The Deliverance of Evil Read Online Free Page A

she has a sudden stroke and loses her memory, I’d say you’ve got a chance . . .”
    We ended up shutting the door and settling down for a chat over a beer. There was no ashtray, because Angelo didn’t smoke in his office, so I used the wastepaper basket. Angelo explained his work to me. The Vatican sent him the scheduled arrivals, and his three regular staff allocated the available housing to the priests and nuns—in separate quarters, naturally—while his responsibility was to take care of hostels and convents for any upcoming conventions. As for emergencies, such as unexpected arrivals, he was always on call, no matter the time of day. That was why he needed extra help on Saturdays and sometimes Sundays too. This extra help came in the shape of that young goddess Elisa Sordi, the girl about to take her exams in accountancy.
    “So, on Saturdays you’re here alone with her. How do you resist?”
    “There’s nothing to resist. I’ve already told you, Elisa’s off limits. Go on, admit it: the truth is that my being faithful to Paola upsets you, and you’d feel better if I stepped over the line once in a while.”
    That wasn’t true. I wasn’t jealous of the self-control he applied to this renunciation. I’d had to work on self-control a good deal myself and was still alive because I’d learned it the hard way before anyone had had a chance to kill me. But I really didn’t understand self-control applied to sex—it was like sucking mints to hide bad breath. And I wanted my friend to see it as I did: self-imposed faithfulness was like renouncing life itself. And that really was a deadly sin.
    At half past one, Elisa knocked and put her head around the door, avoiding my gaze.
    “May I go out for something to eat?” she asked.
    It seemed an old-fashioned request, like asking for permission to go to the bathroom. I went to the window to watch her leave. A young man was waiting for her outside Building B’s main door.
    “You said she was a little saint,” I said to Angelo.
    “Shit, Mike, you’re still planning on trying to get into her pants? That’s Valerio Bona, an old friend of hers. Anyway, it’s no business of ours.”
    The goddess was going off with a guy her own age who was short and skinny and wore glasses. It was absolutely ridiculous—such a waste. He looked like a loser. She’d taken off her white coat. She was dressed simply and modestly in loose-fitting pants. A sweatshirt tied around her waist camouflaged her splendid behind.
    I could have some fun with a girl like that .
    I intended to do everything I could to cancel out my tactless behavior. After all, it was only the first time we’d met.
    . . . .
    Angelo had to discuss a couple of matters with the cardinal before we could go for some lunch.
    “Come with me, Michele. He’ll be happy to meet you. It’s always useful to know a policeman,” he said with a grin.
    The cardinal’s penthouse was enormous: a spacious living room, several bedrooms and bathrooms, together with a large balcony overlooking the grounds, with a view all the way to the entrance on Via della Camilluccia, where the gatehouse was located. The living room was full of young African priests and nuns speaking French. It was like a deluxe Catholic youth hostel.
    “These are the people we have to find places for. They should have left this morning but there’s a coup d’état going on in their country, and they’ve closed the airport,” Angelo explained.
    The only white face apart from ours was that of Alessandrini, who was mingling with the young clergy in his everyday clothes. He poured lemonade into their glasses from a large carafe. A short, middle-aged man who radiated great energy, his lively, intelligent black eyes stood out against his cropped gray hair.
    He came up to me with a smile and an outstretched hand. “You must be Michele Balistreri,” he said. Then, turning to Angelo, he added, “Help yourselves to lemonade. I’ll be back in a