“A culinary school, he tells me! A dog could cook better than you! A culinary school! Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
Nico slowed down, frowning, then quickened his steps again—as much as the heavy stack of folded sheets that he was carrying allowed him to. The light at the end of the corridor grew nearer, but he was still unable to see the quarreling men. The high-pitched voice clearly belonged to Felix the cook, but he wasn’t sure about the other one.
“A liar, and an idiot!” the second man boomed outside. “You couldn’t tell a cucumber from zucchini if your life depended on it!”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’ve just spent another morning in the privy, thanks to your cookery!”
Nico stepped out of the corridor and into the open court. Surrounded by high stone walls, it was covered with grass, pale and patchy due to the lack of direct sunlight. In the center of it, by the old ivy-covered well, stood Felix, his hands on his hips. He faced Matteo, the latest addition to the monastery. Red-faced, with his hands in fists at his sides, Matteo seemed ready to lash out. A few Brothers watched curiously from the cloisters on the opposite side of the court, showing no desire to intervene.
Nico stepped closer, the heavy pile of sheets feeling like stones in his hands.
“Keep it down, Brothers,” he said. “What happened?”
“This!” Matteo pointed at Felix. “How do you people eat his cookery? Why is nobody complaining? Since the day I came here, not one has gone by without a belly ache.”
“I’ve learned from the best culinary masters,” said Felix, his chin raised. “I’ve worked at King Arrius’s court, as you well know.”
“It was twenty years ago, and there’s no proof of that but your word!”
“Father Thaddeus knows.”
“Well then, maybe it was your food that put poor Arrius in his grave? Are you trying to poison us, too?”
“How dare you! I cook just fine!” All outraged dignity, Felix turned to Nico, his double chin trembling, his eyes glistening.
“You do cook fine,” Nico said. “It just takes some getting used to.” He gave Matteo a pacifying look, but the man was too busy glaring at Felix.
“How much getting used to will it take? How long should I suffer until I get used to his swill?”
“Maybe you never will,” Felix replied, shrugging. “Some people just have weak stomachs.”
“Did you call me weak?”
Nico dropped the sheets and darted forward just as Matteo’s fist shot out. He grabbed Matteo’s hand a split second before it connected with Felix’s nose, and held both of his hands behind his back in a lock. Grunting, Matteo tried to wriggle out of his grip. He was big, but Nico wasn’t a child, and he managed to hold on to him and even to pull him slightly away.
“You can’t fight here,” he puffed into Matteo’s ear, and then cried out, “Brothers! Help!”
They were already coming––first the ones who’d been watching, and then a few more, attracted by the noise. With all the hands on him, Matteo quickly ceased fighting, and let out a loud, annoyed grunt.
“Let go of me,” he muttered. “Big heroes you are, jumping five on one.”
“You can’t fight here,” Nico repeated, barely hearing himself above the cacophony of everyone speaking at once. “You know the rules.”
“What’s going on?” said someone else, and everybody went quiet.
Nico released his grip and stepped back, and so did the others.
Father Thaddeus stood in front of them, his tall, skinny frame towering over even the tallest of the monks. In his dark robe and black scapular, he looked intimidating, even though his face showed no signs of anger.
“Matteo offended me, Father,” said Felix in a small voice. “He called me names and said I was bad at cooking. He wanted to hit me, but Nico stopped him.”
Thaddeus’s pale blue eyes shifted to Matteo who shrank under his gaze.
“I was upset, Father,” he said. “The food that he…Felix…is serving, is pretty bad.”
“Did you join our order for food?” said Thaddeus.
“No, Father.” Matteo cleared his throat.
“Didn’t you know this place is for celebrating the spirit, not the body?”
“I knew.”
“Then how can you complain about the quality of food? You’re not even supposed to notice it. It’s meant to sustain the life in your body so that you can pray and serve God, not satisfy your gluttony.”
“No, of course not.” Matteo shook his head, looking miserable, his eyes cast down.
“And even if you get a bellyache, you should embrace it as a lesson in humility. It’s only when you stop expecting pleasure from food that your body will heal and accept the simple sustenance that we all share.”
“Yes,” Matteo said with a nod. “I understand, Father.”
“Good,” said Thaddeus before turning to Nico. “Now, you.”
“Me?” Nico frowned, surprised by the abbot’s strict expression. “What have I done?”
“This,” Thaddeus said, nodding down.
Nico followed his gaze to the pile of sheets he had dropped. They had partly landed in the shallow puddle by the well, and the ones on the bottom had already begun to soak up the dirty water.
“Oh, no.” Hurriedly, he started picking up the sheets, separating the clean and dry ones from those already soiled. “I’m so sorry. I dropped them to pull Matteo back.”
“It is important to help your friends, but it is also important to obey orders. Yours was to make the beds in the guest rooms.”
“Yes, but…” Nico trailed away, stifling his protest. This was talking back, and talking back was a bad idea.
“I understand, Father,” he said instead.
“Now you see what you’ve done? Our guests will be here tomorrow, and they’re the kind who pay attention to little details.” There was an undertone to the abbot’s voice, one that Nico couldn’t quite place. Was it bitterness, or disdain?
“I…” He trailed off, unsure how to make up for his misdeeds. “I’ll wash the dirty ones myself.”
Thaddeus shook his head. “Just send for Horatia. She might still manage to fix them in time. For now, at least take the dry ones upstairs.”
“Of course. Right away.”
Nico nodded and took off, feeling curious looks on his back. The Brothers who had witnessed this would have a good story to share. Drama was scarce in the monastery and the story of Matteo attacking Felix, and Nico being told off for his intervention, was sure to spread like wildfire. He didn’t want them to see his face and then speculate on how hurt he looked.
He was hurt. He had helped Felix and probably saved Matteo from being banished from the monastery for violence. Wasn’t that more important than a few dirty sheets?
On the other hand, what had he expected? Praise? That was just vanity.
Decorations and wall hangings of non-religious content were forbidden everywhere in the monastery, save for the gallery leading to the guest wing. Here, a long line of portraits and other paintings adorned the walls. Most had been contributed by the patrons and the supporters of the monastery who came to visit, or by the rare members of the nobility who decided to leave the secular life and join the holy order. Thaddeus didn’t approve of monks admiring works of art, but ditching presents would have been offensive, and so the gallery continued to proudly showcase its masterpieces to mice and bats.
Nico liked it when his chores took him here. Art and other items of vanity shouldn’t have meant anything to him, and yet they captured his attention every time. His heart beat faster as he surveyed the faces of the long-dead kings and their fair ladies, catching glimpses of fabulous lives so unlike his own.
He avoided looking at them now, concentrating on delivering the remaining sheets safely. Half-way through the gallery, he heard a noise and looked up.
Old Tulio stood on the ladder by the wall, held in place by another Brother, removing one of the portraits.
“What’re you doing?” Nico asked, coming closer.
Tulio nodded absently, lowering the portrait to the floor, and then began to carefully descend.
“Removing good old King Arrius.” Reaching the floor, Tulio sighed with relief and stretched his back so thoroughly that Nico heard a few clicks. “Father Thaddeus wishes not to upset our guests.”
“Why would they be upset?” No previous guests had ever had any problem with the portraits. Were the ones coming tomorrow different? Giving his announcement, Father Thaddeus hadn’t mentioned who they were. “Do you know who they are?”
“King Vincenzo and his court, of course.” Tulio gave him a wide, toothless grin. “Everybody knows that the old fox is not fond of seeing the face of his predecessor.”
********************************************
*** If you enjoy the story, please click 'like' or comment! It will really make my day! ***
Comments (2)
See all