The Last Cato Read Online Free PDF Page B

letters, I found a total of seven beautiful crosses, each one completely different from the others: the first, a Latin cross on the inner part of the right forearm; the second, a Latin inmmissa cross (with a short crossbar in the middle of the staff), on his left forearm; the third, a branched cross (with tree limbs) on his cervical vertebrae; the fourth, an Egyptian ansate cross on his dorsal spine; and the fifth, a bracketed cross on his lumbar vertebrae. The remaining two Greek crosses were called decussates (in an X ) and were located on the back of his thighs. The variety was admirable; yet they did have certain elements in common: They were all enclosed or protected by circles, squares, or rectangles (like tiny medieval windows or arrow slits), and in each case the top edge of the enclosure was crowned with serrated teeth, always numbering seven.
    At nine that night we were dead tired. Glauser-Röist summed up what few references to scarifications he had located. It was a religious practice limited to a strip of central Africa that unfortunately didn’t include Ethiopia. In that region, apparently, the primitive tribes had the custom of rubbing a grass mixture into the incisions, usually made with small pieces of cane as sharp as knives. The decorative patterns could be very complex, but basically they corresponded to the geometric shapes of sacred symbols, often as part of some religious ritual.
    “That’s it?” I asked, disenchanted, after he had read his most obvious and meager report.
    “Well, there is something more, but it’s not significant. The queloides —that is, the thickest, enlarged scarification marks—are a genuine sexual lure for men when women exhibit them.”
    “Oh, go on…,” I replied with a look of wonder. “Now, that’s funny. It never would have occurred to me.”
    “In any case,” he went on, nonplussed, “we still don’t know why those scars are on that man’s body.” I believe that was the first time I noticed that his eyes were a washed-out gray. “Another peculiar piece of information, also irrelevant to our work, is that this practice is becoming fashionable among young men in many countries. They call it ‘body art’ or ‘performance art,’ and one of its most prominent followers is the singer and actor David Bowie.”
    “I can’t believe it…,” I sighed, with a slight smile. “Do you mean they let someone cut them like that just to be fashionable?”
    Well…,” he murmured, as disturbed as I. “It has something to do with eroticism and sensuality, but I wouldn’t know how to explain it to you.”
    “Don’t even try, thank you very much,” I dismissed him. Tuckered out, I got to my feet and mentally put an end to that first exhausting session. “Let’s get some rest, Captain. Tomorrow is going to be another very long day.”
    “Allow me to take you home. It’s too late for you to walk alone through the Borgo.”
    I was too tired to refuse, so I once again risked my life in that spectacular little sports car of his. When we said good night, I thanked him, feeling guilty for the way I had treated him—although I must say, the remorse did pass quickly. I rejected his offer to come pick me up again the next morning, since I hadn’t heard Mass for two days and I wasn’t going to let another day go by without doing so. I’d get up early and go to Saint Michele and Magno Church before work.
    Ferma, Margherita, and Valeria were watching an old movie on TV when I walked through the door. They warmed up some supper for me in the microwave, and I ate a little soup. I didn’t have much of an appetite; I’d seen too many scars that day. I shut myself away in our chapel before going to bed, but I couldn’t concentrate on my prayer—and not just because I was so tired (which I was), but because three of my eight siblings had called from Sicily to ask if I was planning to attend our annual celebration of Saint Giuseppe in honor of our father. I said yes to