The Childhood of Tomás Torquemada
(Hypothetical fiction)
Torquemada, an Epiphany
Tomás de Torquemada was always in a hurry. He wasn’t due to be born until early November, in his uncle Juan’s palace in Valladolid, La Bella Mariposa, but he forced his way out of his mother Benedetta in late October, in her village. In her modest kitchen. She had thought that she was going to be sick, felt an intense pain in her belly, and to her amazement this bloody lump popped out of her. Her husband Francesco who had just finished his lunch just stared, open-mouthed as if he had turned into stone. Do something, Benedetta shouted. He grabbed a knife, but shook his head, threw it on the floor and ran out, but in less than ten minutes he was back, accompanied by old Mother Garincha who knew what to do.
Francesco was the first cousin of Juan, their fathers being brothers, but the latter’s dad had married the daughter of a rich converso, and benefited from having a rich tutor, and after a few years in a seminary had first become a prior, rapidly rising through the ranks, and ending up a cardinal before he was forty. The poorer cousin was only a modest farmer with only a small plot of land in the little hamlet of Torquemada. He suspected that his cousin despised him, but thought it would be useful to the newborn if he urged Benedetta to accept his cousin’s offer to go to Valladolid to give birth. Juan de Torquemada was rarely at home, living mostly in Palestrina, but he still kept his palace in Valladolid, with servants and gardeners, visiting it once a year. Benedetta had agreed, but she had no great love for that haughty son of the converso, as she called him.
Juan’s mother was indeed from a converso family, who had converted when Jews began feeling the pinch of antisemitism. He thinks he is better than you, Francesco, but there isn’t one drop of contaminated blood in you, Benedetta told her husband often enough. It was true. Juan never disputed the fact, and even embraced it, by using his influence to protect the Semites, converted or not. Pedro Sarmiento was a notorious enemy of the Jews, and when he promoted a law that deprived conversos of government posts and which prevented them from being witnesses in legal proceedings, the freshly appointed cardinal using his influence on Pope Nicholas was instrumental in his issuing a bull condemning discrimination against Jews and conversos, and in one fell swoop excommunicated the powerful Sarmiento.
Benedetta did not much like Jews and did not approve of her husband’s uncle’s taking up cudgels in their defence. If she had her way, she would stop her son falling into the orbit of that Jewish Cardinal, as she called him, something which did not much please Francesco who had a sneaking admiration for his cousin.
One morning, an old beggar woman arrived at their home, and told a lengthy story about how she and her five children had not had anything to eat in three days, and Benedetta was shocked to find her boy in tears. You must not believe everything beggars say, Benedetta told the boy, the beggar does not look like someone who had not eaten in three days; it was true that she was plump and had rosy cheeks, but Tomás could not dry his eyes. He really had a tender heart, and felt for suffering people. Eventually he found solace in his bible. That afternoon, his mother made some arroz con leche with some thick cream Francesca had brought, and when the rice pudding was ready she called him in her tinkling voice, and he walked into the kitchen, the large porcelain bowl with the blue horse was full to the brim with her delicious treat. I made it specially for you mi amor, she said merrily. The boy stared at the blue horse and shook his head. What’s the matter pequeño? she asked, are you not well? whereupon he said that after hearing how little children in their village were starving, he had no appetite for extravagant dishes, and to her alarm, said, nevermore will I eat sweets.
And that was not all. From that day, Tomás would only eat dry bread, boiled potatoes, and no more than one small piece of fish. Francesco and Benedetta tried to coax him, explaining that his refusal to eat meat would not help the starving in any way, but the boy was adamant. He spent most of his time trying to understand God’s intent in making people suffer. Only when he was eight, when he worked out the true reason: God creates misery and unhappiness, so good Catholics can get the opportunity of being charitable and doing good. Then, when he had worked out the meaning of finite and infinite numbers, he finally understood that suffering pain on earth, be it physical or mental, was in comparison with an eternity of bliss in paradise, was a mere parpadeo, a blink of an eyelid.
When he was nine, the cardinal who was planning to spend three months in Valladolid, and as his schedule finally permitted this, he had expressed the wish for his young nephew Tomás to come to spend six weeks in La Bella Mariposa, promising the boy a diet of latin, catechism, mathematics, fresh air and belles-lettres.
This was the first time Tomás was going to meet his illustrious uncle; he had been looking forward to this all his childhood, but the eminent man, always in great demand, had not managed to organise this until now. He was greatly excited by the prospect.
He worshipped his mother, thought she was the spitting image of the Holy Virgin, and as she was devout to the point of fanaticism, it was inevitable that his sole preoccupation in life would become Jesus Christ, Christianity, heaven and hell, continually asking himself if what he was doing or thinking was sinful. He was determined to lead a sinless life, and always praying God to make him strong to resist all temptations, so he could become a saint, at the same time feeling guilty to presume that he had the wherewithals to achieve saintliness. Although Benedetta was not very gifted, she knew enough to teach him to read, and the boy was never more contented than when he could sit at the window reading the bible. At six he had already read it all three times. His great uncle Juan the cardinal would doubtless answer all his questions _ he had so many. He had wanted to know everything about the illustrious theologian, but all Benedetta and Francesco could say was that he was an adviser and defender of Pope Eugenius. The boy had no idea what this meant.
