She arrived at the imposing iron gates that led to the mansion, and she waited. A few seconds later they opened. She drove up to the door and got out of the car.
Umberto D’Alaqua was waiting for her.
“Sofia…”
He led her into his office. He sat behind the desk, maintaining his distance, or perhaps protecting himself from this woman with a limp and a face crisscrossed with scars, a woman whose blue eyes were harder than the last time he’d seen them. Even so, she was still beautiful; now, though, it was a tragic beauty.
“I guess you know that I sent the administration a report on the shroud case,” she said, staring at him. “A report in which I state that there exists a secret organization made up of powerful men who believe they stand above other men, governments, society itself, and I ask that their identities be revealed and that they be investigated. But you already know that none of that will ever happen, that no one will investigate you, that you will be able to keep doing what you do from the shadows.”
D’Alaqua didn’t answer, although he seemed to nod, ever so slightly.
“I know that you are a master of the Temple, that you see your mission as spiritual, and that you have made vows of chastity. Of poverty? No, from what I can see, not poverty. As for the Commandments, I know that you keep the ones that are convenient for you, and those that aren’t…It’s strange—I’ve always been impressed by certain men of the Church, and you in some way are one of them. Some of them think they can lie, steal, kill, but that those are all venial sins in comparison with the great mortal sin of…fornicating? If I use that word, it doesn’t wound your sensibilities, right?”
“I would have come to you in the hospital, but I didn’t think you would want to see me,” he broke in. “I’m sorry for what has happened to you and Signor Valoni and for the loss of your friend Minerva and of your…of Pietro….”
“And what about the death of Ana Jiménez, buried alive? Are you sorry about that? Oh, God, I hope those deaths plague your conscience, that you never have another moment of rest. I know I can’t do anything about you or your organization. I’ve just been told that, and they tried to buy me off by offering me the directorship of the Art Crimes Department. How little you people know human beings!”
“What do you want me to do? Tell me….”
“What can you do? Nothing—there’s absolutely nothing you can do, because you can’t raise the dead, can you? So maybe you can tell me whether I’m still on the list of the people to be disappeared by your organization, whether I’m going to have another of these lamentable traffic accidents, or maybe the elevator in my apartment building will fall. I’d like to know, so I can be sure no one will die with me next time, like Minerva did.”
“Nothing will happen to you, I give my word.”
“And you, what will you do? Go on as though what happened was just an accident, a ‘necessary’ accident?”
“If you must know, I am retiring. I am transferring power of attorney over my corporations to others, arranging my affairs so that the businesses can go on functioning without me.”
Sofia felt a shiver. She loved and loathed this man at the same time, in equal parts.
“Does that mean you’re leaving the Temple? Impossible—you’re a master, one of the seven men who govern the Temple. You know too much, and men like you don’t just walk away.”
“I am not walking away. I have nothing and no one to walk away from. I am simply answering your question. I have decided to retire, dedicate myself to study, to helping society in other ways, different from the ways I am helping now.”
“And your celibacy?”
Once more, D’Alaqua said nothing. He knew that she was devastated, wounded deep inside, and that he had nothing to offer her. He didn’t know whether he would be able to go any further, finish rooting up what had for so long been the essence of his life.
“Sofia, I have been hurt too. There are wounds, painful wounds, that you can’t see, but they are there. I swear that I am sorry for everything that has happened—what you have suffered, the loss of your friends, the disgrace that looms over you now. If it had been in my hands to prevent, I would have, but I am not the master of circumstances, and we human beings have free will. We all decide what we want to do in the play we live in—all of us, including Ana.”
“No, that’s not true. She didn’t decide to die. She didn’t want to die, and neither did Minerva or Pietro or the carabinieri or the men from the community, or even your own men, those friends of Padre Yves, or those others that nothing has been said about but who also died in the shoot-out, while others escaped. Who were your soldiers? The Temple’s secret army? No—it’s all right, I know you’re not going to answer that; you can’t, or, rather, you refuse to. You will be a Templar as long as you live, even though you say you’re retiring.”
“And what will you do?”
“Are you interested?”
“Yes, you know I’m interested. I want to know what you will be doing, where you will be, where I can find you.”
“I know you did come to the hospital and stayed to watch over me a few nights.”
“Answer me. What will you do?”
“Lisa, Mary Stuart’s sister, found a place for me at the university. I’ll be teaching, starting in September.” She smiled thinly. “I’m planning to offer a course on the history, provenance, and cultural impact of certain esoteric artistic and religious objects, among other subjects.”
“I’m glad,” he said after a moment.
“Why?”
“Because I know you’ll like it and be good at it.”
They looked at each other for a long time, neither saying a word. There was nothing more to say. Sofia rose from her chair, and Umberto D’Alaqua accompanied her to the door. He took her hand in his and kissed it, holding it for a few seconds before he finally let it go.
She limped down the steps without looking back, but she felt D’Alaqua’s eyes on her and knew that no one has any power over the past, that the past cannot be changed, that the present is a reflection of what we were, and that there is only a future if you never take a single step back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JULIA NAVARRO is a well-known Madrid-based journalist and political analyst for Agencia OTR/Europa Press, as well as a correspondent for other prominent Spanish radio and television networks and print media. The English translation of her second novel, The Bible of Clay, will be published in 2008.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
ANDREW HURLEY is best known for his translation of Jorge Luis Borges’s Collected Fictions and Reinaldo Arenas’s Pentagonia novels, among many other translated works of literature, criticism, history, and memoir. He lives and works in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE HOLY SHROUD
A Bantam Book / January 2007
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Translation copyright © 2006 by Random House, Inc.
Originally published as La Hermandad de la Sábana Santa.
© 2004 Julia Navarro
© 2004 Random House Mondadori, S.A.
Travessera de Gràcia, 47-49, 08021 Barcelona
The Cavafy poem at chapter 30 is from C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems.
© 1972 Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard.
Reprinted by permission of Princeton University Press.
Title page photograph by Virginia Norey
Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Navarro, Julia, 1953–
[Hermandad
de la Sábana Santa. English]
The brotherhood of the Holy Shroud / Julia Navarro ; translated from the Spanish by Andrew Hurley.
p. cm.
1. Holy Shroud—Fiction. I. Hurley, Andrew. II. Title.
PQ6664.A8932H4713 2007
863'.7—dc22
2006027934
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-553-90335-5
v3.0
Julia Navarro, The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud
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