Bartolomé by Rachel vanKooij Read Free Book Online Page B

old monk’s name, saw before him a skinny, lanky lad who was revealing a family secret, his face ablaze. Even if he didn’t hear confessions himself, he knew that behind many a closed door in Madrid things happened that would horrify an old man like him, and would make him doubt God’s goodness. And now it was his turn to search for the right words.
    â€˜Would you like me to speak to your father?’ he offered finally. ‘Sometimes a conversation can change things.’ Or not , he added to himself.
    Joaquín shook his head in horror. ‘He mustn’t find out that I’ve been here.’
    â€˜Is it that bad? Does he mistreat your brother?’
    â€˜No, he would never do a thing like that,’ said Joaquín quickly. ‘He’s ashamed of him, I think. He is so ashamed that nobody is allowed to see Bartolomé. Bartolomé hasn’t grown. His body is crooked. He has club feet and he can hardly walk on them.’
    â€˜A dwarf,’ murmured Don Cristobal.
    Joaquín nodded. ‘A dwarf, a cripple, a freak – that’s what an outsider would call him. But he is my brother and he is clever and he learns quickly.’
    Joaquín’s cheeks were glowing, not with shame now but with enthusiasm.
    â€˜If he can learn to read and write, then he can become the king’s secretary, like El Primo. He is respected by everyone and doesn’t have to hide away.’
    â€˜El Primo,’ said Don Cristobal. ‘Joaquín, you must know that there are hundreds of dwarves and cripples who eke out a living as miserable beggars on the streets of Madrid, and also probably many like your brother who are hidden from the mockery of the world in dark rooms and hovels. El Primo’s story is most unusual. God’s grace has rested on him in a very special way.’
    â€˜What El Primo has achieved, Bartolomé could do too.’
    â€˜Of course. God’s grace could rest on your poor brother in a special way also. But who are we mere humans to know where and how God’s grace will fall?’ answered Don Cristobal mildly.
    â€˜Father, he must learn to read and write. Please help him. I promised him, and I can pay. Not much, but you won’t have to teach him for nothing.’
    Joaquín gave the old monk a beseeching look.
    â€˜You want me to go to your house, behind your father’s back, and teach your brother to read and write? Have you any idea what you are asking?’
    Don Cristobal shook his head. He could never do such a thing. The abbot wouldn’t allow it, and without his permission he couldn’t leave the monastery. If the child could come to him, though …
    Joaquín seemed to read Don Cristobal’s thoughts.
    â€˜Father, if he could come to you, would you teach him?’ he asked.
    â€˜I have a lot to do. I am not just the porter here,’ murmured Don Cristobal. ‘I have to look after the church and the garden too.’
    â€˜While you are teaching Bartolomé, I could work in the garden,’ Joaquín offered. He had a feeling that the monk was almost ready to help. He had no idea how he could get Bartolomé to the monastery. He’d have to get his head around that later.
    â€˜And I’ll pay you too,’ he went on.
    â€˜I can’t take money,’ said Don Cristobal. As a monk, he could call nothing his own apart from his habit.
    â€˜Or I could use the money to buy …’
    â€˜Candles?’ Don Cristobal suggested.
    Joaquín’s heart leapt. Was the monk trying to say that he would teach Bartolomé?
    â€˜A candle for Our Lady,’ Don Cristobal decided.
    Joaquín was jubilant. Forgetting that the monk was a holy man, he hugged him hard.
    Don Cristobal gave in.
    â€˜Twice a week, Tuesdays and Saturdays, for an hour at lunchtime.’ Don Cristobal added, ‘But only if your father allows it.’
    Joaquín nodded. It was all fine with him. The monk would