Читать книгу John the Pupil - David Flusfeder, David Flusfeder - Страница 13

The scribe’s hand shakes, the pages are almost filled. His escape is close at hand. Master Roger is almost merry. His Great Work is nearly made.

And now, he said, we must talk about how we are going to deliver it.

We? I said.

The proscription is absolute against his leaving this friary which is his prison. For a moment my heart had leapt at the thought of accompanying my Master on a journey; but then I took his meaning as being abstract, that he was generously acknowledging my small part in his Work’s manufacture and kindly including me in a conversation about the method of its delivery.

You, he said.

Perhaps he mistook my silence for misapprehension, or fear, or simple stupidity.

You, he repeated. You are the only one I can trust. You will take it to the Pope.

A special mark of favour, an answering heart, or just the fate that the Lord bestows upon us somehow miraculously accords with what I most yearn for.

You will go in three days, he said. The day and the stars are propitious. Ten plus seven.

Numbers of perfection, I said.

You will have companions, Master Roger said.

Companions?

The journey is too difficult for one boy to complete on his own. Do you have friends here? Whom do you trust?

Despite my exhilaration, I was suddenly sad. I felt friendless, alone. Other than Master Roger, whom it would be an awful presumption to claim for a friend, I have no intimates, no ties of true affection. I have lived in this place for seven years and more and established no bonds of love. Maybe the journey will not be the thing of glory I have dreamed of, maybe there will just be the perpetual here and now, we carry with us the stain and the mark. And I was jealous too. This mission is too grand, too enormous to share.

Who are your friends? There will be three of you.

I thought of the dormitory I sleep in, the novices at play. I looked at the faces my recollection brought to mind, the companions I would not tire of, the friends I would like to share my adventures with, and my heart.

Brothers Andrew and Bernard, I said.

It shall be done, he said. And you will proceed with your writing to make a chronicle of your journey.

How he knows of my secret writing, I do not know. I bowed my head.

Yes, I said.

And you will collect these treasures along your way.

He gave me a list of the things I will be seeking. He also gave me a stack of parchment and three pens and a pot of ink for my writing.

But do not tarry. If it is a choice between the speed of your journey and the search for these treasures, stay on your road.

Yes, I said.

The way will be hard. You have so little experience of the world. The Devil extends his power into unlikely places. There are demons who look like men.

Yes, I said.

And women, he said.

Yes, I said.

God will direct you.

Yes.

He saw there was something that I needed to say. He asked me what it was.

My father, I said, who lives in the village. I have not seen him in five years. I would like to take leave of him before I go.

My Master did not say anything. He turned away.

Downstairs, life proceeded as it always does, as if the world had not changed. Vigils, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Nones, Vespers, Compline. The sun rises, sets, rises again. We pray, give thanks, eat, drink, purge, sleep. God is good. The friary walls are cold against the skin.