In the Garden of Iden Read Online Free Page A

its stone ways: no people, I suppose because of the heat, but also because the Holy Office was secretive and came and went on near-deserted streets. The streets glared all the brighter for their emptiness. It hurt my eyes to look.
    But soon enough we went under a big archway, the horses’ hooves echoing back, and down steep stairs into darkness. And that was the last I had to worry about the sun hurting my eyes for a long time.
    I was locked in a tiny dark room. There was a sort of wooden tray on the floor, filled with straw, to lie down in; there was a crockery pot to do something else in. No other thing in that room at all; no windows. The only light came from the grated window in the door.
    So there I was, in the dungeons of the Inquisition.

Chapter Three
    I T REALLY WASN’T so bad at first. I was full of optimism; I sat there in the straw rehearsing all the things I would say to the Inquisidors when they sent for me—any minute now, I was sure—with a particularly dramatic rendering of how I found the wheat man at the top of the stairs. And at least I still had a bed to myself, though this one had a moldy smell.
    And it really didn’t bother me (at first anyway) when hours and more hours went by and nobody brought me anything to eat. I was used to that, I could manage. Sometimes at my mama’s and papa’s we went a day or two without eating. But after I had slept and woken three or four times, I was very thirsty, so I went to the door and yelled up at the little window.
    Eventually there came a clumping of boots, and a big nose poked through the grate. I could just see a scowl behind it.
    “I’m hungry and I want some water,” I told the nose.
    “You shut up,” it said, “or I’ll bring the gag in here.”
    “But I want something to eat.” I backed away from the door a little.
    “Got any money?”
    “No.” I blinked. Was he serious? I’d never held so much as a maravedi in my hand in my whole life.
    “Then you may ask San Fructuoso to bring you some,” he said, and clumped away. I sat down and cried. After a while I went back to sleep in the straw and was awakened by the sound of the cell door opening. A hand thrust through the blinding crack of light and set a pitcher of water on the floor; then it withdrew, and the door bumped shut. I scrambled to the water and drank greedily, until I got sick and spilled half of it on the floor.
    After that I wasn’t doing so well. I slept and woke and still got no food; I was beginning to feel very strange, very bad. The next time I woke to see the hand putting water in, I cried at it:
    “Please, I need to have some bread!”
    It hesitated, and a voice replied: “Your mother is supposed to pay for your food.”
    “My mama!” I was so excited. “Is she here?”
    “Well, yes,” said the voice.
    “Tell her to come get me! Right away!”
    The voice laughed and the door shut.
     
    I got through the next few sleeps in happy anticipation of my mama coming for me, until once again the truth began to insinuate itself, whispering nastily behind its hand like the Devil in the paintings. I don’t know how long I was a prisoner there. I couldn’t see the sun; time had altered its pace with me. The Holy Office, I was to discover, had a whole different perception of time from the rest of the world.
    Time had a few more tricks to play on me, as will be seen. That old devil Chronos.
    At some point my door crashed open and brilliant light streamed in. I rubbed my eyes and tried to sit up. The figure of a man appeared in the light and looked at me.
    “Little girl? Get up and come with me.”
    “You get me some food first,” I croaked, glaring at him. He took a step or two into the room and crouched down to look at me. And though I know he had to be speaking Galician, because of course I couldn’t speak Cinema Standard yet, I swear to God I remember him saying:
    “Wow. You’re in bad shape, aren’t you?”
    “Nobody has given me anything to eat since I’ve been in