infiltrated our flock. This is your chance to show everyone that evil will never go unnoticed, because if these women succeed, the news will spread, a bad example will have been set, and the wind of sin will become a hurricane. We will be so weakened that the Moors will return, the Jews will regroup, and fifteen hundred years of struggle for the Peace of Christ will be buried.
It is said that torture was instituted by the court of the Holy Office. Nothing could be further from the truth! On the contrary, when Roman law made torture legal, the Church at first rejected it. Now, though, driven by necessity, we, too, have adopted it, but its use is strictly limited. The Pope gave his permission—not an order— declaring that in very rare cases torture could be used. That permission is restricted exclusively to heretics. In the court of the Inquisition, so unjustly discredited, our watchwords are Wisdom, Honesty, and Prudence. After any denunciation, we always allow sinners the grace of the sacrament of confession before they face the judgment of Heaven, where
secrets unknown to us will be revealed. Our greatest concern is to save these poor souls, and the Inquisitor has the right to interrogate and to prescribe the necessary methods that will make the guilty confess. That is when torture is occasionally used, but only as prescribed above.
Meanwhile, the enemies of the divine glory accuse us of being heartless executioners, unaware that the Inquisition uses torture with a moderation and leniency unknown in the civil courts! Torture can be used only once in every trial, and so I hope you will not waste the one opportunity you have. If you do not act appropriately, you will bring discredit on the court and we will be compelled to free those who came into this world only to sow the seed of sin. We are all weak; only the Lord is strong. But He makes us strong when He bestows on us the honor of fighting for the glory of His name.
You must not hesitate. If these women are guilty, they must confess before we can deliver them to the Lord’s mercy.
And even though this is your first time and your heart is full of what you judge to be compassion—but which is really nothing but weakness—remember that Christ did not flinch from whipping the money changers from the Temple. Your Superior will show you the correct procedures so that when the time comes you will be able to use the whip, the Wheel, and whatever else without your courage failing you. Remember that there is nothing more merciful than death by burning; that is the most legitimate form of purification. The fire burns the flesh but cleanses the soul, which can then rise up to the glory of God!
Your work is vital if order is to be maintained, if our country is to overcome these internal difficulties, if the Church is to regain the power under threat by these iniquitous creatures, and if the word of the Lamb is to echo once more in people’s hearts. Sometimes fear is necessary in order for the soul to find its path again. Sometimes war is necessary in order that we can finally find peace. We do not care how we are judged now, because the future will judge us and will recognize our work.
And even if the people of the future do not understand what we have done and forget that we had to be harsh in order for people to become as meek and mild as the Son of God told us we should be, we know that our reward awaits us in Heaven.
The seeds of evil must be torn from the Earth before they put down roots and grow. Help your Superior to carry out his sacred duty with no feelings of hatred for these poor creatures but with no pity for the Evil One, either.
Remember that there is another court in Heaven, and that court will demand to know how you carried out God’s wishes here on Earth.
Believe Even When No One Else Believes in You
WE DO NOT MOVE ALL NIGHT. I wake with her still in my arms, exactly as we were before the ring of fire. My neck is stiff from lying in the same position.
“Let’s get up. There’s something we need to do.”
She turns over, grumbling about how the sun rises very early in Siberia at this time of year.
“Come on, let’s get up. We have to leave. Go to your room, get dressed, and meet me downstairs.”
THE MAN AT RECEPTION gives me a map and shows me where to go. A five-minute walk. Hilal complains because the breakfast buffet isn’t yet open.
We cross two streets and find the place I was looking for.
“But this is a church!”
Yes, a church.
“I hate getting up early, and I particularly hate… this,” she says, pointing up at the blue-painted onion dome topped by a gold cross.
The doors are open, and a few elderly ladies are going inside. I look around and notice that the street is deserted, not a car in sight.
“I need you to do something for me.”
She gives her first smile of the day.
“Something only I can do?”
“Yes, something only you can do. Just don’t ask me why I want you to do it.”
I TAKE HER HAND and lead her into the church. It isn’t the first time I’ve been inside an Orthodox church, but I never know quite what to do, apart from lighting one of the slender wax candles and praying to the saints and angels to protect me. Even so, I always love the beauty of these churches, which repeat the same architectural ideal: the vaulted ceiling, the bare central nave, the lateral arches, the gold icons made by artists who pray and fast, and before which some of the ladies who have just come in bow, then kiss the protective glass.
As always happens when we’re focused on what we want, things begin to slot perfectly into place. Despite everything I experienced last night, despite still not having got beyond reading the letter, there is time enough before we reach Vladivostok, and my heart is at peace.
Hilal seems equally enchanted by the surrounding beauty. She must have forgotten that we’re in a church. I go over to a lady sitting in a corner, selling candles. I buy four, light three, and place those before what seems to be an image of Saint George. I pray for myself, my family, my readers, and my work.
I light the fourth and take it to Hilal.
“Please just do as I say. Hold this candle.”
Instinctively, she glances around to see if anyone is watching. She must think that what I’m asking her to do will seem disrespectful to the church we’re in. The next moment, however, she’s her usual blase self. After all, she hates churches and doesn’t see why she should behave like everyone else.
The flame from the candle is reflected in her eyes. I bow my head. I don’t feel guilty at all; I feel only acceptance and the ache of a remote pain happening in another dimension, a pain I must embrace.
“I betrayed you, and I want you to forgive me.”
“Tatiana!”
I put my hand over her mouth. She may be strong and talented and a real fighter, but I have to remember that she is still only twenty-one. I should have phrased it differently.
“No, it wasn’t Tatiana. But please, forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you when I don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Remember the Aleph. Remember what you felt at that moment. Try to bring into this sacred place something that you don’t know but that is there in your heart. If necessary, think of a favorite symphony and let it guide you to where you need to go. That’s all that matters now. Words, explanations, and questions won’t help; they’ll only confuse something that is already quite complex enough. Forgive me, but let that forgiveness come from the depths of your soul, the same soul that passes from one body to another and learns as it travels through nonexistent time and infinite space.
