“Explain everything?” Karl frowned. “If you say so.”
He gave the nun a grateful nod and started to walk toward Greta—the only woman who truly meant something to him and whom he had missed for so long.
Johann’s gaze followed him.
Greta still hadn’t looked up, entirely absorbed by the task of changing the old man’s bandage. Then Karl addressed her. She looked up and gave a small cry as she dropped the copper bowl she had been holding. The clatter echoed through the hall. Thankfully, the mother superior had moved to a different part of the building, so that only a few patients turned their heads. Karl picked up the bowl for Greta, then he embraced her for a long moment. Johann heard his daughter sob. A thick, slimy lump sat in his throat and he was still shaking, his eye welling up. And yet he couldn’t cry, nor could he walk over to his daughter.
The sight of her was overwhelming, almost too much for him. She was obviously doing well. The smile on her lips when he’d first beheld her had been real, as if she had found an inner peace that was denied to him. Johann was afraid the smile would disappear if she saw him here at the hospital. That she would call him what he was.
The murderer of her intended.
Would she ever forgive him?
One more time Johann looked at Karl and Greta, still clinging to one another like a shipwrecked couple at sea, and then he walked over to the church and waited. Towering above the altar was a ciborium of colored marble, dedicated to Job, patron saint of those who suffer. Johann remembered the story about the devil challenging God by questioning Job’s faith. God tried His follower with numerous harsh blows, and in the end the devil lost the bet. God remained victorious.
Who wins in my story? wondered Johann, kneeling before the altar. God or the devil? His head was empty, and he felt incapable of saying a prayer, as much as he would have liked to.
Arcades along the sides of the church opened into the two wings of the Corsia Sistina, so that the patients could glimpse the altar from their beds. From his position on the ground, Johann couldn’t see Karl or Greta, and he was glad. He closed his eyes and folded his hands.
Greta, please forgive me. Dear God, forgive me.
Finally he heard footsteps. It was Karl, walking up to him with a pale and serious expression. He knelt down beside Johann and began to pray in silence. A long while passed.
“She told you, didn’t she?” asked Johann eventually. “She told you that I killed John Reed and that I nearly killed you, too, down in the crypt of Tiffauges. But did she also tell you that I wasn’t in my right mind? The black potion—”
“What happened back then no longer matters,” said Karl, his voice breaking. “What matters is that you kept it from me. Why?”
“I like to deal with things on my own,” replied Johann.
“Oh yes, I know that only too well.” Karl gave a dry laugh. “And it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Then you won’t be surprised to learn that you will have to continue to deal with things on your own. Greta doesn’t want to see you.”
“I could come back tomorrow—”
“Don’t you understand?” Karl’s voice rose. “She doesn’t want to see you ever again. She is happy here, do you hear me? And she doesn’t want you to destroy this happiness, too. Viktor von Lahnstein arranged for her place here at the hospital, for whatever reason. Greta has found her calling as a sister and a healer. People appreciate and respect her—treating the sick has lent a purpose to her life that the likes of us are still searching for in books. Accept it, Doctor! Greta is no longer your daughter. She is going her own way now, and that is good. Let her go.”
Johann said nothing for a long while. To outsiders it looked as though two men were peacefully praying in front of the altar. But on the inside, Johann was in turmoil. Powerful emotions raged inside him—anger, disappointment, love, grief.
Greta is no longer your daughter.
“I . . . I cannot accept it,” he said eventually. “Not like this—not this easily.”
He rose tiredly and walked out through the church door into a courtyard, where a cool evening breeze and soft drizzle met his face, but he didn’t feel it.
Greta is no longer your daughter.
For the first time in his life, Johann felt much older than he was. Like a decrepit old man awaiting his death without hope and without salvation.
22
VIKTOR VON LAHNSTEIN WAITED IMPATIENTLY OUTSIDE THE double doors of one of the many papal reception chambers. The ceiling of the waiting room was as high as the nave of a church and was decorated with leaf gold, depicting the creation of the world in six days. Lahnstein felt like that was how long he’d been waiting, although it had only been an hour. Still, he had some very important news to share—and had reminded the soldiers of the Swiss guard by the door several times. But they had merely stared in silence at the hole in his face as if he was some kind of strange animal. Lahnstein had grown accustomed to such looks, but they still pained him.
Lahnstein sighed and gazed at the painting on the ceiling to calm his spirit. It had become increasingly difficult in recent months to get through to the Holy Father. Leo seemed to live in his very own world and often retreated into the depths of Castel Sant’Angelo. Even he, Viktor
