11
Father Cabello was an indispensable part of the Gonzola family, from the Celtic help in the kitchen, to the aristocratic old man on the top floor, whose guest he was on Friday evenings, when he shared a simple meal of vegetables and fruit, washed down with a glass of delicious Palestinian wine; after that, a game of chess, and a long theological discussion which lasted many a time until the small hours. The two men, of the same origin but of different creeds, understood each other perfectly. When it came to a burning question, such as the sincerity of Paul—whether his hatred of the High Priests of Judea had not instigated him to dethrone them, by putting another in their place, one he had never seen, or whether it was an inspiration, “a voice out of the wilderness”—then Joseph Abravanel’s eyes took on a fiery gleam. Father Cabello, seeing the danger signal, would evade the question by a witty remark, ending with a laugh. Julie gave Floyd a hint. He invited the good Father to lunch with him at the club.
He sat in the window watching the priest shaking hands with one and the other—a man of Church and World, known to rich and poor, and generally beloved. Floyd had a feeling of embarrassment, but Father Cabello put him at once in smooth waters by a remark about the “exclusive policy” of the club.
“Yes,” answered Floyd. “This distinction against aliens is very reactionary.” He forgot he was on the membership committee before he was engaged; then he ventured to say:
“I—I am very glad you do not oppose my marriage with Julie.”
“Why should I?”
He knew Floyd was not a Catholic; why did he make him emphasize that?
“I was prepared for your opposition on account of my religion.”
The priest smiled.
“The man who fights the inevitable destroys no one but himself. I have had one great battle in that family; I don’t want a second—if—it can be avoided. When Julie was born, her mother and I together fought and conquered Joseph Abravanel; a fine fellow, deeply learned. In the great days of the Church in Spain, he would have been a distinguished Cardinal.” The priest puffed regretfully at his cigar. “His ancestors were foolishly fanatic; they chose the evil of emigration to the glory of power and the Pope.”