Lost and Found in Prague by Kelly Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

roundabout way, and even now after over thirty-five years, he wondered if it had been a true calling. He had never experienced a spiritual summons as if the Holy Spirit had invaded his soul with a message to “come follow.”
    Yet he felt he had served his Church well. He was no saint, but he liked to think that in his own way he had made a contribution, particularly in his work as an officer of the Sacred Congregation of Rites. After his appointment as Promoter of the Faith, known also as Advocatus Diaboli, he often teased his friend about the power he now wielded.
    “You are aware, Beppe,” he’d said, “after you’re gone, I will have to approve your canonization.”
    “With all your bad habits,” Beppe had immediately come back, “you surely don’t expect to outlast me?”
    Giovanni often laughed at the memory of his friend’s response. Perhaps more truth than humor, unless there was validity to the old adage
the good die young.
He surely couldn’t expect to outlast a healthy man who treated his body like a temple. Now as they both approached seventy, Giovanni Borelli acknowledged that they were not only well beyond their youth, they had passed right over middle age and were entering the twilight of their years. At times, he looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe that fat, old, balding man squinting out at him was the once-handsome, slender Gianni Borelli.
    Beppe had yet to bring up the reason for this requested visit. They had just relived a particularly exciting soccer match in which the two men, mere boys then, played heroically to bring a championship trophy to the village where they both attended school. Yet, even in this familiar and often repeated discourse, Giovanni sensed something was not right, that Beppe was merely attempting to gather the courage to speak of a matter of great importance, that this chatter was merely a prelude.
    “Another form of exercise,” Beppe went on, piling another stone of avoidance upon a stack that Giovanni sensed was about to tumble, “getting down in the garden, down on my knees.” His laugh was sliced with nervousness. “As if I don’t spend enough time on my knees, begging the good Lord to watch over us, to keep our little community in his graces. I pray he does not see me as the beggar I am, that I do not become too much of a nuisance. But the good Lord has entrusted me to look after this little church, after the Holy Infant, and I must do what is necessary . . .”
    Beppe often wrote of the commercialism in the city, how the tiny church of Our Lady Victorious had been swept up in the growth of the tourist trade.
    “We need to keep up with repairs, our museum and gift shop, to attract the tourists,” he said, “yet maintain the dignity of the church and a respectful devotion to the Infant. I’m afraid it may become a circus. The circus of the Infant of Prague.” His words carried a hint of sadness, accompanied by a dismissive shake of the head. “The assignment has its challenges, but I have truly been blessed.”
    Now Beppe adjusted himself in his chair, his eyes flashing briefly toward the door into the monastery where Brother Gabriele had disappeared just minutes before. Father Borelli knew a half dozen other Carmelites, both priests and brothers, lived in the monastery, but the morning air carried no telltale signs of activity.
    “The reason for my call . . .” Beppe’s voice was low as he leaned in, his eyes still darting about. “There was a . . . an incident in the church.”
    Giovanni took a final, quick draw on his cigarette, snuffed it.
    “Friday morning,” Beppe said.
    “Good Friday?”
    Beppe nodded. “I always arrive early before my servers to open the church. That morning I found it unlocked, which gave me a scare in itself. I did a quick search of the church, starting in the sacristy where we keep the gold chalices, ciboriums, and monstrances, then on to the museum and altars. We have a collection of valuable paintings