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Partone
1.1
MynameisGiuseppeandIamahumbleman.
I
wait
patiently
for
the
heavy
door
to
open
and
archbishopLuckatoinvitemetohisoffice.Despitethetime
passingIdon’tfeelrestless.Theverythoughtoffeeling
impatientseemsinsignificant.Here,intheveryheartofthe
EternalCity,whosestoneswitnessedthepassingcenturies,
timeseemstopassdifferently.Slower.EachtimeIpassthe
majesticwallsoftheVaticanIhavetheimpressionthatthe
eyesofhistoryfollowmearound.
Thisspecifictinglinginthenapeofmyneckcontinues.
Ifeelitnow,asIwaitonthebenchinthehallway,inthe
northwingofoneoftheadministrativebuildingsoftheHoly
See,waitingformyaudience.
Iexaminetheofficedoor.Iletmyeyesslideamongthe
simple,harddoorframeandsoliddoorpanelmadeofdark
mahogany
and
imagine
what
it
would
feel
like
to
slide
my
fingeralongit.Ithinkoftheslicksurfaceandwarmthof
thepreciouswood,managingtoresisttheurgetocomecloser
andstretchmyarmout.IknowthatIambeingdiscretely
watchedandsuchbehaviourwouldcomeoffasridiculous.
Idon’thavetoimaginewhatiswaitingbehindthedoor.
Iremembereverydetail.
SomeoneoncesaidthatarchbishopLucka’sofficehasthe
same
character
as
its
owner
and
in
a
way
expresses
his
personality.
Icouldn'tagreemore.Itisprobablethedignitary’severy
guestmusthavenoticedthiscorrelation.
Irecallthesightofhisofficeveryclearly,asifI’ve
beenthereyesterday.Thespaciousandelegantroomhasbeen
decoratedverytastefully;itshost,despitehishighposition
intheVaticanhierarchy,remainedmodestandresistedthe
