anner.vittoriothevampire-第32部分

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　the　French　and　the　Germans　…　I　still　could　not　get　the　hated　vision　of　it　out　of　my　head。　Trying　desperately　not　to　heave　up　my　guts　again；　I　relaxed　all　my　limbs　as　I　saw　this　Florentine　enclosure。
　Down　around　the　cloister；　down　around　the　burning　hot　garden；　the　large　monk；　a　bear　of　a　man；　beaming　down　at　me　in　habitual　and　inveterate　kindness；　carried　me　in　his　burly　arms；　while　there　came　others　in　their　flowing　black　and　white　robes；　with　thin　radiant　faces　seeming　to　encircle　us　even　in　our　rapid　progress。　I　couldn't　see　my　angels。
　But　these　men　were　the　nearest　to　angels　that　the　world　provides。
　I　soon　realized　…　due　to　my　former　visits　to　this　great　place　…　that　I　was　not　being　taken　to　the　hospice；　where　drugs　were　dispensed　to　the　sick　of　Florence；　or　to　the　pilgrims'　refuge；　which　was　always　swarming　with　those　who　e　to　offer　and　pray；　but　up　the　stairs　into　the　very　hall　of　the　monks'　cells。
　In　a　glaze　of　sickness　in　which　beauty　brought　a　catch　in　my　throat；　I　saw　at　the　head　of　the　stairway；　spread　out　on　the　wall；　the　fresco　of　Fra　Giovanni's　Annunciation。
　My　painting；　the　Annunciation！　My　chosen　favorite；　the　painting　which　meant　more　to　me　than　any　other　religious　motif。
　And　no；　it　wasn't　the　genius　of　my　turbulent　Filippo　Lippi；　no；　but　it　was　my　painting；　and　surely　this　was　an　omen　that　no　demon　can　damn　a　soul　through　the　poison　of　forced　blood。　Was　Ursula's　blood　forced　on　you　too？　Horrid　thought。　Try　not　to　remember　her　soft　fingers　being　pulled　loose　from　you；　you　fool；　you　drunken　fool；　try　not　to　remember　her　lips　and　the　long　thick　kisslet　of　blood　slipping　into　your　own　open　mouth。
　〃Look　at　it！〃　I　cried　out。　I　pointed　one　flopping　arm　towards　the　painting。
　〃Yes；　yes；　we　have　so　many；〃　said　the　big　smiling　bear　of　a　monk。
　Fra　Giovanni　was　of　course　the　painter。　Who　could　have　not　seen　it　in　one　glance？　Besides；　I　knew　it。　And　Fra　Giovanni　…　let　me　remind　you　one　more　time　that　this　is　Fra　Angelico　of　the　ages　…　had　made　a　severe；　soothing；　tender　but　utterly　simple　Angel　and　Virgin；　steeped　in　humility　and　devoid　of　embellishments；　the　visitation　itself　taking　place　between　low　rounded　arches　such　as　made　up　the　very　cloister　from　which　we　had　just　e。
　As　the　big　monk　swung　me　around　to　take　me　down　the　broad　corridor　…　and　broad　it　was；　and　so　polished　and　austere　and　beautiful　to　me　…　I　tried　to　form　words　as　I　carried　the　image　of　the　angel　in　my　mind。
　I　wanted　to　tell　Ramiel　and　Setheus；　if　they　were　still　with　me；　that　look；　Gabriel's　wings　had　only　simple　stripes　of　color；　and　look；　how　his　gown　fell　in　symmetrical　and　disciplined　folds。　All　of　this　I　understood；　as　I　understood　the　rampant　grandeur　of　Ramiel　and　Setheus；　but　I　was　blubbering　nonsense　again。
　〃The　halos；〃　I　said。　〃You　two；　where　are　you？　Your　halos　hover　over　your　heads。　I　saw　them。　I　saw　them　in　the　street　and　in　the　paintings。　But　you　see　in　the　painting　by　Fra　Giovanni；　the　halo　is　flat　and　surrounds　the　painted　face；　a　disk　hard　and　golden　right　on　the　field　of　the　painting
　The　monks　laughed。　〃To　whom　are　you　speaking；　young　Signore　Vittorio　di　Raniari？〃　one　of　them　asked　me。
　〃Be　quiet；　child；〃　said　the　big　monk；　his　booming　bass　voice　pushing　against　me　through　his　barrel　of　a　chest。　〃You're　in　our　tender　care。　And　you　must　hush　now；　see；　there；　that's　the　library；　you　see　our　monks　at　work？〃
　They　were　proud　of　it；　weren't　they？　Even　in　our　progress　when　I　might　have　vomited　all　over　the　immaculate　floor；　the　monk　turned　to　let　me　see　through　the　open　door　the　long　room　crowded　with　books　and　monks　at　work；　but　what　I　saw　too　was　Michelozzo's　vaulted　ceiling；　again；　not　soaring　to　leave　us；　but　bending　gently　over　the　heads　of　the　monks　and　letting　a　volume　of　light　and　air　rise　above　them。
　It　seemed　I　saw　visions。　I　saw　multiple　and　triple　figures　where　there　should　only　be　one；　and　even　in　a　flash　a　misty　confusion　of　angelic　wings；　and　oval　faces　turned；　peering　at　me　through　the　veil　of　supernatural　secrecy。
