The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten 2)

“I’d like to write something similar to those novels by Ignatius B. Samson,” she said. “Ever heard of them?”

“Vaguely,” I replied.

Eulalia couldn’t quite find a way forward with her writing so I suggested she give it all a slightly sinister tone and focus the story on a secret book possessed by a tormented spirit, with subplots full of the seemingly supernatural.

“That’s what Ignatius B. Samson would do, in your place,” I suggested.

“And what are you doing reading all about angels and devils? Don’t tell me you’re a repentant ex-seminarist.”

“I’m trying to find out what the origins of different religions and myths have in common,” I explained.

“What have you discovered so far?”

“Almost nothing. I don’t want to bore you with my lament.”

“You won’t bore me. Go on.”

“Well, what I’ve found most interesting so far is that, generally speaking, beliefs arise from an event or character that may or may not be authentic and rapidly evolve into social movements that are conditioned and shaped by the political, economic, and societal circumstances of the group that accepts them. Are you still awake?”

Eulalia nodded.

“A large part of the mythology that develops around each of these doctrines, from its liturgy to its rules and taboos, comes from the bureaucracy generated as they develop and not from the supposed supernatural act that originated them. Most of the simple, well-intentioned anecdotes are a mixture of common sense and folklore, and all the belligerent force they eventu

ally develop comes from a subsequent interpretation of those principles, or even their distortion, at the hands of bureaucrats. The administrative and hierarchic aspects seem to be crucial in the evolution of belief systems. The truth is first revealed to all men but very quickly individuals appear claiming sole authority and a duty to interpret, administer, and, if need be, alter this truth in the name of the common good. To this end they establish a powerful and potentially repressive organization. This phenomenon, which biology shows us is common to any social group, soon transforms the doctrine into a means of achieving control and political power. Divisions, wars, and breakups become inevitable. Sooner or later, the word becomes flesh and the flesh bleeds.”

I thought I was beginning to sound like Corelli and I sighed. Eulalia gave a hesitant smile.

“Is that what you’re looking for? Blood?”

“It’s the caning that leads to learning, not the other way round.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I have a feeling you went to a convent school.”

“The Sisters of the Holy Infant Jesus. The black nuns. Eight years.”

“Is it true what they say, that girls from convent schools are the ones who harbor the darkest and most unmentionable desires?”

“I bet you’d love to find out.”

“You can put all the chips on ‘yes.’”

“What else have you learned in your crash course in theology?”

“Not much else. My initial conclusions have left an unpleasant aftertaste—it’s so banal and inconsequential. All this seemed more or less evident already without the need to swallow whole encyclopedias and treatises on where to tickle angels—perhaps because I’m unable to understand beyond my own prejudices or because there is nothing else to understand and the crux of the matter lies in simply believing or not believing, without stopping to wonder why. How’s my rhetoric? Are you still impressed?”

“It’s giving me goose pimples. A shame I didn’t meet you when I was a schoolgirl with dark desires.”

“You’re cruel, Eulalia.”

The librarian laughed heartily, looking me in the eye.

“Tell me, Ignatius B., who has broken your heart and left you so angry?”

“I see books aren’t the only things you read.”

We sat awhile longer at the table, watching the waiters coming and going across the dining room of Casa Leopoldo.