FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND0
The hall was empty. Without giving it much thought, I found him in the library. He was looking at Naufragios y Commentarios. When he saw me he looked up. His look was calm, but tortured.
"You're reading Naufragios?" I asked, having nothing better to say.
He shook his head. "Comentarios,."
I took a step forward. "Oh? I never got that far... You took the book away. What does it say?"
He looked at me intently, as though he were studying some particular detail.
"What's the matter? Have I got food on my face?"
He shook his head and looked away. "I was just reminding myself of how Nuņez stood up for the weak and the downtrodden and the people rose up against him and imprisoned him. How he was judged and sentenced to service. In Africa. How the story came full circle."
"It was his fault, though, wasn't it?"
"His fault?"
"That other book I read. it said it was his fault because he was too arrogant."
He laughed. "Yes. Well, that is a grievous fault."
I went over to the shelf behind him. He shifted, as if to avoid contact with me. As if I were tainted. I stepped up on tiptoe and nearly fell over pulling out the book.
He watched me, as if I were a thousand miles away, untouchable. I flipped through the pages. "Here. ...se quedo en su casa o palacio durante catorce dias, mas por picardia y por soberbia que por enfermedad; asi el no hablaba a la gente y se portaba de tan impropria manera entre la gente; pues un capitan o un seņor que quiere gobernar un pais debe dar en todo tiempo una buena atencion al grande como al chico, y ejercer su justicia y mostrarse benevolo para con el mas modesto como con el mas elevado; todo esto no ocurrio en el, sino que el quiso seguir a su soberbia y orgullosa cabeza." I looked up at him from the book.
He gave me a wry look. "Thank you very much for the lecture."
I blinked. Did he mean lecture as in reading? Or lecture as in sermon?
"Ulrico Schmidl," he said.
"Huh?"
"Those were the words of that German intermeddler, Schmidl."
"Oh."
He took the book from me, careful that our fingers should not touch. "Your accent could use some polish."
"Nabal..." My tone must have been too personal.
He didn't look at me when he said: "Do not beg, Miss Lackland. It's dishonorable."
I turned away. I was going to walk off, but instead I asked. "What does soberbia mean?"
He snorted. "What is the use of your reading, if you can't understand it?"