God's Dog by Diego Marani

at the television that was hanging from the wall, at the piles of Easter eggs in the window and at the headlines of the newspaper being read by the man seated at the bar’s only table. The man had heavy, stumpy hands; when he put down the paper, Salazar saw that it was the South American from San Basilio!
    I’ve missed a trick here, no two ways about it. I should have followed the woman throughout the day, and searched the flat on Via Cornelia from top to bottom. I made a play at catching her out; in fact, the opposite has happened. I didn’t think that things in Italy had come to such a pass. These Free Death Brigades mean business. I am far from convinced that self-serving orthodoxy is the most effective strategy. Ever since abortion, the pill, assisted fertilisation and euthanasia were proclaimed terrorist offences, anonymous accusations have been raining down on the desks of the papal police, and those in charge of anti-terrorist activities have been wasting their time hunting down a handful of offenders in order to be able to boast of some headline-grabbing arrest. University professors, journalists, even the odd priest have fallen into the trap. Banner headlines, triumphal announcements, everyone congratulating everyone else, but where does this get us? Here every member of the hierarchy dons the mantle of defender of the faith and vies with all others in observance of the Catholic rule – purely to earn promotion, to curry favour, to procure themselves important positions in the curia. But, by so doing, such men lose sight of their goal. Here we see that same obtuseness which caused us such bitter setbacks in the past. Dogma is to be used against atheists, not against ourselves. There is no point in even trying to cure incurable ills. Giving placebos instead of drugs would solve the problem of euthanasia, as well as exposing the limits of what medicine can do. Courts sitting in judgement on the course of a disease serve no purpose, indeed they are counterproductive. The principle is correct: a sick person cannot take his own life because it is not his to take, it has been bestowed on him by God. But when decisions about treatment are entrusted to a court, and not to the patient himself, or to his family, then inevitably there will be ill-feeling. There are other, less controversial ways of taking this decision out of his hands. Indeed, he should be allowed to choose his own treatment: he will never know what is in the pills that he swallows. What counts, all in all, is not to prolong a man’s life for as long as possible, but to remind him that death is his destiny. That way, he is more likely to give himself over to the Church. What the curia is interested in above all is getting its hands on the property of the euthanasiasts, and may thus be seen as gaining material advantage from the situation; but that is tantamount to paving the way for the angels of death. I shall draw attention to this paradox in my report on this mission. Perhaps some enlightened spirit in the curia will read it.
    I’m worried about Guntur; he hasn’t answered my last e-mails. It’s too risky to telephone him. I’ll try and contact him again by e-mail tomorrow at the same time. There’s an internet point near the church of Sant’Andrea della Valle.
    That Friday, the church seemed to be empty. The canon who normally stayed behind to tidy up the missals had already left; no one had come to clean the candlesticks or empty the collection boxes. Then Salazar saw the curtain being pulled back and caught sight of the black shoes, but when he knelt down in the confessional he was surprised not to smell the usual scent of mouthwash. Obeying orders, he recited the credo, gave his registration number and launched into his speech.
    â€˜Vicar, I have news. A man died in the hospital. At first sight it looked like a natural death, but I’m sure it was euthanasia. Unfortunately the angel of death slipped