The Fifth Gospel(106)

            Their eyes seem to shimmer with the newness of these ideas. I am, for this brief moment, a magician. But we will put that to the test.

            “That’s why,” I continue, “the Diatessaron failed: because when we weave the four gospels together, we create something different. We lose the truth that exists separately in each gospel’s account. In other words, witnesses have their own ideas. Their own motives. And not everything you hear or read is really fact. The Church has something to say about this, too. Under Church law, can you guess what a judge is supposed to do when the witnesses disagree? Do you think he’s supposed to mix their testimony together?”

            The boys, swept up in the logic, all shake their heads without thinking.

            “Of course not,” I say. “That would obviously be a mistake. So what does canon law tell the judge to do? Take each piece of information on its own merits and use good judgment to figure out where the truth is. You mustn’t take everything you hear at face value.” I do my best not to glare at Giorgio. “And you must never believe rumors that assume the worst about a good person. Because as the gospels teach us, we might condemn an innocent man.”

            I punctuate this sentence with a meaningful look. There may be some younger boys who don’t understand what I’m talking about, but the older boys know. Some look chastened. Others nod as if they accept the point. Then, suddenly, Peter begins to cry.

            Giorgio is sitting beside him, and my first instinct is that Giorgio has said something upsetting.

            As Peter rushes toward me, bawling, I pick him up and say, “What did he tell you? What’s wrong?”

            But just as I prepare to turn on Giorgio, I see something in the distance. Far off, down the path, is a lone figure. Motionless, almost hidden behind a statue in the garden. She’s watching us.

            I freeze. As I hold Peter in my arms, I watch her cover her mouth with her hands.

            She followed us here. She couldn’t help herself. Finally being so close, she needed a glimpse of her son.

            In a thin voice I say, “That’s enough, boys. Please, go back to your rooms right now.”

            Some of them turn to look, wondering what’s caught my attention. But Bruno marshals them away. One by one they retreat back to the dorm.

            I’m trying to understand what Mona has done. How she made Peter cry. I’m stunned that she broke the agreement we made.

            Peter’s eyes are wide and glassy. He whispers something in my ear. At first I can’t make sense of it.

            “What’s wrong?” I say. “What happened?”

            He’s breathing hard. The words are ragged.

            “Giorgio said Simon is in jail.”

            I look up. Giorgio is already gone.

            “That’s not true,” I say to Peter. I squeeze him, as if I can force the poison out. “Giorgio doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

            But Peter cries into my ear, “Giorgio says Simon is a killer.”

            “He’s lying, Peter,” I say. “You know that isn’t true.”

            Mona drifts closer to us as the boys disappear. Her face is anguished. She can see that Peter’s crying.

            I wave her away, but she’s already stopped. She knows.

            “Ignore Giorgio,” I whisper to Peter. “He was just trying to upset you.”

            “I want to see Simon.”

            I nuzzle him with my forehead. “We can’t.”