He did not fail to pick on Benedetta’s less than whole-hearted admiration for the exalted uncle. He knew that she had no time for the Jews living in Torquemada and thereabouts, but his own generous nature made him more charitable in his views. He tended to be like Francesco, who rarely spoke ill of anybody. He had heard Benedetta sneer at him on account of the Jewish connection of his cousin. She was convinced that one drop of Jewish blood in one’s veins negated all the christianity in one. It was blot on the landscape. No amount of prayers could change that, you were besmirched for ever. His father would usually say that in his opinion, once someone had converted and had become a practising catholic, they had been redeemed. He agreed with his father and did not usually openly voice his thoughts, as his love for his mother was as unconditional as his devotion to the Holy Virgin.
However, one incident happened in the village which shook his charitable views: The Toledano family, conversos, whose farm was closest to theirs had been visited by a terrible tragedy. Deborah was such a friendly woman that deep down Benedetta liked her more than she would say, although at home she always spoke about her with a sneer, never missing a single occasion to point at her tainted Jewish blood. She had two really lovely-looking twins, Davide and Esmeralda, of about four. Davide had always been poorly, and cried a lot when his belly ached. Deborah who would not hurt a fly, but when she lost patience with his crying she would in desperation shout, stop it you brat, or I will throw you in the well. One day the twins were playing outside the house, near the well, when Davide began screaming his head off. Deborah was in the kitchen scaling some fish. Esmeralda tried to make him stop, but he would not. If you don’t stop this minute, I’m gonna throw you in the well, she threatened, which made matters worse. You’ve been warned, she said, and grabbing her brother by the arm, pulled her towards the well. Will you stop now? Davide screamed even louder, and she just pushed him over.
Benedetta was obviously shocked, and her first reaction was that of a good Christian woman, full of genuine sympathy for the aggrieved family, but although as a rule, a night’s sleep usually brings comfort, solace and wisdom to the sleeper, to this good Christian woman who had so many certainties, these infiltrated her consciousness.
I knew it, she said to Francesco, I knew it. He asked what was it she knew. She replied to her question by another one: Need you ask? Before the farmer could open his mouth, she blurted out, Tainted blood. Even young Tomás knew what she meant. The theme of tainted blood was regularly mentioned in the household. The Holy Church had pushed charity to its limit by its readiness to accept heathens into the Catholic fold, she said, but God clearly did not approve.
“The whole world knows that once a heathen, always a heathen. They only pretend to accept our Lord for materialistic reasons, but their Jewishness, their Islam, their Sun Gods are so deeply ingrained into them that it cannot be washed away. You can clean a dirty cloth, but try washing a turd, ha!”
“Benedetta, you’re being unchristian. Did not our Lord say, ‘If you confess your sin to the Lord sincerely, know that he hears you and that he does forgive you. And not only does he forgive you, he fills you with his Spirit.’
The boy was aware that saintly though his mother was, she could barely read, and her unblemished faith in the church was not based on any learning. It was deeply felt and came from deep within her soul. She had clear insight into what constituted a sin, she could detect evil from a thousand cubits, nobody could fool her. Most supposedly good actions people did, was an attempt to trick our Lord into believing that they were good Christians. The truth was that the Church had been so lax that its structure was being eroded, and unless something serious, even drastic, were done, it ran the risk of collapsing completely.
The boy was unconvinced, but said nothing. His father knew that it was pointless to argue and just shrugged.
That same day, the family heard that their famous relative the cardinal was coming for a visit to Valladolid, and that he had arranged for Tomás to come stay with him for a few weeks.
Young Tomás was more excited than he expected to be. For years he had craved to meet his illustrious uncle, how he was always going to send for his young grand nephew to come spend time with him when he visited Spain. Although Valladolid was only a day’s ride away, he had never been there. But the young erudite was looking forward more to the opportunity which would be afforded to him, to learn from a real cardinal. He had so many questions to ask: about how to avoid committing sins, how to live as a true Catholic, even attain sainthood, the meaning of the holy trinity. Is there an infinity of grains of sand? Of stars?
Francesco had been to Valladolid once and spoke of fishing on the Pisuerga, of catching carps and barbels. His great-uncle who only died a few years ago, knew where to find the best crayfish, but they did not catch any that day.
‘As you know,’ his father said, ‘aprovechando que el Pisuerga pasa por Valladolid.’ The Pisuerga crosses Valladolid after all.’ It took the boy years to discover that this was a phrase people used to express inevitability.
The cardinal had sent precise instructions to his staff at Mariposa to arrange for a coach to pick up his nephew in Torquemada, over a day’s ride away. The boy was all eyes and ears, watching the landscape unfurl before him, never tiring of listening to the rhythmic drumming of the horses’ hoofs on the rocky soil. He was no ordinary boy, for the journey, far from exhausting him, found him refreshed both physically and mentally when he arrived at the cardinal’s palace.
