Road to Rome

The round nurse checked the bandages and dressings, and pushed the trolley away. The medicine bottles and metal utensils on the trolley made a slight clanking sound as they moved deeper into the corridor, and disappeared after a while.

The nurse turned off the brightest light, leaving only the small one by the door.Drapes around the bed block out most of the light, creating a sunset-like halo.Antonio moved under the blanket half asleep, changed positions.

Lights flicker slightly.

He heard neither the door open nor the footsteps, but when he opened his eyes, Marco was standing there, behind the curtains, to the left of the hospital bed, holding a wilted bouquet of flowers.Antonio frowned, propped his upper body on his elbows, leaned on the pillow, and stared at the unexpected visitor.

"It's stolen, don't tell it." Marco shook the bouquet, and a few wilted petals fell off, "The nurse's station is empty, and the flowers are piled up on the table like garbage. If you take a few, no one will notice. I guess there is still hope for this bouquet." He put the flowers on the bedside table, and suddenly remembered something, picked them up again, away from Antonio, "You don't have hay fever, do you?"

Antonio opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and watched in silence as Marco turned the glass upside down in the plastic tray, filled it with water, and arranged the stems so they slid into the clear water.More petals fell off, and Antonio picked up one that had fallen on the bed, stared at it for a moment, and rubbed it into a dark purple slurry and crumb with his forefinger and thumb.There was a wooden chair beside the hospital bed, and Marco sat down, leaning forward slightly, with his elbows on his thighs and his palms facing each other.

Outside, in the direction of the nurse's station, the phone rang, but no one answered it for a long time.

"Are you going to explain why you came here?" Antonio had to stop and clear his throat. The burning sensation from the smoke from the fire was still there, and his chest was still aching. He glanced at the glass kettle, but the only cup Overrun by the dejected bouquet, "Or do I have to ask?"

"Normal visit." Marco spread his hands, "I heard about the arson case."

It should be more than just "heard", you probably also know the mastermind.Antonio didn't speak his mind out of sheer airway discomfort, not caution.He fumbled with his good hand for the pillow, trying to sit up higher.Marco let himself struggle for a while, and finally reached out, piled up two pillows, supported Antonio's back, and helped him sit up straight. "Who?" Antonio squeezed out a word.

Marco shrugged his shoulders and did not ask hypocritically "What do you mean?" Antonio thought it could be regarded as respect.

"Of course it's the people you asked me to offend," Marco replied. "The FBI locked up sixteen of their brothers. That's how they express their displeasure."

"'Their' names."

"Der Seefahrer, which means—"

"navigator."

"Yes. I don't know yet how Bruch—"

"Bruch?"

"The navigator at the helm."

"Oh."

"I don't know how he got suspicious to the church. The informant I left was not only anonymous, but also transferred to three intermediaries. It is impossible—"

"I might know why."

Marco frowned at him.

Antonio fiddled with the bandage covering his right arm, recalled the barbed wire fence in front of the remote warehouse, and the unfriendly stevedore, and turned to look at Marco: "Later I went to the port again."

"'Later'? You mean after the wagons were delivered to the docks?"

Antonio nodded.

"Has anyone seen you?"

Nod again.

Marco took a deep breath.Antonio thought it was inevitable that he would say some sarcasm, and was ready to refute at any time, but the tone of the other party did not change much: "Do you have any special reason to go there? For example, the bishop gave you an order that is difficult to refuse?"

"No. Just wanted to make sure... just needed to make sure everything was going well."

"You want to see if I ran away with the money. For God's sake, Father, thanks to the church, there are policemen standing in front of my house day and night, have you forgotten?"

"I'm afraid that won't stop you from running away with the money, if you want to."

"If I wanted to, I would." Marco leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, "but I don't want to, I never thought about it."

Antonio wanted to say "thank you", but immediately dismissed the idea.He doesn't thank Costa for keeping his word, which is something any decent human being can do.There was a dull pain in the burned right arm, and the effect of the painkiller was about to wear off. He should have been sleeping.The priest touched the bandage absently, rubbing the forgotten remains of the petals onto it.

"You shouldn't have stolen these flowers." He glanced at the glass, and as Marco sat motionless, Antonio had to say clearly, "I need water."

The drawers of the bedside table were empty, as were the small wooden lockers below.Marco stands up, claims to be committing another theft, and walks out the door, looking for the cup.Antonio sinks into his pillow, closes his eyes, and almost immediately rolls down the sleepy slippery slope, but doesn't get very far, when suddenly someone shakes him by the shoulders and drags him out of the quiet, sweet darkness. come out.Antonio stared at Marco's face for a long time, and gradually realized that the other party was talking.

"Can you walk? Can you hear me? Antonio! Wake up! We're running out of time, Antonio!"

"I can walk." He replied slowly.

"Get up." Again, Marco's movements were quicker than his words, pulling Antonio up from the bed.The priest staggered, kicked his toes against the foot of the bed, and gasped in pain.Costa didn't give him time to look for slippers, he half dragged and half hugged the priest out of the ward, and walked quickly to the fire exit.There were muffled conversations and low laughter from the dispensing room, but the corridors and the nurses' station were empty.

"why--"

"Hush." ​​Marco pulled Antonio aside, twisted the door of a ward, and locked it.He leaned the priest against the wall and tried the other doors, but none of them could open.Only the storage room was unlocked, and the two squeezed in, shoulder to shoulder, breathing the pungent smell of bleach in the dark.

