Jean-Marie Blas De Robles - Where Tigers Are at Home

But if the year 1636 finished tragically, 1637 began with some important news: the return of Frederick of Hesse, the governor of Hesse-Darmstadt, to the bosom of the Catholic Church. Kircher rejoiced at the news: Fulda was part of the Grand Duchy of Hesse & the conversion of the Grand Duke promised to bring peace to a region that was close to his heart but plunged, alas! in darkness because of war & privation.

Thus Frederick of Hesse came to Rome, where he was received with all honor by the Supreme Pontiff & Cardinal Barberini. The Grand Duke having decided to travel through Italy to Sicily & Malta, Kircher was officially appointed his confessor & travelling companion. This time again, my master managed to arrange it so that I was attached to him for the journey.

A few weeks later, while we were making our final preparations, Athanasius heard that Peiresc had died & at the same time received a letter, a copy of his will. The old Provençal scholar had bequeathed him his entire collection which, duly listed and parcelled, was already on its way to Rome.

My master was deeply moved as he broke the seal on his friend & protector’s final letter. Having been told of his forthcoming voyage to the south, Peiresc urged him to measure the elevations of the pole down there, to observe Mount Etna & to bring back for him a list of the books in the principal libraries of Sicily, most especially a list of the manuscripts in Caeta Abbey. Athanasius hardly needed these suggestions, having himself worked out a very full program of research, but Peiresc’s posthumous encouragement went straight to his heart & he decided to carry out his observations not as if they were his own, but as a response to the wishes of his dear departed friend.

As for his collection, which was to arrive in Rome after our departure for Sicily, it filled Kircher with joy. Determined to create his own Wunderkammer , he obtained, thanks to Cardinal Barberini, several rooms in the Roman College to house it. The crates were to be deposited there until he could organize what was later to become the Kircher Museum , which is the most famous collection of curios that ever existed.

In dark glasses, leather ski pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt to hide the needle marks on her arms — the branch of the Banco do Brazil where she had opened an account was on the university campus — Moéma waited her turn. After having received the check from her father she had quickly sent it on to a certain Alexander Constantinopoulos, the Greek in Rio whose PO Box number she’d gotten from a friend and who undertook to double the amount of any check made out in foreign currency. The bank had just telephoned to say that a transfer had been made to her account by fax. It was magic! Like playing roulette and winning every time. A vaguely guilty feeling brought the note accompanying the check back to mind: “ I do worry … Too much, I’m sure. But you’re still my little girl, I can’t change that. Look after yourself, my dear, and remember that I love you more than my own life .” Despite her efforts to keep them down, these words kept rising to the surface, black and swollen, like drowned bodies. Her father hadn’t mentioned the money, nor the bar, but it was precisely his discretion that aroused her indignation. He couldn’t care less what I might be doing, she thought. A few nice words, the dough and that’s it. He’s just a stupid old fool. So sure of himself, especially when he pretends to be in doubt. He’ll never understand anything about anything … “ I love you more than my own life …” When I think that he even managed to pull out that old chestnut! I wouldn’t be surprised if he made a rough copy first.

However, this flood of complaints did not manage to suppress her sense of being in the wrong. “ Heidegger’s fine, as far as you can say that of a stupid parrot who’s getting old. He continues to repeat his favorite sentence and to peel anything he can get his beak on, as if it were extremely important for the universe not to leave the least scrap of skin on anything. To be honest, though, I’m starting to resemble him a bit …” Reading this rather involved confession, Moéma had almost jumped on the first train to go and console her father. But now, standing in the queue that wasn’t moving, she stamped her foot impatiently to help bring back her feeling he was not being straight with her. What an idiot! Would the day ever come when he could say things simply, instead of always hiding behind this literary veil. Why didn’t he write, “I love you, Moéma, I miss you, but I’ll only send you the dough when you’ve proved you’re able to face up to life without having to rely on me …” She immediately realized that didn’t make sense: if that were the case, she wouldn’t be asking him for money, porra! What about: “Give up all these fantasies, Moéma. Grow up, if only for my sake.” That didn’t work either. She had no desire to “grow up,” to be a woman like her mother or like all those adults who progressed step by little step, all buttoned up in their pretension and their certainties. My God, if he knew! she said to herself with an enjoyable shiver of perturbation. A lesbian and a drug addict! Imagining his reaction, she saw herself in her room, with Thaïs, the syringe and all the paraphernalia … and her father arriving without warning. He didn’t say a word but sat down on the bed, beside her, and took her in his arms. Then he stroked her hair, for a long time, and hummed, his mouth closed, with a throaty sound that made his chest resonate like a drum. And there was great comfort in listening to his lullaby, a sweetness that opened all the gates, all her hopes. And then, at the moment when this feeling of accord was at its strongest, her father said:

“Yes, Madam? I do have other things to do …”

Caught in her daydream, Moéma had a slight dizzy turn at the counter.

“Is something wrong? Don’t you feel well?”

“No, no … I’m sorry,” she said, forcing herself to smile, “I was miles away. I’d like to take out some money.”

SHE WAS COMING out of the bank when she heard a familiar voice. “ Tudo bem?” Roetgen asked, coming over to her.

“ Tudo bom …”

“You’ve become a stranger … Have you decided to drop out of my course?”

“No, no, not at all. And if I was going to drop out of a lecturer’s course, it wouldn’t be yours.”

“So what’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. I’ve got a few minor personal problems at the moment. And the year’s almost over, isn’t it? There can’t be a lot still going …”

“That’s true,” Roetgen said with a laugh. “But that’s not a reason for my best student to desert me.” Feeling uncomfortable at not being able to see her eyes, Roetgen took off her glasses. “You know it’s very impolite to keep these on when you’re talking to someone, especially to one of your teachers?”

He said it in a friendly tone and to tease her a little, and was surprised at the way she shrank back. For a brief moment she seemed so thrown by it, he felt as if he had undressed her. Her big blue eyes looked even stranger than usual; like those of a nocturnal bird suddenly exposed to the full sunlight, they had fixed in a disturbingly vacant and terrified expression.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said in a harsh voice. “We haven’t slept together as far as I know.”

Roetgen felt himself blush to the roots of his hair. “You must excuse me,” he said awkwardly, “I don’t know what came over me. But it’s a pity to hide such pretty eyes.”

“Oh, these Frenchmen, they’re all the same,” Moéma said, smiling at his embarrassment.