The Revolution of the Moon Read online

  The second shelter, called the Conservatory of Reformed Magdalens, would be located in the former convent of the Daughters of the Madonna and would host streetwalkers or women thrown out of brothels for no longer being attractive to clients because of their advanced age, women who often died on the streets of hunger and hardship.

  These two shelters would be a burden on the Kingdom’s purse only by half, in that the other half would be paid for by twenty thousand scudi taken from the aposiento, the gift of twenty-five thousand scudi granted by Sicily to every new viceroy, since don Angel had never spent any of his own gratuity. For donna Eleonora’s personal expenses, her monthly appanage would suffice.

  The remaining five thousand scudi of the aposiento would be split into one hundred parts of fifty scudi each, and would go to constitute a fund that would dole out wedding dowries to one hundred girls who did in fact have a mother and a father but came from poor families. The donation would be called the “Royal Dowry.”

  The Councillors were taken aback. Never before had a viceroy renounced his lavish aposiento. And not only was she renouncing it, she was using it to fund a great work of charity.

  Turro Mendoza says this woman is the devil—thought the bishop of Patti—but if all devils are like her, I’m ready to burn in hell.

  These two shelters, donna Eleonora continued, like the Royal Dowry, would be placed under the command of the Judge of the Monarchy, who would see to the recruitment of the personnel and to the everyday administration, in addition to preparing the proclamation of the dowry for impoverished girls. Did the Councillors have any objections?

  The Councillors had no objections.

  Then, to conclude, donna Eleonora said she had some information to give the Councillors. She had received an appeal for clemency on the part of the marquis Simone Trecca, who had been condemned to death. He wanted the death penalty to be commuted to life imprisonment.

  She had denied the appeal without hesitation, and had even advised the alcalde that the marquis should be the last to be put to death, after having to witness the execution of the two assassins who had acted under his orders.

  She communicated this fact with her usual angelic voice, and with no particular inflections in her voice, although nobody present could look her in the eye, where the flames were burning blacker than ever.

  The session was adjourned and the next Council convened for the following Friday.

  Before exiting, donna Eleonora asked Don Benedetto Arosio, bishop of Patti, if he would come to her apartment at four o’clock that afternoon. The bishop consented.

  The first question donna Eleonora asked Don Benedetto and Patre Asciolla was whether all the priests in Palermo had taken part in the procession against her. Don Benedetto replied that five priests had come to him to tell him that they’d declared themselves ill so they wouldn’t have to attend. For his part, Patre Asciolla said he knew seven who had refused to obey the bishop’s order.

  “That makes twelve, like the Apostles,” Don Benedetto commented.

  Donna Eleonora then explained to them that they must speak to these priests, who were the only ones who could be counted on, and ask them to call to the attention to the representative of the Judge of the Monarchy all the young or old prostitutes they saw abandoned on the streets who survived by begging for alms. She wanted the two shelters to be up and running within a week at the most.

  And it all must be done, of course, without Turro Mendoza knowing about it.

  Shortly thereafter Don Benedetto asked permission to leave. Left alone with Patre Asciolla, donna Eleonora said to him:

  “I want you to come back to your Chapel apartment, tonight.”

  “But the bishop . . . ”

  “At the moment, I don’t think he would dare oppose your return as the palace chaplain.”

  “I’ll do as you say.”

  “Bueno. One last thing: Do you know how many little boys there are in the Cathedral’s choir of angelic voices?”

  “Yes, there are twenty of them.”

  “Y sabe si in the last few days any boys were taken out of the choir?”

  Patre Asciolla looked at her in shock.

  “How did you find out?”

  “So someone has indeed been removed .”

  “Yes. Or so I was told at the bishopric.”

  “But taking away un niño del coro no me parece un tema tan importante for people to be talking about at the bishopric.”

  Patre Asciolla gave her a slightly embarrassed look.

  “That’s true. But this little kid—I’m sorry, this child, was the most beautiful of all and had the most gifted voice, and so—”

  “Sólo por esto?”

  Patre Asciolla became even more embarrassed.

  “Speak.”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I really do not at all like to repeat gossip and insinuations . . . ”

  “Es una orden.”

  Patre Asciolla swallowed twice before opening his mouth.

  “Apparently the little boy’s father . . . had a violent argument with the bishop and Turro Mendoza, screaming, had him thrown out roughly by Don Puglia.”

  “Do you know la razón for this argument?”

  “No.”

  But as he said “no” Patre Asciolla kept his eyes lowered. And donna Eleonora realized that that “no” was really a “yes,” but that the priest, by his very nature, was incapable of malice.

  “Do you know at least quién es el padre?”

