’
†
‘I am Orestes,’
and
‘Love those who do you harm.’”

“What does that mean?” I asked Farag, looking over the pile of boxes.

“They refer to classic examples of loving your fellow man. That is what the protagonists of this circle are suffering from. Keep reading and you’ll see.”

Curiously, Dante asks Virgil the same thing, and the Mantuan answers:

Then my good master said: “The Envious
This circle scouges—that is why the whip
Used here is fashioned from the cords of love.

“The curb must sound the opposite of love:
You will most likely hear it, I should think,
Before the pass of pardon has been reached.

“Now look in front of you, look carefully
And you will see some people over there,
All of them with their backs against the cliff.”

Dante examines the wall and discovers some shadows dressed in shawls the color of stone. He gets closer to them and is terrified at what he sees:

Their cloaks seemed to be made of coarsest cloth,
The nature of the penance they endured,
The sight squeezed bitter tears out of my eyes.
………………

Just as the blind cannot enjoy the sun,
So, to the shades I saw before me here,
The light of Heaven denies its radiance:

The eyelids of these shades had been sewn shut
With iron threads, like falcons newly caught,
Could not stare back.
*

I looked at Farag, who was looking at me with a smile. I shook my head. “I don’t think I can bear this test.”

“Did you have to carry rocks in the first cornice?”

“No.”

“Who says they’re going to stitch wire through your eyelids?”

“But what if they do?”

“Did they harm you when they marked you with the first cross?”

“No,” I admitted again, although I mentioned the small matter of the blow to my head.

“Well, come on, keep reading. Don’t worry so much. Abi-Ruj Iyasus didn’t have holes in his eyelids, did he?”

“No.”

“Did you stop to think that the Staurofilakes had control over us for six hours and that all they did was give us a little tattoo? Has it dawned on you that they know perfectly well who we are and yet they are allowing us to pass the tests? For some reason, they’re not afraid of us. It’s as if they said, ‘Go ahead, come to our earthly paradise, if you can!’ They are very sure of themselves. They even left the clue for our next test in the captain’s jacket. They didn’t have to do that. Actually, if they hadn’t, we’d be wracking our brains right now.”

“Are they daring us?”

“I don’t think so. More like inviting us.” He ran his hand over his beard, which was lighter than his skin. He winced, annoyed. “Are you going to finish reading the second cornice or not?”

“I’m fed up with Dante, the Staurofilakes, and Captain Glauser-Röist! Really! I’m fed up with everything about this!”

“Are you also fed up with…?” he started to ask, following the train of my complaints; but he stopped short, letting out a big belly laugh which almost sounded forced and looked at me sternly. “Ottavia, please keep reading!”

Docily, I lowered my eyes to the book and continued.

Next came a long, tedious segment in which Dante strikes up a conversation with all the souls who tell him about their lives and why they are on this mountain ledge: Sapia dei Salvani, Guido del Duca, Rinier da Calboli… All were terribly envious; other peoples’ bad fortune made them happier than did their own good fortune. Finally, canto XIV ends, and canto XV starts with Dante and Virgil alone again. A very bright light shines in Dante’s eyes, forcing him to cover them with his hand. It’s the guardian angel from the second circle. He erases another
P
on the poet’s forehead and guides them to the foot of the stairs leading to the third cornice. As he does this, the angel recites some strange lyric:
Beati misericordes
and
Conqueror, rejoice…

“And that’s that,” I said.

“Well, so now we have to figure out what
Agios Konstantinos Akanzon
is.”

“We need the captain for that. He knows how to work the computer.”

Farag looked at me surprised. “Isn’t this the Vatican’s Classified Archives?” he asked, glancing around.

“You’re right!” I jumped to my feet. “What are those people out there for?”

I flung the door open and went out, resolved to recruit the first staff member I crossed paths with. Instead, I ran smack dab into the Rock, who was just about to storm into the lab like a bulldozer.

“Captain!”

“Were you going somewhere important, Doctor?”

“Well, really, no. I was going…”

“Well, come back in here, then. I have something important to tell you two.”

I backtracked and sat down again. Farag frowned again in disgust.

“Professor, before you say anything, I want to apologize for my behavior this morning,” the Rock said humbly, sitting down between Farag and me. “I felt pretty bad, and I am an awful patient.”

“I figured that out.”

“When I’m not feeling well, I become unbearable. I’m not used to staying in bed, not even with a 105-degree fever. I’ve been a horrible host and I’m so sorry.”

“Okay, Kaspar, case closed,” concluded Farag, waving a hand that meant that he’d closed that door forever.

“Okay, so,” sighed the Rock, unbuttoning his jacket and getting comfortable, “I’ll just jump right in. I told the pope and the secretary of state everything that happened to us in Syracuse and here in Rome. His Holiness was visibly impressed. Today, in case you don’t recall, is his birthday. His Holiness turns eighty. Despite his many engagements, he made time to receive me. See how important this matter is to the church? Despite the fact that he was very tired and couldn’t express himself clearly and had to speak through His Eminence, he let me know he is satisfied and is going to pray for us every day.”