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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Поющие в терновнике
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- Стр. 309/535
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A
black-and-cream-robed
Dominican
monk
led
him
through
high
marble
corridors
,
amid
bronze
and
stone
figures
worthy
of
a
museum
,
past
great
paintings
in
the
styles
of
Giotto
,
Raphael
,
Botticelli
,
Fra
Angelico
.
He
was
in
the
public
rooms
of
a
great
cardinal
,
and
no
doubt
the
wealthy
Contini-Verchese
family
had
given
much
to
enhance
their
august
scion
's
surroundings
.
In
a
room
of
ivory
and
gold
,
rich
with
color
from
tapestries
and
pictures
,
French
carpeted
and
furnished
,
everywhere
touches
of
crimson
,
sat
Vittorio
Scarbanza
,
Cardinal
di
Contini-Verchese
.
The
small
smooth
hand
,
its
ruby
ring
glowing
,
was
extended
to
him
in
welcome
;
glad
to
fix
his
eyes
downward
,
Archbishop
Ralph
crossed
the
room
,
knelt
,
took
the
hand
to
kiss
the
ring
.
And
laid
his
cheek
against
the
hand
,
knowing
he
could
n't
lie
,
though
he
had
meant
to
right
up
until
the
moment
his
lips
touched
that
symbol
of
spiritual
power
,
temporal
authority
.
Cardinal
Vittorio
put
his
other
hand
on
the
bent
shoulder
,
nodding
a
dismissal
to
the
monk
,
then
as
the
door
closed
softly
his
hand
went
from
shoulder
to
hair
,
rested
in
its
dark
thickness
,
smoothed
it
back
tenderly
from
the
half-averted
forehead
.
It
had
changed
;
soon
it
would
be
no
longer
black
,
but
the
color
of
iron
.
The
bent
spine
stiffened
,
the
shoulders
went
back
,
and
Archbishop
Ralph
looked
directly
up
into
his
master
's
face
.
Ah
,
there
had
been
a
change
!
The
mouth
had
drawn
in
,
knew
pain
and
was
more
vulnerable
;
the
eyes
,
so
beautiful
in
color
and
shape
and
setting
,
were
yet
completely
different
from
the
eyes
he
still
remembered
as
if
bodily
they
had
never
left
him
.
Cardinal
Vittorio
had
always
had
a
fancy
that
the
eyes
of
Jesus
were
blue
,
and
like
Ralph
's
:
calm
,
removed
from
what
He
saw
and
therefore
able
to
encompass
all
,
understand
all
.
But
perhaps
it
had
been
a
mistaken
fancy
.
How
could
one
feel
for
humanity
and
suffer
oneself
without
its
showing
in
the
eyes
?
"
Come
,
Ralph
,
sit
down
.
"
"
Your
Eminence
,
I
wish
to
confess
.
"
"
Later
,
later
!
First
we
will
talk
,
and
in
English
.
There
are
ears
everywhere
these
days
,
but
,
thank
our
dear
Jesus
,
not
English-speaking
ears
.
Sit
down
,
Ralph
,
please
.
Oh
,
it
is
so
good
to
see
you
!
I
have
missed
your
wise
counsel
,
your
rationality
,
your
perfect
brand
of
companionship
.
They
have
not
given
me
anyone
I
like
half
so
well
as
you
.
"
He
could
feel
his
brain
clicking
into
the
formality
already
,
feel
the
very
thoughts
in
his
mind
take
on
more
stilted
phrasing
;
more
than
most
people
,
Ralph
de
Bricassart
knew
how
everything
about
one
changed
with
one
's
company
,
even
one
's
speech
.
Not
for
these
ears
the
easy
fluency
of
colloquial
English
.
So
he
sat
down
not
far
away
,
and
directly
opposite
the
slight
figure
in
its
scarlet
moiré
,
the
color
changing
yet
not
changing
,
of
a
quality
which
made
its
edges
fuse
with
the
surroundings
rather
than
stand
out
from
them
.
The
desperate
weariness
he
had
known
for
weeks
seemed
to
be
easing
a
little
from
his
shoulders
;
he
wondered
why
he
had
dreaded
this
meeting
so
,
when
he
had
surely
known
in
his
heart
he
would
be
understood
,
forgiven
.
But
that
was
n't
it
,
not
it
at
all
.
It
was
his
own
guilt
at
having
failed
,
at
being
less
than
he
had
aspired
to
be
,
at
disappointing
a
man
who
had
been
interested
,
tremendously
kind
,
a
true
friend
.
His
guilt
at
walking
into
this
pure
presence
no
longer
pure
himself
.
