Chapter 11 chapter Ten

As an adult, I've always understood the special gift that time gives to the traveler: the desire to revisit old places, to find paths we stumbled upon, to regain that sense of discovery. Very young travelers don't understand this, I don't understand it myself, but I saw it in my father, whose behavior at the monastery of Saint Matthew in the Eastern Pyrenees made me feel the mystery of repetition, I know He had been here many years ago, and this place had brought him to a subtle level that he hadn't seen anywhere else.He wanted to come here, quietly recalling the experience of being here.I have come to understand that what my father remembers is not the building, but the things that happened there.

A monk in a yellow robe stood by the wooden door, silently distributing promotional pamphlets to tourists. "I told you this monastery is still open," my father told me calmly.I was somehow convinced that something had happened to my father here. Like my first impression, this second one was fleeting, but sharper: He opened the booklet, stepped up the stone steps with one foot, looked down at the words on it very casually , instead of looking up at the animal decorations above our heads.I could see that we were about to step into this sanctuary, and his old affection for it hadn't faded away.

St. Matthew's Monastery in the Eastern Pyrenees is located on a mountain 4,000 feet above sea level. When you walk in the door, you will see St. Matthew's small church and its exquisite cloister, which seems to be a masterpiece of Samson, a warrior with artistic taste.As soon as we entered the door, we were attracted by the sound of dripping water.In such a high and dry place, there is a natural sound of water like a mountain spring, which is amazing. "Life in seclusion," my father murmured, sitting on the fence beside me. He had a weird look on his face and put his arm around my shoulder, which he rarely does.

"It looks peaceful, but life is tough and sometimes sinister." Something hung in the air below us, twinkling.Before my father could point it out to me, I realized what it was: a bird of prey, wrapped around the post like a floating copper plate. "It's built a little taller than an eagle," said the father, laughing. "You know, the eagle is a very old symbol in Christianity, which means St. John Matthew - which is St. Matthew in French - is an angel, Luke is a bull, and St. Mark is of course a winged lion. .you always see that kind of lion in the Adriatic Sea, because he is the patron saint of Venice. He has a book in his paw - if the book is open, it means that the statue or relief was completed in Venice in peacetime .If the book is closed, it means that Venice was in a period of war. We saw him in Ragusa - remember? - the book is closed on the door. Now we see the eagle as the patron saint of this place. Here It really needs protection." He frowned, stood up, and turned his head.

It occurred to me that he regretted our coming here, almost to tears.All he could hear was, "Let's look around." As we walked down the steps to the basement, I saw again my father's incredible fear.At a wide bend in the stairs, he seemed to be going too fast on purpose, pulling me behind, and he didn't take my hand as we descended onto a rock.In the darkness, a threatening cold air hit us. "This is the first nave of the church," said the father in a completely normal voice, but this explanation is unnecessary. built one." The light from the stone candlesticks on the heavy pillars broke the darkness.

Father breathed a sigh of relief and looked around at the huge, cold hole in the rock. "This is the resting place of the first Abbot, and the rest of his successors. Our tour ends here. Now, let us go to lunch." I paused on my way out.A sudden, almost panic-stricken urge came over me to ask my father what he knew and remembered about St. Matthew's Abbey.But his broad back in the black linen coat told me unmistakably, "Wait, there's a plan." I knew other things without guessing. The stories I heard while eating lunch on the monastery verandah, and the monks' dormitories I saw along the way seemed to be about a different place than the one in front of me, which undoubtedly made me understand a little more about the fear that hung over my father.

Why had he waited until Massimo had accidentally mentioned Professor Rossi's disappearance before bringing it up? Why does the restaurant manager lose his voice when he talks about vampire legends? Whatever memory tormented his father was bound up with this place, and though it was more sacred than terrifying, it was still terrifying to him.He straightened his shoulders in fear. I'm going to act, like Rosie, to find my clues.In the process of listening to the story, I began to become wiser.