Torquemada (9 page)

“Lies,” Maria shouted now. “How do you dare to sit there and lie and blaspheme?”

Alvero nodded. “Yes, my dear wife. Our whole existence is a lie, a riddle, perhaps an epitaph. I don't know; I think we have a mortal sickness and we are dying. I think that Spain is dying too.”

Alvero picked up the ampule and held it between his fingers. Her voice very calm, almost indifferent, Catherine asked him,

“What is that, Father? You say that it has a bit of parchment in it. Is anything written on the parchment?”

Maria and Juan did not move now. They were listening. Then, as Alvero began to speak, Juan sank back into his chair as if hope were fleeing too fast for him ever to overtake it.

“They call it the Jewish curse,” Alvero said. “It is a thing that Jews put on the doorposts of their houses. It has this little piece of parchment in it and on the parchment in Hebrew letters it says, ‘And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and all thy soul and all thy might.'”

Maria covered her face with her hands and began to sob. That way, sobbing, stumbling, half-blinded behind the curtain of her hands, she moved out of the refectory. When she had gone, the three sat in silence for a minute or two and then Catherine said to her father.

“Only that?”

Alvero rose. “Only that, my child – only that. I must go to your mother now. She is deeply disturbed. I don't know why I did it to her. Believe me, I have never done this to her before.”

Then Alvero walked out of the refectory, but Juan and Catherine continued to sit at the table. Catherine reached across the table for the chain, picked it up and fingered the cross and the ampule. She played with these two things as she would have touched the beads in a rosary. Then Juan said to her,

“Catherine? Please, Catherine?”

“What is it, Juan?”

Juan did not answer, only sat there; and looking at him now Catherine asked him why he was afraid. She asked this very simply and very directly. “Why are you so afraid? Do you hate my father for this thing?”

Still Juan did not answer. Catherine held out the chain to him. He drew back as if it bore a dreadful threat in and of itself.

“I feel no different,” Catherine said. “An hour ago I did not know that part of me was Jewish or that part of you was Jewish. Now I know it. I feel no different. No different at all.”

The words burst out of him. “I am a Christian, as you are. You know that, Catherine.”

“Yes, I know that. It means that I am both. I am a Jew and a Christian and still it seems to make no difference.”

“No!”

Catherine put the chain around her own neck now and looked at Juan, who whispered fiercely.

“Take it off, please, please, for God's sake, take it off!”

Catherine smiled, holding the ampule in the palm of her hand. She said lightly, “And with this thing in my hand I Judaize. Now suppose that our good Prior Thomas was here. Then I would say to him, Father Thomas, I Judaize. Poor Prior Thomas. He would have to burn me. He would have to tie me to a stake and burn me—” Her voice died away. The brightness went out of her like a candle that has come to the end of its wick and darkens before it extinguishes itself. Then Catherine leaned towards Juan and whispered, “Oh my God, Juan, what has happened here?”

“Don't let it happen to us,” Juan pleaded.

“When I was a little girl, Juan, they held a tourney of knights here in Segovia. It was the last one; I think the last such tourney in all of Spain. Today the world is different and people smile at such things. But then, for a little girl, it was very wonderful. All the Spanish gentlemen were in steel from head to foot, their banners and pennants in the wind. Such colour as you can't imagine, one knight in bright red and another in sky blue and still another in the purest white. And then, in the joust, there would be a terrible clash of arms, of steel on steel as the riders came together—” She paused for a moment as if she had been bodily transported back into the scene. “My father rode in the tourney. Is it hard to imagine Don Alvero all in armour from head to foot? His colour was white. All in armour with the white robe covering him. Do you know that he seemed to me to be the noblest knight in the world? He unseated the man he rode against and then he reared his horse and came around and trotted over to where I was and he reached down and lifted me to his saddle, in front of him—”

“Catherine, for God's sake, don't you understand what is happening? How can you prattle like this about knights in armour? Are you an idiot? Don't you know what is happening in Segovia? Not knights in armour. No knight in armour will rescue us from what is happening—”

“Do you still want to marry me, Juan?” Catherine interrupted, her voice cold and precise now.

“I have given my word.”

In a sudden fury Catherine rose, took two steps away from the table and then turned to Juan Pomas and cried out, “Be damned with your word! I release you from your word!” And then she stalked out of the room, leaving Juan Pomas alone.

8

FOR JUAN POMAS THERE HAD BEEN NO SLEEP THAT
night. He walked through the night, leading his horse. He tied his horse to a dead tree and sat on a rock and brooded and cursed himself and even wept a little. He sat like that for hours until he heard a cock crow, and then he mounted his horse and rode away through the darkness. As dawn approached, the darkness began to lessen and in the distance the bells of the monastery began to toll. Juan Pomas turned his horse's steps towards the sound of the bells.

Torquemada saw him approaching. As with Juan, Torquemada's night had been sleepless, but many of his nights were sleepless. At night Torquemada closed the door of his small, cell-like room behind him and then he fought the devil. Sometimes he stripped naked and called in a monk to whip him, to beat his flesh until he was covered all over with livid welts; and these welts were like armour in his battle against the devil. Torquemada was not always victorious. There were nights when he triumphed and there were nights when the devil triumphed; but always he returned to the battle. He had few doubts about who would be the final victor.

Now, as the bells above him tolled the end of the night, Torquemada walked slowly through the cloister. Each long step appeared to keep pace with the tolling of the bells, nor did he pause in his walk as Juan rode into the gardens of the monastery and hitched his horse at the huge, ancient hitching stone.