　〃Do　you　see？〃　was　all　I　could　say。　I　had　to　get　to　that　library；　I　had　to　find　texts　in　it　that　defined　the　demons。　Yes；　I　had　not　given　up！　Oh；　no；　I　was　no　babbling　idiot。　I　had　God's　very　own　angels　at　my　assistance。　I'd　take　Ramiel　and　Setheus　in　there　and　show　them　the　texts。
　We　know；　Vittorio；　wipe　the　pictures　from　your　mind；　for　we　see　them。　〃Where　are　you？〃　I　cried　out。　〃Quiet；〃　said　the　monks。
　〃But　will　you　help　me　go　back　there　and　kill　them？〃
　〃You're　babbling；〃　said　the　monks。
　Cosimo　was　the　guardian　patron　of　that　library。　When　old　Niccolo　de'　Niccoli　died；　a　marvelous　collector　of　books　with　whom　I　had　many　times　spoken　at　Vaspasiano's　bookshop；　all　of　his　religious　books；　and　maybe　more；　had　been　donated　by　Cosimo　to　this　monastery。
　I　would　find　them　in　there；　in　that　library；　and　find　proof　in　St。　Augustine　or　Aquinas　of　the　devils　with　which　I'd　fought。
　No。　I　was　not　mad。　I　had　not　given　up。　I　was　no　gibbering　idiot。　If　only　the　sun　ing　in　the　high　little　windows　of　this　airy　place　would　stop　baking　my　eyeballs　and　burning　my　hands。
　〃Quiet；　quiet；〃　said　the　big　monk；　smiling　still。　〃You　are　making　noises　like　an　infant。　Hhhhh。　Burgle；　gurgle。　Hear？　Now；　look；　the　library's　busy。　It's　open　to　the　public　today。　Everybody　is　busy　today。〃
　He　turned　only　a　few　steps　past　the　library　to　take　me　into　a　cell。　〃Down　there。。。〃　he　went　on；　as　if　cajoling　an　unruly　baby。　〃Only　a　few　steps　away　is　the　Prior's　cell；　and　guess　who　is　there　this　very　minute？　It's　the　Archbishop。〃
　〃Antonino；〃　I　whispered。
　〃Yes；　yes；　you　said　it　right。　Once　our　own　Antonino。　Well；　he's　here；　and　guess　why？〃
　I　was　too　groggy　to　respond。　The　other　monks　surrounded　me。　They　wiped　me　with　cool　cloths。　They　smoothed　back　my　hair。
　This　was　a　clean　large　cell。　Oh；　if　the　sun　would　only　stop。　What　had　those　demons　done　to　me；　made　me　into　a　half…demon？　Dare　I　ask　for　a　mirror？
　Set　down　on　a　thick　soft　bed；　in　this　warm；　clean　place；　I　lost　all　control　of　my　limbs。　I　was　sick　again。
　The　monks　attended　me　with　a　silver　basin。　The　sunlight　pierced　brilliantly　upon　a　fresco；　but　I　couldn't　bear　to　look　at　the　gleaming　figures；　not　in　this　hurtful　illumination。　It　seemed　the　cell　was　filled　with　other　figures。　Were　they　angels？　I　saw　transparent　beings；　drifting；　stirring；　but　I　could　catch　hold　of　no　clear　outline。　Only　the　fresco　burned　into　the　wall　in　its　colors　seemed　solid；　valid；　true。
　〃Have　they　done　this　to　my　eyes　forever？〃　I　asked。　I　thought　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　an　angelic　form　in　the　doorway　of　the　cell；　but　it　was　not　the　figure　of　either　Setheus　or　Ramiel。　Did　it　have　webbed　wings？　Demon　wings？　I　started　in　terror。　But　it　was　gone。　Rustling；　whispering。　We　know。
　〃Where　are　my　angels？〃　I　asked。　I　cried。　I　told　out　the　names　of　my　father　and　his　father；　and　of　all　the　di　Raniari　whom　I　could　remember。
　〃Shhhhh；〃　said　the　young　monk。　〃Cosimo　has　been　told　that　you　are　here。　But　this　is　a　terrible　day。　We　remember　your　father。　Now　let　us　remove　these　filthy　clothes。〃　My　head　swam。　The　room　was　gone。
　Sodden　sleep；　a　glimpse　of　her；　my　savior　Ursula。　She　ran　through　the　blowing　meadow。　Who　was　this　pursuing　her；　driving　her　out　of　the　nodding；　weaving　flowers？　Purple　irises　surrounded　her；　were　crushed　under　her　feet。　She　turned。　Don't；　Ursula！　Don't　turn。　Don't　you　see　the　flaming　sword？
　I　woke　in　a　warm　bath。　Was　it　the　cursed　baptismal　fount？　No。　I　saw　the　fresco；　the　holy　figures；　dimly；　and　more　immediately　the　real　live　monks　who　surrounded　me　on　their　knees　on　the　stone；　their　big　sleeves　rolled　back　as　they　washed　me　in　the　warm；　sweet…scented　water。
　〃Ah；　that　Francesco　Sforza。。。〃　they　spoke　in　Latin　to　one　another。　〃To　charge　into　Milan　and　take　possession　of　the　Dukedom！　As　if　Cosimo　did　not　have　enough　trouble；　without　Sforza　having　done　such　a　thing。〃
　〃He　did　it？　He　has　taken　Milan？〃　I　asked。
　〃What　did　you　say？　Yes；　son；　he　has。　He　broke　the　peace。　And　your　family；　all　your　poor　family　murdered　by　the　freebooters；　don't　think　they'll　go　unpunished；　rampaging　through　that　country；　those　damned　Venetians。。。〃
　〃No；　you　mustn't；　you　must　tell　Cosimo。　It　was　not　an　act　of　war；　what　happened　to　my　family；　not　by　human　bein