down.
Sister Angela must have been wrong. This
one contained the same verifications. She turned over the first, attesting the
confirmation of Bernardo Reni when he was fourteen. The second was a certificate
of baptism for Bernardo at about one year. The third should have been an
official birth certificate, but it looked different. There were lines naming
the parents that read, “Giuseppe and Valeria Reni,” and Bernardo’s name was on
the sheet too, but it was not like the others. It had no official seal or
hospital name.
“How odd,” she murmured. Sister Daniela
quickly stuffed it into her pocket and walked to the file room where she
hesitated. Removing the certificate from the basement was stealing.
She slipped it out of her pocket and
looked at it again. If she put it back into the envelope, it might disappear. The
stove—n o one would use it to heat the basement this time of year .
At first, she considered placing the
paper inside it. She slid the heavy burner lid to one side and peered in. A
mound of residue still littered the base—blackened branches sticking out of a
heap of ashes. Under that, there were clumps of paper and cloth. Worried
someone might come and clean it out, she replaced the cover. Then she removed
the wad of gum she had nursed for the last few hours and stuck the paper to the
back of the stove. Nobody would find it. Someone would have to know it was
there to see it.
Relieved that she would be outside in
clean air in minutes, she quickly filed the other envelopes and dusted herself
off before starting to climb the stairs. Father Domenic stood at the top, his
dark figure looming in the doorway. Sister Angela had not shared her fears
about his guilt, but the novice had a strange feeling when she looked up at
him. Though shadows hid his face, she noticed dark circles under his eyes.
“Did you find anything?” he asked, his
voice echoing off the closed walls of the staircase.
“Uh, yes. I mean no,” she stammered,
examining the high windows along the wall of the basement and wondering if she
could escape through one of them. “I found the records on the boy, and they
looked normal, so I replaced them. I’ll tell that to Sister Angela.”
The figure descended a few steps, his
black robe swishing over his highly polished shoes. Then he stopped. “I really should
come down here and clean up. Perhaps the cross will turn up.”
Sister Daniela stood at the bottom
unable to lift a foot. “I-I can search for you, but not today. I have to get
back to my classes now.”
The priest finally turned and climbed to
the top, disappearing into the sacristy. Ten minutes later, Sister Daniela
heard a door close. Grabbing her notes, she scampered up the stairs and out the
door into the garden. The gate was open, and she quickly slipped through into
the alleyway. When she got to the busy main street, she finally took a deep
breath.
Six
When Sister Angela arrived, Dr. Piombo
sat behind his desk, a napkin tucked in under his chin. Breadcrumbs littered
the desktop along with a bowl of steaming pasta. He blew on it. A small glass
of wine stood next to a lighted candle. Rankled by the interruption, he glanced
at his watch. It was two o’clock.
“Excuse me, Sister Angela. It’s late,
and I’m very hungry. Can you come back later?”
“More food is what you don’t need,
Andreus. If you walked at lunchtime instead of eating, you would feel much better.”
“I had to work through lunch. Sometimes
the bodies don’t tell me everything that I want them too,” he said. “I take it
you are here to find out more about the young man we brought down yesterday.”
“Yes, Andreus, please, but I can wait
until you are finished,” she said, sitting down across from him. “And your wife—is
she well?”
Piombo’s eyes began to water. He had
taken a bite too soon—no doubt the nun broke his concentration. Sister Angela
spun toward the corner and drew water from the cooler.”
“Lena’s well,” he
Sister Angela must have been wrong. This
one contained the same verifications. She turned over the first, attesting the
confirmation of Bernardo Reni when he was fourteen. The second was a certificate
of baptism for Bernardo at about one year. The third should have been an
official birth certificate, but it looked different. There were lines naming
the parents that read, “Giuseppe and Valeria Reni,” and Bernardo’s name was on
the sheet too, but it was not like the others. It had no official seal or
hospital name.
“How odd,” she murmured. Sister Daniela
quickly stuffed it into her pocket and walked to the file room where she
hesitated. Removing the certificate from the basement was stealing.
She slipped it out of her pocket and
looked at it again. If she put it back into the envelope, it might disappear. The
stove—n o one would use it to heat the basement this time of year .
At first, she considered placing the
paper inside it. She slid the heavy burner lid to one side and peered in. A
mound of residue still littered the base—blackened branches sticking out of a
heap of ashes. Under that, there were clumps of paper and cloth. Worried
someone might come and clean it out, she replaced the cover. Then she removed
the wad of gum she had nursed for the last few hours and stuck the paper to the
back of the stove. Nobody would find it. Someone would have to know it was
there to see it.
Relieved that she would be outside in
clean air in minutes, she quickly filed the other envelopes and dusted herself
off before starting to climb the stairs. Father Domenic stood at the top, his
dark figure looming in the doorway. Sister Angela had not shared her fears
about his guilt, but the novice had a strange feeling when she looked up at
him. Though shadows hid his face, she noticed dark circles under his eyes.
“Did you find anything?” he asked, his
voice echoing off the closed walls of the staircase.
“Uh, yes. I mean no,” she stammered,
examining the high windows along the wall of the basement and wondering if she
could escape through one of them. “I found the records on the boy, and they
looked normal, so I replaced them. I’ll tell that to Sister Angela.”
The figure descended a few steps, his
black robe swishing over his highly polished shoes. Then he stopped. “I really should
come down here and clean up. Perhaps the cross will turn up.”
Sister Daniela stood at the bottom
unable to lift a foot. “I-I can search for you, but not today. I have to get
back to my classes now.”
The priest finally turned and climbed to
the top, disappearing into the sacristy. Ten minutes later, Sister Daniela
heard a door close. Grabbing her notes, she scampered up the stairs and out the
door into the garden. The gate was open, and she quickly slipped through into
the alleyway. When she got to the busy main street, she finally took a deep
breath.
Six
When Sister Angela arrived, Dr. Piombo
sat behind his desk, a napkin tucked in under his chin. Breadcrumbs littered
the desktop along with a bowl of steaming pasta. He blew on it. A small glass
of wine stood next to a lighted candle. Rankled by the interruption, he glanced
at his watch. It was two o’clock.
“Excuse me, Sister Angela. It’s late,
and I’m very hungry. Can you come back later?”
“More food is what you don’t need,
Andreus. If you walked at lunchtime instead of eating, you would feel much better.”
“I had to work through lunch. Sometimes
the bodies don’t tell me everything that I want them too,” he said. “I take it
you are here to find out more about the young man we brought down yesterday.”
“Yes, Andreus, please, but I can wait
until you are finished,” she said, sitting down across from him. “And your wife—is
she well?”
Piombo’s eyes began to water. He had
taken a bite too soon—no doubt the nun broke his concentration. Sister Angela
spun toward the corner and drew water from the cooler.”
“Lena’s well,” he
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