The Dark Heart of Florence by Tasha Alexander (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

around and bent close to whisper to me. “This sort of discussion is better continued somewhere more private. Come.” He led me out of the main part of the church and into a small room off the cloisters. “God is just. By giving us free will, he allows us to choose actions that keep us from heaven.”

“The ancients did not know the teachings of Jesus,” I said. “They had no opportunity to be saved. How is that fair? More importantly, how is it not terrifying? The greatest thinkers in history, excluded from eternal joy, all because they didn’t subscribe to a religion not yet invented.”

“Our faith is not invented, Mina.”

“I don’t mean to suggest it is, but I find great solace in the study of humanism and reject vehemently the notion that it cannot help us attain bliss in the afterlife. Do not Augustine and Aquinas rely on secular reasoning to explain religion? Should not God reward the men who taught them—and us—to think logically? If nothing else, he could have at least put limbo on the edge of heaven, not hell. It hardly seems fair.”

“You must remember, Mina, Dante is not writing theology. His poem is not doctrine.”

“Don’t you find it a more exciting catalyst for contemplating theology than other works?” I asked. “He writes in a way that grabs our souls. The beauty of his language stimulates us to consider more deeply, to care more passionately—”

“I fear you’re veering away from religion,” Father Cambio said.

The room in which we were now sitting—on carved beechwood chairs—was sparsely furnished. The walls were undecorated, but the ribs of the vaulted ceiling were painted with black stripes. The priest had left the heavy wooden door open.

“Must we always talk about religion?” I asked.

He laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

“I have not told you what struck me the most about Inferno,” I said. “The lines written above the gate, lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. Abandon hope, ye who enter here. That’s the crux of everything, is it not? What do we have without hope? Even the worst days are made more bearable because of it.” I was thinking about how awful I’d felt when I couldn’t talk to Father Cambio. Yes, I’d been distraught, but somewhere, buried in the recesses of my mind, I had hope that our conversations would resume. “What could be worse than its absence?”

“Being separated from God, Mina.”

“You will always turn it back to that, won’t you?”

“How could I resist? Your cheeks color when your ire’s up, and that occurs whenever I guide our conversation to religion.”

I could feel them burning now, and my heart was racing. Our eyes met and at once a fiery sensation consumed me. I knew it was wrong, but all I wanted was to kiss him. It was a shameful urge, one I would have to admit to during my next confession. Looking at him, I believed he wanted it, too, but he did not move toward me. Instead, he rose from his chair and covered his face with his hands.

“We cannot act on this, Mina.”

My heart pounded even faster than before. He did feel what I did. His choice to use the word we was the greatest gift I’d ever received. He knew we, together, were something. “We need not act,” I said. “Knowing you return my affection is enough to satisfy me eternally.”

“No blasphemy, not now. Only God can bring eternal satisfaction.”

“I don’t care. Let me be like Augustine: good, just not yet.”

He rubbed his eyes and dropped his hands from his face. “You are a dangerous creature. I never expected this sort of temptation.”

“Nor did I. It only started when you refused to see me. Not seeing you stirred in me emotions I’d never before experienced. I thought I could ignore them, but that no longer seems possible.” I’d never had any intention ignoring them, but I didn’t want him to know that, terrified it might spur him to cast me aside. Everything had changed in the minutes since we’d entered this room, and I never wanted to go back to the way it was before.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I feel.”

“You must control it, or I will not be able to hear your confessions any longer.”

I could hardly breathe. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do, Mina. I have to. We must wrest these thoughts from our minds. If we cannot muster the strength to do so, we can never meet again. These urges do not come from the Lord.”

I stood up, my legs shaking. “I will go, then, and return next week for confession. I promise to master this temptation before then.”

 Florence,

190315

Darius and Signore Tazzera left the house together after dinner, and Cécile retired to her room shortly thereafter. Colin and I followed suit. I still had not become accustomed to the layout of the house, with its cold landings open to the sky. It made the contrasting warmth of the rooms all the cozier, and there is something to be said for getting a blast of fresh air, even if it’s chilly, before retiring for the night.

“I’m rather disappointed that I had no need to shoot you a longing look tonight,” I said, brushing my hair after putting on my nightgown, a filmy concoction of the finest lawn and Venetian lace. “I was rather looking forward to it.”

“If you do it with the same amount of subtlety you applied to the account of your shopping this afternoon, Darius will have no doubt that you’re up to something that has nothing to do with amorous intentions.”

“I admit to getting carried away,” I said.

“Your unguarded enthusiasm is one of the things I love best about you.” He came up behind me, bent over, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I turned my head and he kissed me, but I pushed him away.

“No distractions, not yet.” Finished with my hair, I sat on our bed while he unfastened the studs from his dress shirt, removed the garment, and flung