The same action had to be repeated twice during the day. Breaking free from the hugs of an ungodly saleswoman, I left the house and silently left her yard. I left Graben in silence.
The Lord saved me from temptation. I was so happy not just to kiss her pink face. I was so happy not to belong to her.
They were probably already going to an evening prayer service at the top. Gods grace! I hated this senseless gathering of people being lost!
I was so happy not to sing with them voluntarily. I was so happy not to be with them anymore, and I was so happy not to upset the father with such decisions. Their sorrowful chorus sounded false, put-one and empty, but absolutely canonical part of the service. My lonely mourning for Jorge was ongoing by foot along the dusty road to the Big Town. How many judges, foresters, prévôts and road rangers would I have to drag through your last gift?
Who did you leave me with, Jorge, why didnt you wait? The worst thing that could be done was tiling the roof early in the morning when my father was leaving us. No, we had to pray, think about the highest justice, help the cellarer with farming, but just not to be involved in our own affairs! Nothing would ever come out, it wasnt on time; I was in a hurry to get out of here, away from Graben, from the Abbey, from myself. Dont be so judgy, Father. What did you get dirty with? Mortar, Jorge pronounced the word as motor. Your motor is always all over the place, even on your underwear. Shame on you.
The evening enveiled the valley. I was moving to the Town. And where did Jorge go?
Oh, I didnt want to know that.
The oaks settled their wide leaves, bragging, hissing in the wind along the oak woods ssssss, ssstoyp! They say stop, fear, strange, wasp. It would bite right away. And everything was spinning, spinning, spinning, a great late afternoon on the wheel of the year. Jorge was in the garden, on monastic garden beds. A horrible burnt house, do you remember? You always speed up, passing it, when you climb a mountain, into a forest, to a spring. Dont pull the reins so hard, Anselmo. Eat well, Anselmo. Harness. Take it to the altar. Put benches. Run to the cellar, you stupid fool. Well, quickly, well, whom I speak to. Stop, strange fear, wasp caught your hair! Wave goodbye to me. Farewell on the high window.
The trees asked, Where are you going, strange boy?
And I answered,
I need,
I really need to,
Truly, I really need
to go.
Chapter 5.
Bread
The gardens were grabbing me with their meager arms begging, ladies grabbed at me in heavy dresses with their speedy hands, zealous raving girls with rouged in the cheeks, licking their lips. Noblemen hired me to build strong castles, to the criteria of their smarting vanity; creaking doors of dark confession boxes being slammed grabbed me, and the empty eye-sockets of graves being dug invited me but I continued to look up but not down.
The Town had always been corrupt.
Enclosed in its walls, streaked with narrow streets, where multi-story buildings squeezed and pressed each other all around, with brightly colored facades heaping out, patches of vegetable plots and floral gardens were nestled between the houses seen in the daylight. The town hadnt taken risks crawling outside its tight fortress wall boundaries.
The town was just a town. People living here stuffed themselves with meat, drank diluted beer pounding on the table with their fists, taking part in the festivities in the square playing with dice and tablets tirelessly; the tables were carved from wood or ivory, laid out on the table de brelan. As for me, who had played nothing before with my brothers but rounders or squash, I was incredibly curious gazing at the whole universe created by the excitement, money and food. Pork carcasses were spinning on a roasting-jack, fat sizzled, making everybodys mouth water for everything in the town.
Please, give some bread for the blind from the Rotten Field!, Please, give some bread for the lepers from the Blossoming Field! The Town begged, pleading, the Town was constantly hungry.
My hunger strike turned into a symbol of struggle against a new lifestyle. Having had a plentiful dinner, I would gulp down a few buckets of water inside my belly to vomit.
I wasnt interested in girls, because anyone could call Jorge an old jerk. The interest in sensual delights, no matter how brightly I was inflamed, could never prevail over the striving for something spiritual as much as a young man of my age could bear it. I was also in no hurry to make friends, getting closer only with Carlo, a local young bishop, so that I could stay close to the church and continue to get sacraments.
I kept sending letters to Graben Abbey several times a year, but received no answer to any of them.
In the new world, some crafts were considered worthy of others, and independent sloggers could only rely on temporary earnings, so I started looking for a master.
Jean-Baptiste, head of the construction shop, accepted me for the price I had taken away from the monastery. As the number of internal family students could be any, and all the sons of Jean-Baptiste were already in his service, only one student was supposed to be taken from the outside. To get into this loophole, I had to give out all the coins in front of the master. Finally, in the presence of two jurors and four masters, we signed a written contract, stipulating the amount of fees, duration of apprenticeship and the terms of my accommodation, in accordance with, I would be on full board at the teachers house, getting clothing and meals from him. After a number of years, I would become an apprentice.
There are two ways of overlapping, Jean-Baptiste started teaching, using a flat arch and a round arch.
And I rolled up my sleeves.
* * *
Lucia brought a basket of bread each Sunday Mass, and on the way back, passed the nearby workshop, to watch me carefully, always being among the first ones keen to get back to work. Ite missa est4 was a password for her, allowing her to stare at me shamelessly.
Who is she? I asked Jean-Baptiste.
Lucia, the daughter of the most dominant figure in the Town. On Sundays, she helps the poor by bringing them bread and clothing.
A charity girl?
The master shook his head.
She is the money girl. One of those whose ancestors have been just regular, though diligent craftsmen two hundred years ago. Now they are like gentry, and would like to get their bit of admiration as if they were really noble.
A week later, I stayed late at the church, discussing some urgent tricky issues with Carlo. As soon as I saw Lucia, I immediately went back to the bench to take a look. Would she dare to bother me here?
Something bumped into my shoulder, it was a bread basket. The smell of fresh baking was driving me crazy.
Would you like some? Lucia gave me some bread.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie?5 I broke off a small piece, giving back the rest.
Not only are you beautiful, you are also literate, she started with flattery. It was pretty good.
But I was firm,
Everybody knows prayers.
Everyone knows, but not everyone prays, Lucia smiled and left the temple.