Back in his dormitory, Nicholas quietly goes about packing his few possessions. His bed is neatly made, his woolen garments tightly folded. He has a few books in addition to his bible: St. Augustine's Confessions, Ovid's Metamorphosis. He has some writing instruments as well. These are his only treasures.
There is a knock at the door. "Come in," Nicholas answers quietly. He already knows who it is. There is only one person who would come to say goodbye. Only one person who is sad to see him go.
And old man enters, dressed in beautiful, flowing robes of red velvet. A short cape is pinned around his shoulders, and a round red cap perches atop his bald head. His face is sallow with age but his eyes are soft and kind. A white beard droops from his chin and he tugs at it thoughtfully, searching for words to begin.
He is a Cardinal. He is exalted in the Vatican for his holiness and acts as an adviser to the Pope himself. His name is Bonifacio. None of the other Cardinals have ever visited this dormitory, none know the names of any of the dozen priests that have been assigned to parishes today, or the dozen that will be assigned next week, or the week after that. But Bonifacio knows Nicholas. He is the only family that Nicholas has ever known.
After a long silence, it is Nicholas that speaks first.
"This was your doing," he says.
"Yes."
"You're sending me away." Nicholas' eyes are still downcast upon his bed.
"This is a new chapter. But your story is not yet written." This is tough medicine for Nicholas to take. And it is tough for Bonifacio to administer. After another moment he says, "I did what I thought was best for you."
There is a knock at the door. "Come in," Nicholas answers quietly. He already knows who it is. There is only one person who would come to say goodbye. Only one person who is sad to see him go.
And old man enters, dressed in beautiful, flowing robes of red velvet. A short cape is pinned around his shoulders, and a round red cap perches atop his bald head. His face is sallow with age but his eyes are soft and kind. A white beard droops from his chin and he tugs at it thoughtfully, searching for words to begin.
He is a Cardinal. He is exalted in the Vatican for his holiness and acts as an adviser to the Pope himself. His name is Bonifacio. None of the other Cardinals have ever visited this dormitory, none know the names of any of the dozen priests that have been assigned to parishes today, or the dozen that will be assigned next week, or the week after that. But Bonifacio knows Nicholas. He is the only family that Nicholas has ever known.
After a long silence, it is Nicholas that speaks first.
"This was your doing," he says.
"Yes."
"You're sending me away." Nicholas' eyes are still downcast upon his bed.
"This is a new chapter. But your story is not yet written." This is tough medicine for Nicholas to take. And it is tough for Bonifacio to administer. After another moment he says, "I did what I thought was best for you."
