putting yourself on the side of those whom you wish to convert had always been rule number one with priests and salesmen.
Chiara Bonardi was no simpleton. She knew that she must proceed with care, particularly during this fateful vigil.
âFather, I have no doubts. I am certain that my father will be going to heaven. With what heâs suffering, he deserves to.â She put her hands back in her pockets, nodded in his direction and walked off.
Salazar stood there staring after her. He hadnât yet decided whether she was putting on an act, or whether she was perfectly sincere. Leaving his coffee untouched, he went up the stairs. The duty nurse was already at her post, the newspaper open in front of her. Salazar opened up his camp-bed and threw on the cover. He checked the monitors in the sisterâs office. He saw the doctor with the goatee emerging from the main corridor, wearing a flashy coat with a fur collar and toying with a ridiculous hat resembling a busby, which he clearly could not quite bring himself to put on.
I am beginning to be intrigued by these euthanasiasts and all their works. Here we have another example of science taking a wrong turn. Science had hoped to make man live for ever, but in fact all it does is make him die more slowly. Things were better when we knew less, when diseases were incurable, when heart attacks and tumours felled us at a blow. Death is easier when it is unforeseen. The world lived in peace until it rediscovered Greek thought and, with it, the mania for experiment. To experiment means ceasing to put oneâs trust in the created world, but wanting to take it apart. This is another of the manias that science brings in its wake. Now our task must be to bury knowledge. To forget it. To cut off connections between scientists, to spread error, to lead people down the wrong track. In Rome, no one is aware of the awesome battle we are fighting outside the Catholic world. Two years ago in London a scientist at Imperial College killed himself. The news went unreported in the Italian press. Neil Corrigan was doing research into mirror neurons. His work had reached a point where he could prove that men and animals have very much in common in terms of feelings. He was in a position to prove that all earthly life is moved by an invisible empathy, and this is tantamount to pantheism. They ordered us to kill him. We did more than they could have hoped: we falsified his calculations, making him appear a charlatan in the eyes of the scientific community. So, out of sheer desperation, he did the job for us, and killed himself, throwing his research into total discredit as he did so. Our fight, therefore, must be to demolish science. In Africa, we intercept anti-AIDS vaccines and replace them with ampoules containing water. The illness is spreading, and man is losing faith in science; he is beginning to understand that God is the stronger of the two. In the Indian sub-continent we sterilise the seed provided by international food aid and reduce millions to starvation, so that they will emigrate to the West and become easy prey. Such are the battles we are waging.
Salazar put down his pen for a moment. He took the postcard of Veere from his exercise-book and turned it over in his hands, wondering how Guntur was getting on. He had tried to ring him from a public call box the previous day and left a message on the answerphone, but there had been no reply. He turned the page and carried on.
Today I began to tail the woman with the blue handkerchief. I know sheâs hiding something, but I donât yet know what. In the albums I found in her flat, some photographs had been recently added; old photographs, but printed just a few weeks ago. You donât start reorganising your family albums when your father is dying in hospital. Perhaps itâs just that sheâs a rebel, someone who wants to make a show of defiance; out of spite, perhaps, or maybe just on impulse. At all events,
Chiara Bonardi was no simpleton. She knew that she must proceed with care, particularly during this fateful vigil.
âFather, I have no doubts. I am certain that my father will be going to heaven. With what heâs suffering, he deserves to.â She put her hands back in her pockets, nodded in his direction and walked off.
Salazar stood there staring after her. He hadnât yet decided whether she was putting on an act, or whether she was perfectly sincere. Leaving his coffee untouched, he went up the stairs. The duty nurse was already at her post, the newspaper open in front of her. Salazar opened up his camp-bed and threw on the cover. He checked the monitors in the sisterâs office. He saw the doctor with the goatee emerging from the main corridor, wearing a flashy coat with a fur collar and toying with a ridiculous hat resembling a busby, which he clearly could not quite bring himself to put on.
I am beginning to be intrigued by these euthanasiasts and all their works. Here we have another example of science taking a wrong turn. Science had hoped to make man live for ever, but in fact all it does is make him die more slowly. Things were better when we knew less, when diseases were incurable, when heart attacks and tumours felled us at a blow. Death is easier when it is unforeseen. The world lived in peace until it rediscovered Greek thought and, with it, the mania for experiment. To experiment means ceasing to put oneâs trust in the created world, but wanting to take it apart. This is another of the manias that science brings in its wake. Now our task must be to bury knowledge. To forget it. To cut off connections between scientists, to spread error, to lead people down the wrong track. In Rome, no one is aware of the awesome battle we are fighting outside the Catholic world. Two years ago in London a scientist at Imperial College killed himself. The news went unreported in the Italian press. Neil Corrigan was doing research into mirror neurons. His work had reached a point where he could prove that men and animals have very much in common in terms of feelings. He was in a position to prove that all earthly life is moved by an invisible empathy, and this is tantamount to pantheism. They ordered us to kill him. We did more than they could have hoped: we falsified his calculations, making him appear a charlatan in the eyes of the scientific community. So, out of sheer desperation, he did the job for us, and killed himself, throwing his research into total discredit as he did so. Our fight, therefore, must be to demolish science. In Africa, we intercept anti-AIDS vaccines and replace them with ampoules containing water. The illness is spreading, and man is losing faith in science; he is beginning to understand that God is the stronger of the two. In the Indian sub-continent we sterilise the seed provided by international food aid and reduce millions to starvation, so that they will emigrate to the West and become easy prey. Such are the battles we are waging.
Salazar put down his pen for a moment. He took the postcard of Veere from his exercise-book and turned it over in his hands, wondering how Guntur was getting on. He had tried to ring him from a public call box the previous day and left a message on the answerphone, but there had been no reply. He turned the page and carried on.
Today I began to tail the woman with the blue handkerchief. I know sheâs hiding something, but I donât yet know what. In the albums I found in her flat, some photographs had been recently added; old photographs, but printed just a few weeks ago. You donât start reorganising your family albums when your father is dying in hospital. Perhaps itâs just that sheâs a rebel, someone who wants to make a show of defiance; out of spite, perhaps, or maybe just on impulse. At all events,
Similar Books
