The Tower Read Online Free PDF

from the Musée. I’m trying to track down my father.’
    Giorgio Liverani dropped his gaze. ‘I’d heard he was . . .’
    ‘Dead? That may very well be,’ replied Philip. ‘Or perhaps not. I’ve received a . . . sign that he may be alive.’
    ‘I hope you’re successful. Your father was a great man.’
    Philip looked him straight in the eye. ‘Giorgio, maybe you can help me.’
    ‘Me? Well . . . of course, but how?’
    ‘Ten years ago my father worked for a while here in Rome with a man who was then the director of the Vatican Library, a Jesuit named Antonelli. Have you ever heard of him?’
    ‘Giuseppe Antonelli. I remember him well. He’s from Alatri, the town I was born in. Father Antonelli retired some time ago. Health problems, I believe.’
    ‘I know. I’ve been to the Society’s headquarters, but they won’t tell me where he is.’
    ‘I’m sorry, but I have no idea where he is myself.’
    ‘Do you know who has taken his job?’
    ‘I don’t think a successor has been nominated. The acting director is the prefect of the Vatican Observatory. Father Ernesto Boni.’
    ‘The famous mathematician? Do you know him personally? Can you get me an appointment with him?’
    ‘I’ve met him a few times, at the meetings of the Pontifical Academy. I can try.’
    ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Giorgio. It’s a matter of life and death.’
    ‘I believe you. I know how close you were to your father. His disappearing like that . . . so suddenly . . .’
    Philip lowered his head.
    ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories.’
    ‘You mustn’t be. I believe that my father deliberately chose to drop out of sight ten years ago. His hypotheses interpreting Genesis in an anthropological way had stirred up a hornets’ nest and greatly challenged his scientific credibility. He felt besieged by the whole academic community. He went into the desert, I think, to find definitive evidence for his theories. And maybe even to face up to himself. The desert is like a crucible: it melts away everything that is not in perfect equilibrium, so all that’s left is the true stuff that a man is made of.’
    ‘You said that your father has sent you a sign . . .’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘Maybe he wants to tell you what he’s found.’
    ‘Maybe. Or maybe he wants to pass on what he’s learned, so he’ll be free to continue whatever it is he’s up to, delving deeper into the unknown. If I know him, that’s more likely.’
    ‘Where are you staying?’
    ‘On Via Aventino, at Pensione Diana.’
    ‘Nice place. I’ll call you there as soon as I’ve arranged a meeting with Father Boni.’
    ‘I’m very grateful.’
    ‘Well,’ said Liverani, ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go. I’ll be getting an earful from my wife.’
    ‘Giorgio?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Do you have any idea why they don’t want me to meet Father Antonelli?’
    ‘No. There may not be any particular reason. I’d heard that he had been behaving strangely before he left his post . . . but maybe it was because of his illness.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to run. I’m really sorry. I would have liked to spend more time with you. If you’re staying in Rome for a few days, maybe we could get together again. We could go out, go somewhere for dinner. You know, seeing you has made me feel good . . . and bad, actually. It’s taken me back to our boyhood dreams, our plans for adventure. Now look at me. Eight hours a day behind a desk. Every blessed day. Christmas in the mountains and August at the sea. Every year. Every blessed year.’
    ‘You have a beautiful family.’
    ‘Right,’ said Giorgio. ‘I’ve got a beautiful family.’ He stood and walked with a brisk step to the tram stop.

    T ATTERED CLOUDS galloped across the leaden sky that hung low over Bernini’s grandiose square, over the pallor of the deserted colonnade, over the solitary spire, as straight and unyielding as the finger of God. Angry gusts of wind