Marco carefully pushed the door half an inch open and peered through the gap.Antonio had to lean his head against the locker door just to see his room.In less than ten seconds, a pair of thick-soled work boots appeared in sight. The person wearing these shoes was a burly man with the brim of his hat pressed down so that he could not see clearly. He was holding a roll of rope. hemp rope.He looked up to confirm the ward number, looked around to make sure there was no one around, then tiptoed into the room, came out after a while, looked at the room number again, tried the doors of other wards, and approached the small window of the dispensing room Going to look around, suddenly turned and fled in a hurry.As soon as the person disappeared at the end of the corridor, two nurses came out of the dispensing room, chatted, and walked towards the curved table in the nurse's station.

"That man." Antonio said, his voice hoarse, the last word broke like rotten wood, and he had to clear his throat, "He intends to kill me."

"Certainly not intended to cover you, Father. I can guess that you are here, and so can others. We must disappear from here quickly."

"Where to go?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

-

Marco's car was parked in front of the entrance and exit of the staff, illegally occupying the parking space reserved for doctors, but the guards had already left work and no one was investigating.There was another car parked next to the empty sentry box, and Antonio couldn't tell if it was the killer's vehicle.Marco slammed on the accelerator and accelerated past the sentry box.The priest turned his head and squinted his eyes to see the motionless dark blue Ford. The driver's cab was pitch black, the glass reflected the street lights, and it was hard to see if there was anyone there.

No matter what medicine the nurse gave him earlier, it dissipated with the cold sweat at this moment.Antonio curled up in the passenger seat, clutching his left wrist tightly.The rosary wasn't there, he didn't know if it would ever be retrieved, it might have been left in a locked locker somewhere in the hospital, it might have been burned with the rest of the room.

"Can a friend let you stay for the night, Father?"

"No."

"Do you mean 'no one around here', or 'no friends'?"

Antonio glanced at him but said nothing.

"Sad for you, Father," Marco said to the windshield.

"no need."

"The Abbey? Surely there will be a bed for you. Is there such a place in the State?"

"A monastery is not an inn, Monsieur Costa."

"Father, maybe you don't fully understand your situation. If there is no choice, I will have to throw you on the road. I personally hope that this does not happen."

"You can send me back to the church, I'm sure the church can—"

"They can't." Marco judged immediately, and this time Antonio didn't intend to refute, "Maybe it's better to go to a real hotel, the first night in New Jersey, and continue north after dawn, the farther you go, the safer, there are too many eyeliners in the city— —In any case, you have to change out of this suit first.”

"Why did we stop here?" Antonio asked, looking out the window at the closed laundromat.

"New clothes, Father, you can't run around like a striped target."

Marco closed the car door and got into the dark narrow alley, and soon there was the sound of glass shattering.Antonio shrank his neck, waiting for someone to shout, maybe a dog barking, or even a police siren.There was nothing in fact, the surrounding apartment windows were not lit, and no one had drawn the curtains.Marco reappears with the booty in his arms, returns to the car, and pushes the clothes in the dust bag to Antonio.

It was too late to protest, but Antonio felt the need to speak out, a token of conscience: "Why can't we wait until morning, or find a Salvation Army store that's still open?"

"I like smashing glass. Put your clothes on, Antonio."

Symbolic voices of conscience are symbolic after all.Antonio opened the dust bag without a word, took off the stiff striped pajamas, carefully let the bandaged right arm go through the shirt sleeve, and then put on the left.The trousers were tougher and he struggled in the passenger seat, hitting the gear lever at one point as the car swerved.Marco laughed, obviously enjoying the show.

Around midnight, Marco turned off his headlights, slid quietly into a deserted street, and parked in the shadow of the post office.Except for the small hotel on the two streets, all the buildings are in black and white.

"Make up a story, go in and ask for a room." Marco counted out a few banknotes and handed them to Antonio, "Borrowing money. Return it to me as soon as possible without interest."

Antonio couldn't help making a mocking snort.

"What's the matter? This is my special treatment for the clergy as a good Christian."

"What story am I going to make up?"

"The ordinary kind? A small and harmless lie, say that you were robbed or kicked out by your wife. The latter idea is better, so as to avoid someone being too enthusiastic to call the police for you."

There are no "small and harmless" lies, all lies are cracks in the ice, one after another, and suddenly people drown before they have time to react.Antonio pushed the car door open and looked back: "Should I call Father Clement?" "I don't know, it's up to you. Is there any reason why you think you can't?"

"Such as someone eavesdropping?"

Marco was silent for a while, then shrugged his shoulders: "It's not unreasonable. Don't make any calls yet, get a good night's sleep, I will come back tomorrow, I hope you live until then."

Thanks.The word still couldn't be uttered, Antonio nodded: "I hope so too."

Standing barefoot on the edge of the sidewalk, he watched the cars drive away, eyeing the closed shops and diners suspiciously around him.He didn't know what this place was, and even if he knew, it wouldn't be of much practical help.A metal sign swung back and forth overhead, creaking.The hotel lights suddenly became very attractive. "Tri-State Inn," the name spelled out in neon lights, incidentally illuminating a line of small painted letters on the wooden signboard: "Lots of parking available, ask front desk for prices."The priest shuffled away, mentally practicing a lie about long journeys and conjugal quarrels.

Antonio did not expect to sleep soundly, but he did not foresee that the long night was not yet over.At 55:[-] a.m., just three hours after he had stared awake at the ceiling, the phone rang.The priest turned on the desk lamp, wrapped himself in a blanket, and let the bell ring five or six times before picking it up hesitantly.

"Sir? Your friend is coming to you, can I let him go up?"

"Now?"

"Now."

"Did he say his name?"

"He didn't give me my name, he said you know the guy who sent the blue scarf."

Antonio sighed: "Let him come up."

The phone hangs up. Three minutes later, Marco Costa walked into the guest room, staggering and smelling of soot.His right hand, hidden under his coat, pressed against his stomach.In the yellow light, Antonio could just see the blood dripping on the carpet, black like tiny bullet holes.