  Patre Asciolla hesitated a moment, but the replied.

  “The boy is the son of Mariano Bonifati, and his name is Cenzino. Bonifati is the most important oil merchant in town, he’s a benefactor of the Cathedral, and his wife is the leader of the devotees of the bishop.”

  “Muchas gracias. And I repeat: You must return to your apartment by this evening.”

  * * *

  That evening, as the two of them were eating alone, donna Eleonora asked don Serafino whether he perchance knew a man named Mariano Bonifati.

  “The oil merchant? Yes, I do.”

  “Are you amigos?”

  “No, just casual acquaintances. But why—”

  Donna Eleonora seemed not to have heard the question.

  “Do you know anyone from the family? Como la esposa, a brother, a sister . . . ”

  “No. However . . . ”

  “However?”

  “The doctor who takes care of the family is a disciple of mine. Antonio Virgadamo. Do you think he would be useful to you?”

  “Claro que sí.”

  “Tell me what you want of him and—”

  “Later,” said donna Eleonora, cutting him off.

  But don Serafino went on.

  “But I should warn you. If you want to know anything that concerns my disciple Virgadamo specifically as the doctor of the Bonifati family, there is no point in asking him. He won’t tell you; he’s a young man of unshakable professional integrity.”

  “Entiendo,” said donna Eleonora.

  And she changed the subject.

  Later, in the study, don Serafino, anxious to be of use, brought the subject back up.

  “Why did you ask me about Bonifati?”

  Donna Eleonora shrugged.

  “I beg you, please answer me.”

  “There is no point in talking about it anymore .”

  ‘“Why?’

  “Because, based on what you told me, I don’t think you’re in any position to help me.”

  Help her?

  That changed everything.

  “Please tell me what this is about,” said don Serafino.

  “If I say you are not the right person for this, you must believe me,” donna Eleonora said brusquely.

  Don Serafino knelt down and took a hem of her clothes in his hands.
/>   “I beg you.”

  Donna Eleonora gave in.

  “Get up, por favor, and sit down.”

  Don Serafino obeyed. The marquesa went over to the desk, grabbed a sheet of paper and sat down in front of him.

  “This is a message to me that a stranger delivered at dawn esta mañana to the captain of the guard. It’s not signed. It’s written in Sicilian, and it took me some effort to understand it. Read it and then forget it.”

  She handed it to him. Don Serafino took it and read it.

  Lemme tell you what that pig of a biship did to a poor little boy of the Cathedral choir who’s called Cinzino. He hurt him so bad his father had to get the doctor to give him some stitches.

  How can that great big swine keep causing harm to little children? Please do something about it.

  Reading this, don Serafino turned as pale as a corpse. He gave the note back to the marquesa, unable to say a word. He felt choked with indignation.

  “Qué lástima!” said donna Eleonora. “If only I could get rid of Turro Mendoza . . . para siempre . . . ”

  “So it wasn’t just gossip!” don Serafino muttered.

  “Parece que no.”

  “But how did you manage to find out the name of the boy’s father?”

  “I ask.”

  Whom? But he answered his own question before he’d even formed it in his mind. Patre Asciolla. That was why she’d sent for him. And if Patre Asciolla was helping her, should he step back?

  “I beg your leave to go,” he said, standing up suddenly.

  “Muy bien. But you’ll be back later?”

  “Yes, if that’s all right with you.”

  “I stay up waiting, toda la noche, si es necesario.”

  “I’ll come in through the secret little door.”

  “Perfecto. I tell Estrella to expect you.”

  * * *

  Don Serafino returned two hours later.

  “I talked to Virgadamo. And you know what? He was looking for me himself.”

  “Was it to talk about the boy?””

  “Yes. He wanted my advice on the matter. He wanted to know whether or not he should denounce the bishop. Virgadamo maintains that such foul abuse exempts him from keeping professional secrecy. I said I agreed with him. And Virgadamo is convinced that it was the father who wrote you that letter. He didn’t sign it because he was afraid the bishop would retaliate.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Tomorrow I’ll go to the Grand Captain of Justice and file a denunciation. Meanwhile I’ll pay a call on Bonifati and try to persuade him to join in .”

  “Do you think you can?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Things Take a Rather Bad Turn for the Bishop

  That morning, when Bishop Turro Mendoza heard the criers’ drums and voices again, he got nervous.

  The last time around, half the population of the city, upon hearing of the new law concerning the guilds, had immediately gone into raptures for donna Eleonora.

  So what could the accursed woman have cooked up this time to get the men and women of the church, or those who until then had remained indifferent, to come over to her side?

