The Translation of Father Torturo Read Online Free PDF Page A

intention of treating you as such.”
    Xaverio, now a relatively handsome and extraordinarily fit young man, went to sleep that night with his thoughts set on a grand career in the service of God. Though the way was surely difficult, it was at least possible. He was now in the service of the bishop. The bishop was obviously disposed in his favour. Advancement seemed, if not assured, surely probable. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Around one in the morning he was awoken, his flesh being pressed against by a hot hirsute object and his bed suddenly cramped. He leaped up and began to defend himself, delivering rigorous blows with his fists in the dark and, when his arms grew tired of those, kicking with all his might until the thing flailed out of his bed and threw itself on the floor. The young man was disgusted and stirred by adrenaline. Not content with the small amount of ground gained, he took the water jug by his bedside and began to pummel the writhing mass with it. When the jug broke, he continued his work, utilising the broken handle and portion that remained intact in his hand, lashing out and letting it be known through his fury that he in no way approved of his sleep being disturbed in the aforementioned manner.
    A number of the household’s priests, undoubtedly hearing the scuffle, burst into the room. The light was turned on. The bishop lay on the floor, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. A half dozen rather serious gashes marked his chest. Though Xaverio’s conduct was certainly not approved of, no one dared call in the police. It would have been difficult to explain what the old ecclesiastic was doing in the young man’s room, at that hour, stark naked, with a consalateur grasped in his hand.
    The bishop was taken back to his room, to be attended to by the physician in ordinary. Torturo was shipped off post haste to Padua with letters of introduction and a dossier worded in such a way as to let it be understood that the father was to be given the least possible room for advancement.
    Distraught at his sudden change in fortunes, he internally cursed God, the priests and the boiling world. When duty did not call, he set off, like a blood-thirsty lion striding down the streets, to the edge of town, where for hours together he would prowl the hills, the wheels of his mind grinding to dust all the fantasies he had once entertained of an easy rise. His black image could be seen, disappearing amongst the trees, arms motioning impetuously and a fist occasionally flying heavenward where clenched it would tremble.
    Gradually however, after mature reflection, he became, not resigned to the situation, but able to accommodate himself to it. If this was the Church’s way of saying ‘check,’ he would reorganise his forces until he could one day say, with a sardonic grin, ‘check mate.’
    At Padua, due to the influence of the Archbishop of Ferrara, his quick intelligence was altogether ignored and he was assigned the most ignoble of tasks. He was made to sweep and mop the floors of Il Santo, as well as clean the toilet stalls of the clergy residences. After supper he washed the dishes. In the early morning he polished the bronze sculptures and candelabra.
    He performed these duties without complaint.
    Gradually the incident in Ferrara was forgotten, all the more so as the archbishop of that diocese passed away in a manner which brought the church but little glory. Torturo gradually burrowed his way into the realm of less filthy duties, toiling patiently and keeping his sights still keen on ultimate advancement.
    He made marvellous use of what hours were left free to him. Twice a week he would take the train to Venice, which was a mere thirty minutes away, and visit a scholar, one Pierluigi De Vecchi, in the old Jewish section of town, who, for a small fee, taught him Hebrew and more than the basics of Talmudic lore and Kabalistic philosophy. It was fitting he studied thus, in Venice, where the Talmuds were