To Juan it appeared that Torquemada had not seen him; but this was a normal thing for those who approached Torquemada. He had taught himself to notice without noticing, to see without seeing and even to judge without judging. Juan walked over to the cloister and stepped into its deeper darkness, and he waited while Torquemada made another circuit. Returning on his way, Torquemada halted a few paces from Juan and stood there. In the shadow of the cloister, Juan Pomas was unable to see whether or not Torquemada was looking at him or how he was appraising him, or whether there was a question in Torquemada's eyes. Torquemada had no eyes, no face, only a cowled shape, a black robe that exchanged form with the form of the shadows that surrounded him.

The two of them stood there while the morning became grey and then a paler grey, and finally Torquemada observed softly.

“At this time, my son, so early in the morning, the body may be clothed – but the soul is naked. To God, the soul is naked. It stands naked before God because no clothes and no body will cover it or hide it.”

It was not a question and it was not a statement. Juan did not know what to say, so he simply waited and said nothing – only stood there, afraid and waiting. Torquemada went on.

“The night is a time for sleep. Why couldn't you sleep, my son?”

Juan Pomas shook his head dumbly. He was terribly afraid and he felt a desperate need to answer Torquemada's question, but he could not speak and he only shook his head dumbly.

“Do you fear me, my son?” Torquemada asked gently. “What is there to fear? We are the servants of God. People of Christ. How can you fear me? Have you heard it said that Torquemada was once a man and has now become a monster? Do monsters serve God? This is a question you must ask yourself and you must answer this question as well. Tell me, do monsters serve God?”

“I don't know,” Juan muttered.

Now it was light, with the true morning light, and the first rays of the sun touched the flat towers of the monastery. Juan could see Torquemada now; his robe became a robe of black homespun, his face, cowled over, was an edge of jutting bone, an area of brown skin, a jaw sloping and bony, but still he had no eyes. The eyes were hidden deep in the shadow of his cowl.

“Will you serve God?” Torquemada asked Juan. “Will you serve Spain? Will you serve your immortal soul?”

Juan tried to speak but no words came forth. He wanted to run away and he knew that flight was forbidden. He wanted to get down on his knees and plead for mercy, and that too was equally forbidden.

“Do you think that God has forgotten Spain?” Torquemada went on. “If that is what you think, then I must ask myself why you think such thoughts. I must ask myself why God's child and Spain's child should think that God has forgotten Spain. I must open my heart to you and I must give you answers – otherwise, I am no priest. So I say to you, my son, God has not forgotten Spain, God has only forgotten the Jew. In all the time between creation and now, God has only forgotten the Jew. But—”

He now came closer to Juan, so close that Juan was able at last to see his eyes, black pits in his hard-boned face.

“But the Jew who becomes a Christian – this Jew God remembers. For this Jew has an immortal soul and there is no immortal soul on this earth that God has ever forgotten.”

He reached out his hand and touched Juan's shoulder and said, “Let us walk.”

Juan walked beside him. There was nothing else that Juan could do, so Juan walked beside him and they moved around the cloister. For a while they walked in silence, until they came to the end of the colonnade. Then Torquemada turned about and they began to pace back over the path they had come. Then Torquemada said to Juan.

“What brought you here, Juan Pomas? Few come here of their own free will. They come more easily when the soldiers of the Inquisition – of the Holy Mother Church – when these soldiers bring them. But no soldiers of the Inquisition were sent for you – and yet you came.”

Now Torquemada reached out and touched Juan's neck. His finger traced a line around Juan's neck, and the young man shivered and shrank away. Torquemada whispered.

“What is the ampule that Don Alvero wears around his neck?”

Torquemada walked on, waiting, and Juan walked with him. But from Juan there was no reply or comment. They reached the end of the cloister and once again Torquemada turned and began to pace back.

“The Holy Inquisition. Holy as the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Their court is also holy. Do you know what the Holy Inquisition is, my son?”

Torquemada put his arm across Juan's shoulders. Juan pulled away suddenly and cried out to him.

“I swear by the Mother of God, as I am a Christian! I swear, I swear to you, Father Thomas, that Don Alvero is a Christian!”

Softly, calmly Torquemada whispered, “You swear too much. Why do you imperil your immortal soul? God hates an oath. Did I ask you to swear? Did I ask you that?”

“Don Alvero is a Christian!”

“You answer a question I never asked,” Torquemada said. “We have the answer, but where is the question, Juan Pomas? Is it in your heart, in your soul, or is it God's voice? I did not ask you whether Don Alvero is a Christian. I asked you what is in the ampule he wears around his neck.”

“A curse,” Juan blurted out.

“What curse?”

“The Jewish curse.”

“Tell me, Juan Pomas, what is the Jewish curse? Do you know? And if you know, tell me how you know.”

“I heard Don Alvero speak of it.”

“Of what?”

“I told you. I heard Don Alvero speak the Jewish curse.”

Torquemada nodded and resumed his walk. Juan walked beside him as if some unseen force bound him to the Prior. Finally Torquemada said, “Speak this curse here, Juan Pomas.”

Six more paces they walked and Juan remained silent; and then Torquemada cried out, his voice strong and commanding,

“I absolve you! I order you! On pain of my anger, I order you to speak!”

Juan stopped and turned and faced him and said to him pleadingly, “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and all thy soul and all thy might.”

The bells began to toll again. The voice of the bells built up in Juan Pomas' head until he thought that the force of this thunderous clangour would explode his skull and leave him mindless.

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