Saint Francis by Nikos Kazantzakis Read Free Book Online Page B

hungry, and who took the scourge from Jesus' hands and uses it now to drive all fornicators, liars, and cheats out of God's temple.'

    "He was still talking when I heard a great uproar in the street. A large crowd was passing by, banging on doors, hooting, threatening. The bell of our parish church began to ring furiously.

    "Clenching his fist, the monk turned toward the street door and contorted his lips sarcastically. 'They've smelled Him in the air,' he growled, 'smelled Christ, their great enemy, and now they're running like mad to crucify Him again. Hey, you Pilates, you Caiaphases, He's coming, He's coming; the Day of Judgment is at hand!'

    "The mob went by, not daring to knock on our door, then headed for the bridge and disappeared. I remained all alone with the monk in our yard. He was staring at me, a strange anger and tenderness in his gaze. Trembling, I kept my eyes glued on the red geranium. A force gushed out of this savage monk, and I was unable to bear it. All of a sudden he seized the geranium and gave it a twist which sent all its petals to the ground. I cried out and my eyes filled with tears, but he only knitted his thick brows:

    " 'Aren't you ashamed to lose your soul by regarding the creatures instead of the Creator? All the beauties of the earth prevent us from seeing the Invisible, and thus they must perish.' "

    Francis had been listening with lowered head up to this point. Now he looked up suddenly. His cheeks were on fire.

    "No, no, no!" he shouted.

    He turned toward me. "What do you think, Brother Leo?"

    "What can I say, sir? I'm a cloddish sort of fellow and to believe in anything I have to see, hear, and touch it. Only after I've seen the visible can I imagine what the Invisible is. If there were nothing visible, I'd be doomed."

    "Beauty is God's daughter," said Francis as he gazed out through the open window at the yard, the vine arbor, the scattered white clouds that were cruising in the sky. "Beauty is God's daughter: that I'm sure of. The only way we can divine the appearance of God's face is by looking at beautiful things. The geranium that was despoiled of its petals by your monk, Mama, is going to hurl him into hell."

    "But he did it to save my soul," Lady Pica objected.

    "What is a geranium next to a human soul? My monk, as you call him, is going to enter Paradise with that red geranium in his hand, simply because he saved my soul."

    "What? He saved your soul?" said Francis, staring at his mother with surprise. "But didn't your father come along and throw him out, putting an end to everything? That's what you told me before, and now--Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

    "Because you wouldn't have understood when you were a child, and if I had told you when you grew older you would have laughed. But now that you've fallen ill and the ardor of your flesh has been subdued a little, my child, you can hear God's secret messages without laughing. That is why I have decided to tell you now." "Speak, Mama, speak," said Francis in an agitated voice. "No, I am not going to laugh. I may even begin to cry. The moment has come--yes, you're right, Mama--the moment has come for me to hear."

    Scarcely had he finished these words when he burst into tears.

    "Why are you crying, my child? Why are you trembling so?" asked his frightened mother, embracing him.

    "Because I feel your blood inside me, Mama, your blood. . ."

    Lady Pica took her handkerchief and wiped the sweat from her temples and neck. She glanced at me, hesitating for a moment as though not wanting to speak in front of me. I got up.

    "Would you rather I left, madam? I'm going."

    Francis extended his hand commandingly.

    "Stay. You're not going anywhere! Mother, don't feel ashamed. Speak."

    I looked at Lady Pica. Her eyebrows quivered. She threw a cutting glance at me: she was weighing me in her mind.

    "Stay," she said finally. "I have nothing to be ashamed of. My heart is pure: I shall speak."

    "Well . . . ?" said Francis,