Some months had passed since the old man’s funeral in the cathedral, when Father Gelmiro had noticed the silent but obvious hostility between Father Nicolás and Albornoz. Seeing them within sight of each other, the gazes they exchanged were so intense and burning such as to melt ice into water in an instant. When he had reason, Albornoz at his side, to converse with Nicolás, the man and boy did not say a word, their countenances dour. His disquiet grew until he felt compelled to confront his pupil.
One day, their lesson concluded, Albornoz was about to leave the priest’s house.
“Sit, my boy.”
“Father?”
“Sit. There is a matter about which I must question you.”
The boy sat at the table, wondering what the old man had to say.
“Father Nicolás is a good priest. He fulfils his parish dutie
