Father led Midnight and myself down the street to the home of the apothecary, who ushered us inside with much formality. Papa was about to broach the subject at hand when Benjamin jumped up, exclaiming, “Where’s my manners?” and went off to fetch brandy for his guests. He seemed much more animated than usual, an indication of his different nature inside his home. Behind his closed door, he took off his mask.
I was offered a cup of wine as a special treat. It tasted sweet, and I was greatly flattered that Senhor Benjamin thought me man enough to appreciate it. To my great surprise, the three of them then toasted my health, which made me wonder if my mother had not already visited the apothecary to explain the reason for our visit.
“So, sir,” Benjamin began, addressing my father and placing his glass on the table, “it seems clear now that Reis has returned to Porto with more than just slander on his mind.”
“Aye,” my father replied. “Tell me, Benjamin, is now the time?”
“Indeed it is, James. His supporters have decided that their campaign must begin now in earnest.”
“What campaign?” I asked.
“To reestablish the Inquisition,” Papa replied.
“It was too soon when he first came, John,” the apothecary added. “Even the Church needs some time to gather its forces.” He stared at me pointedly over his oval spectacles, then whisked them off. Dangling them before me, he jerked his hand as though to throw them at me. I started, but instead of heading for me, they vanished without a trace. “The Church made Lourenco Reis disappear for a time,” he continued. Benjamin stood up now and reached behind my head. The spectacles appeared in his hand, and he put them back on. “And just like that, the Church has summoned him back again.”
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“I had you look where the spectacles would not be. It’s easy to learn a few magic tricks, John. Anyone can do it. Even a man who likes nothing so much as to frighten young boys.”
“And who summoned the necromancer back?” I asked.
“The what?” asked Benjamin.
“That’s what John calls Lourenco Reis,” Papa replied.
Benjamin laughed. “It’s a good name for him. Though he has no special powers, I assure you. And you’ve asked a good question, dear boy. Alas, I cannot say for certain who is choreographing this spectacle.”
“Whoever it is, they surely wish to have their apparatus of terror in place before Napoleon decides to advance on Portugal,” Papa observed.
“Indeed so, James. I believe they will happily place the country in the Emperor’s hands if he will permit them their indulgences.” He turned to me again. “Now, I understand, young man, that you have been told that you are half-Jewish.”
His directness cowed me. Noticing my discomfort, he said, “Forgive me, dear boy. I tend to speak plainly in my own home.” Smiling, he leaned across and patted my shoulder, which only served to make my nerves plummet toward panic.
“We have much to talk about, John,” Benjamin said gently, “and I would like to be able to speak to you about these things at our leisure. What I propose is that you come to see me once a week for a time. Would that meet with your approval?” Glancing over at Midnight and smiling, he added, “You might join us, too, if you like, my friend.”
“I would like that very, very much,” he replied. “If John agrees, that is.”
“Yes, that would be perfect,” I said.
“I assure you, John, that I mean no harm and that I am a true friend. Now, I have been given to believe that there may be some things you want to ask me.”
I felt so shy that — to my shame — I began to hiccup.
“This happens,” my father apologized.
While I held my breath to make the hiccups go away, Midnight said, “I may be wrong, for my Portuguese is very, very poor, but I believe the Oliveira Sisters mentioned a difference in the lad’s intimate parts?”
At hearing this, my scalp began crawling as though riddled with a thousand lice. I was furious with him.
“Yes, I see,” Benjamin said, and he emptied his glass. “It is rather simple.” And here, this gentleman of unimpeachable respectability stood up and began to unbutton his breeches. “If you don’t mind, James, I think that showing him will make things plain.”
Papa simply downed his brandy and said, “If you really think that it will do the trick, Benjamin.”
Midnight’s eyes shone with amusement.
The apothecary held his manhood in his hand and gave me a brief anatomy lesson, but even his meticulous explanation and my previous familiarity with my father’s nakedness were insufficient to answer my most embarrassing question. So Papa then stood up and showed us all the precise form of the hood that had been excised from me and Benjamin. I should have liked to have kept it, but he assured me it was mostly a nuisance and decidedly offensive to the nose when unwashed.
Papa took advantage of his now-inebriated state to explain to me the ABCs of procreation. It all seemed to make good sense except for the part about the process being enjoyable, since his description was very complex. Indeed, I imagined it more like an intricate operation in which the patient — the woman — might very well come to pay with her life, since, as he was careful to note, death was always a possibility in the event of pregnancy.
Once my tongue was loosened by my wine and by our conviviality, I decided to make further inquiries of Senhor Benjamin. “Will my father and Midnight be allowed to live with my mother and me in … in heaven, or will they be banished? And Senhor Policarpo, is he there now?”
“We are all made in God’s image, and, among other things, John, that means that your parents and Midnight will indeed be with you on the Mount of Olives. As for Policarpo, he is safe now. He has rejoined the Lord. And” — he smiled — “if I have not ruined my own chances with all my meddling here in the Lower Realms, then I may very well be permitted to join him and the rest of you when my time comes.”
“Have I a soul?” I asked him.
“We all do, dear boy.” When I asked what it looked like, he replied, “I couldn’t possibly say. I’ve never seen one.”
“Then how do you know we all have one?”
“How do you know there is a China? And an Italy?”
“Because other people have been to those places. And they have written about their travels. I’ve read a bit of Marco Polo.”
“Precisely.”
Our host left us then and returned momentarily, clutching a thick, leather-bound book. Handing it to me, he said, “A man who saw God wrote this book. With your father’s permission, I recommend you read it. We can talk about it together.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“The Torah,” he said. “That’s the Jewish name of the Old Testament. A sage once said that there are two places where we may always find the truth — in the Torah and in our heart.” Smiling mischievously at Papa, Benjamin added, “If you should like to join us in reading it, James, I would be most pleased.”
“I am afraid I should make as bad a Jew as I do a Christian. All of religion I need know is that I shall be with my wife, my son, you, and Midnight on the Mount of Olives.”
Mama’s supper was glorious that evening, but I picked over my potatoes and sardines because I couldn’t stop picturing Senhor Policarpo’s bloodied face. While she was serving stewed prunes, the Olive Tree Sisters brought over the two sheets that Graca had been sewing together that afternoon. She had cut — per my specific instructions — a hole one foot in diameter at the center of the seam. I had completely forgotten about this costume, which I was planning to wear on our St. John’s Eve promenade. I took it from them with eager thanks.
“I sincerely hope,” Mama said, “that you are not planning on walking around the city with those tattered old sheets draped over you. Honestly, John, the things you make the Olive Tree Sisters do for you. It’s criminal!”
“Mama, please wait until you’ve had a chance to see us.”
“Us? Which us? I shall not wear that foul sheet for all the — ”
“May, dearest,” Papa interrupted, “I’m fairly certain that John means Midnight.”
I told him that he was indeed correct, whereupon he let the two of us leave the table.
