Confessions by Jaume Cabré Page B

Miquel belongs to my other life. And the Order of Saint Dominic is very far from my thoughts. I’m a new man, different.’ He looked into his eyes, as the father prior had done. ‘What do you want, brother?’
    The man with the noble forehead fell to the ground on his knees and gave thanks to God with a brief, silent prayer. When he crossed himself devoutly, the three monks followed suit respectfully. The man stood up.
    ‘It has taken me years to find you. A Holy Inquisitor ordered your execution for heresy.’
    ‘You are making a mistake.’
    ‘Gentlemen, brothers,’ said one of the monks accompanying him, possibly Friar Mateu, very alarmed. ‘We came to collect the key to Burgal and the monastery’s Sacred Chest and to escort Friar Julià to Gerri.’
    Friar Julià, suddenly remembering it, handed him the Sacred Chest he was still clinging to.
    ‘It won’t be necessary to escort him,’ the man with the noble forehead said curtly. And then, addressing Brother Julià, ‘I’m not making a mistake: it is imperative that you know who has condemned you.’
    ‘My name is Julià de Sau and, as you can see, I am a Benedictine monk.’
    ‘Friar Nicolau Eimeric condemns you. He ordered me to tell you his name.’
    ‘You are confused.’
    ‘He has been dead for some time, Friar Nicolau. But I am still alive and can finally rest my ravaged soul. In God’s name.’
    Before the horrified eyes of the two monks from Gerri, the last monk of Burgal, a new, different man, who had achieved spiritual serenity over years of effort, saw the dagger’s glimmer just before it was sunk into his chest in the increasingly uncertain clarity of the weak sun on that winter’s day. He had to swallow the old grudge in a single gulp. And, following the holy order, the noble knight, with the same dagger, cut off his tongue and put it inside an ivory box which was immediatelydyed red. And in a strong, decisive voice, as he cleaned the iron blade with dried walnut leaves, he addressed the two frightened monks:
    ‘This man has no right to sacred ground.’
    He looked around him. Coldly. He pointed to the plot beyond the cloister.
    ‘There. And without a cross. It is the Lord’s will.’
    Seeing that the two monks remained immobile, frozen with fear, the man with the noble forehead stood in front of them, practically stepping on Friar Julià’s inert body, and shouted contemptuously, ‘Bury this carrion!’
    And Father, after reading Abbot Deligat’s signature, folded it up carefully and said touching a vellum like this makes you imagine the period. Don’t you think?
    The inevitable consequence was me touching the parchment, now with five anxious fingers. Father’s hard smack to the back of my neck was painful and very humiliating. As I struggled not to release a single tear, Father, indifferent, put the loupe aside and stored the manuscript in the safe.
    ‘Come on, supper time,’ he said, instead of sealing a pact with a son who knew how to read mediaeval Latin. Before reaching the dining room I had already had to wipe away two furtive tears.

6
    B eing born into that family had indeed been an unforgivable mistake. And the worst had yet to happen.
    ‘Well, I liked Herr Romeu.’
    Thinking that I was asleep, they were speaking a bit too loudly.
    ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘Obviously. I’m useless. And a drudge!’
    ‘I’m the one who makes sacrifices for Adrià!’
    ‘And what do I do?’ Mother’s sarcastic, hurt voice, and then, lowering her tone, ‘And don’t shout.’
    ‘You’re the one shouting!’
    ‘Don’t I make sacrifices for the boy? Huh?’
    Thick, solid silence. Father’s brain cells scrambling to think.
    ‘Of course, you do too.’
    ‘Well, thanks for admitting it.’
    ‘But that doesn’t mean that you’re right.’
    I picked up Sheriff Carson because I sensed that I’d need some psychological support. I even called Black Eagle over just in case. And, without the slightest