Sister Pelagia and the Black Monk by Boris Akunin Read Free Book Online Page B

holds a thoroughly unabashed skeptical and even material view of the world. Alexei Stepanovich's character is such that his natural inclination is to get straight to the bottom of any strange phenomenon, and he takes nothing on trust. He is intelligent, resourceful, and also extremely impudent, which may prove useful in the present case. And second,” said Mitrofanii, raising one finger in the air, “I believe that this mission will not be without benefit to the envoy himself. Let him see that there are people—and many of them—to whom spiritual things are dearer than those of the flesh. Let him breathe the fresh air of a holy monastery for a while. I have heard that the air there in Ararat has a special quality: it sets your whole chest vibrating deliciously, as if you are breathing everything bad out of yourself and breathing in heavenly ambrosia.”
The bishop lowered his eyes and added in a quieter voice, as if he were speaking reluctantly: “He is a lively boy, full of curiosity, but he lacks the strong core that only Faith gives to a man. Someone less talented, with less lively feelings, might perhaps get by anyway, but without God, Alyosha is doomed for certain.”
Berdichevsky and Pelagia exchanged furtive glances, instantly concluding an unspoken agreement not to contradict the bishop—it would have been disrespectful, not to mention cruel.
Soon after this Alexei Stepanovich arrived, still not suspecting what far-reaching plans the bishop had in mind for him.
After greeting everyone present, Lentochkin tossed his head of chestnut curls, which reached almost down to his shoulders, and inquired jocularly, “Why have you convened your entire inquisition, Torque-mada? What torment have you devised for the heretic now?”
As we have already said, the youths wit was exceptionally keen—he had realized immediately that there was some special purpose to this meeting, and he had also spotted the special expressions on their faces. And as for “Torquemada,” that was Alexei Stepanovich's little joke— calling Father Mitrofanii by the name of some figure from church history: either Cardinal Richelieu or Archpriest Avvakum or someone else, depending on the way the conversation turned and the bishop's mood, which on occasion did indeed seem to express the stern raison d'etat of the French duke or the passionate fury of the schismatic martyr or the menace of the Castilian exterminator of spiritual pollution.
Mitrofanii did not smile at the joke. Speaking with emphatic coolness, he told Lentochkin about the alarming manifestations at New Ararat and explained the meaning of the young man's mission to him tersely, concluding as follows: “According to his job description, a con-sistorial auditor is not only responsible for the accounts, but also for other diocesan business that requires special verification. So go and verify this. I am counting on you.”
At first Alexei Stepanovich listened to the story of the Black Monk wandering across the waves with incredulous amazement, as if he were afraid that some joke was being played on him. Twice he even made caustic remarks, but then he realized that the conversation was serious and stopped playing the comic, although he occasionally raised one eyebrow with a certain playfulness.
When he had heard everything, Alexei Stepanovich nodded and seemed to have understood the “double logic” underlying his patron's decision. He smiled with his plump lips, making wonderful dimples appear on his ruddy cheeks, and spread his hands wide in admiration.
“Well, you are a cunning one, Bishop of Autun. Killing two birds with one stone, are we? Do you wish to know my opinion about these mysteries? What /think is that—”
“/is a very short word,” His Grace interrupted the boy—being compared to Talleyrand was even less to his taste than being likened to the Great Inquisitor.
“But one used by the Lord Himself,” Lentochkin retorted spryly.
Mitrofanii frowned to let the joker know