  Worried, he ordered Don Puglia to go down into the streets to listen to what people were saying and then report back to him.

  The news that the price of bread had been halved was a heavy blow.

  It would not be easy to convince churchgoing people that reducing the cost of bread by half was the work of the devil.

  He certainly would no longer be able to count on assembling three thousand people. Maybe a couple of hundred, at best.

  No, he had to change strategy, drop the business of donna Eleonora not wanting to bury her husband and come up with something completely different, something lethal. But he couldn’t think of anything.

  Doctor Virgadamo, as promised, requested an audience with the Grand Captain of Justice, submitting as well a note from the court physician asking don Filippo Arcadipane to receive him as soon as possible because he had something very serious to discuss with him.

  And don Filippo, who was quite busy at that moment, did receive him, making him wait barely half an hour in the antechamber.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to denounce the grave abuse of a small boy of six, at the hands of—”

  Don Filippo interrupted him.

  “Are you his father?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a member of the boy’s family?”

  “No.”

  The Grand Captain thought about this for a moment.

  “Who is the boy’s father?”

  “Mariano Bonifati.”

  “The man who trades in oil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me in what capacity you are making this denunciation.”

  “I am the doctor who was summoned by the father to treat the lesions the boy sustained from the abuse.”

  “Do you have the father’s authorization to come to me?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Because I consider it my duty to—”

  “And why hasn’t the father considered it his duty?”

  “Because he’s afraid.”

  “I understand. So you’re telling me indirectly that the person who abused the little boy is a powerful man?”

  Virgadamo was an intelligent lad and understood how the Grand Captain’s brain functioned. And so he limited himself to replying:

  “Yes, he’s a powerful man.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “About what?”

  “That it was this powerful man who abused the boy. I’ll rephrase the question. Who told you that it was this powerful man who abused the boy?”

  “The father.”

  “And did the boy confirm this?”

  “In my presence he couldn’t speak: he was crying.”

  “Let me ask you then: isn’t it possible that the culprit might be the father, or another family member, and that the powerful man doesn’t exist and was merely created to cast the blame outside the walls of the home?”

  “I would rule that out in the firmest manner possible.”

  “On what basis?”

  “Based on the sorrow and anger the father displayed as he told me what had happened. He was truly upset.”

  “That’s not enough for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I can’t accept your denunciation. You can be the main witness for the prosecution, but the denunciation must, by law, be filed by a family member. And you must understand that in cases of this nature a strict adherence to the law is not only my duty, but also the path of prudence. I’m sorry.”

  Don Serafino returned to the palace disappointed and embittered.

  “I was unable to persuade Bonifati. He’s too afraid. I’m sure it was him who wrote the anonymous letter, because he wants to see the bishop imprisoned, but he has no plans to come out. He told me that a few hours after his altercation with the bishop over the violence done to his son, a priest showed up at his house, a certain Don Puglia, who threatened explicity to kill him if he filed a denunciation.”

  “El médico su discípulo, did he go and espeak to the Gran Capitano?” asked donna Eleonora.

  “Yes, and he gave me a full report. Unfortunately the Grand Captain couldn’t accept his denunciation.”

  “Y por qué?”

  “Because it can only be made by a family member.”

  They both remained silent for a few moments.

  Then donna Eleonora took the anonynous letter, read it, and set it back down on the desk.

  “Bonifati escribe que there have been other similar cases,” she
said.

  “People have been talking about it in town for quite some time,” said don Serafino. “But until now it all remained gossip and rumor . . . there was nothing concrete.”

  “Please do me a favor. Go to the chapel, y si Padre Asciolla está libre, bring him back here.”

  Ten minutes later, Patre Asciolla was in front of the marquesa.

  “Padre,” donna Eleonora began bluntly, “I have proof that the bishop really did commit ese esecrable acto on the boy we spoke about.”

  Patre Asciolla turned pale.

  “What a disgrace!” he muttered. “How shameful for the Church!”

  His eyes filled with tears.

  “Please listen. I will now ask you a question, and you must give me an answer.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  “Do you know whether, before this case, people talked about similar cases?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have any other boys been taken out of the choir?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Three months ago.”

  “Do you know the boy’s name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  Patre Asciolla was now sweating.

  “Carlino Giaraffa.”

  “Just a moment,” don Serafino cut in. “Do you mean Stefano Giaraffa’s youngest son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know him?” the marquesa asked don Serafino.

  “Quite well.”

  “Muchas gracias. You can go now,” donna Eleonora said to the priest.

  As soon as Patre Asciolla went out, the marquesa asked the court physician if he could go at once and talk to Giaraffa. Don Serafino twisted up his mouth.