He was delighted to find the cardinal as welcoming and warm as he had hoped. At the gate of the Mariposa, the man of God was waiting for him. He grabbed his nephew, lifted him up and kissed him on both cheeks, and on his lips.
‘I’ve always thought of you as my son,’ he said, ‘and I have infinite pleasure welcoming you here at the Bella Mariposa. Treat this place as your own home, and feel you are welcome everywhere, anything you want, just ask, and it shall be given.’ Tomás noticed a younger man on the cardinal’s right, man smiling at him.
‘May I introduce you to Brother Velasquez, my private secretary and, wait for it, my talented cook. I never travel anywhere without him.’ Brother Velasquez offered the young visitor his hand. He was unsure about what to do, but somehow remembered that he should shake it. They all laughed uneasily.
‘Brother Velasquez is not only a theological scholar, but he is such a gifted cocinero that when we receive his majesty, I convince him to make sure he does not produce his best dishes, do you know why?’
‘So the king does not pinch him from you,’ said the boy without thinking.
The two adults were mightily impressed.
‘He’s got the makings of a cardinal, that boy,’ Brother Velasquez said, shaking with laughter.
That very night, the theologian chef had laid a table for the visitor which was fit for a king: lechazo asado, sopa de bestia cansada, cochinillo asado, chuletones de buey, mantecados de Portillo, hueso de santo, turrón, polvorones and many more. The boy began shaking, and the cardinal asked him the reason.
‘I cannot eat all these rich foods,’ he said, almost tearfully. And he explained his decision to avoid all but dry bread, potatoes etc, whereupon the cardinal frowned.
‘You are displeasing God, my beloved Tomás,’ he said, ‘he put these rich meats and things on earth because of his great love for us. He wants us to enjoy life_’
‘But so many people go hungry,’ the boy said, fighting his tears, ‘I cannot indulge in those extravagant dishes whilst there is a single man on earth going hungry.’
‘Your stance is a very honourable one, and I understand it,’ Juan explained, ‘but it is based on false premises. The good Lord wants us to enjoy what he offers us. If he goes to the trouble of producing something for us and we reject them, it goes to waste. And waste is the greatest sin. Remeber, it is waste that causes want. And he overwhelmed the boy with appropriate quotes, from Isiah, from Proverbs, Ecclesiastes to support his argument. And the boy understood what the learned man was saying, and admitted his misunderstanding. He ended up by reneging on his erstwhile abstemiousness, and thoroughly enjoyed the feast, in the company of the two adults. They even made him sample small quantities of the excellent wines from the cardinal’s cave.
The boy was encouraged to air his views, and he did not hesitate to speak about his disapproval of people who had strayed from the true path. Take the Jews, he began, they are a force for evil, and the Church takes too liberal a view about them. Much of what he said came from Benedetta. The cardinal listened attentively saying nothing until the young fellow had said his piece. When he had finished, the older man looked at every single accusation made against non-Catholics, and again, citing appropriate verses, proved to the boy that a good Jew was worth more than a middling Catholic, that God created every single human, and that if it were true that all Morriscos and Marranos and Hindoos were destined for hell, it would reflect poorly on our Lord, for creating them with the unique intention of making them burn in the eternal fires afterwards. The boy saw very clearly what Juan was saying, and agreed that he needed to reset his harsh views, having got it completely wrong, that this new outlook had in fact strengthened his faith. Worshipping one’s God need not be a chore, but something pleasurable, because God loved humanity so much He wanted us to live life to the full. God was not vengeful, requiring punishment for every single mischief. He is capable of looking the other way, like a loving father pretends his child had not really uttered that mild expletive, had not rushed to seize the bigger half of the cake.
They had fun everyday, walking in the forest, climbing the hills around Valladolid, swimming in the Pisuerga, fishing, playing tennis for which Tomás seemed to have a special propensity. He discovered that laughter was not sinful, and above all he discovered that Morriscos and Marranos, as well as worshippers of the Sun or idols are not automatically excluded from Paradise. He felt so much better. He could more readily visualise this new idea of God. A God without the frown and with lips curling upwards. Every morning when he drew his first breath outside the palace, he could feel the air gushing inside his system, and making an inner music like a magic flute, filling his soul with joy. For the first time in his life he could feel his purified blood coursing in his veins. The number of times he had felt on the point of shouting, Thank you Oh Lord, for giving us so much. Although he would have preferred to prolong his stay at the Mariposa, he was also keen to be home to share the many things he had learnt with his mother and father. He knew that there was very little joy in her heart, and he felt that he knew exactly what to do to mend it. How he looked forward to the time in the near future when the three of them would live with happiness and joy as good Catholics and happy human beings.
If this state of elation_ this epiphany_ had lasted, there would never have been the Inquisition which meant such pain to so many.
Tomás Torquemada never expressed regret for the death of hundreds of thousands of heretics like Galileo, Conversos, Morriscos, witches. He was a little bit sorry that they had to suffer torture, the rack, waterboarding, the breaking wheel, the choke pear, the strappado, the saw torture, the heretics’ fork, but he wanted to save the souls of heretics so they would not be damned for eternity. He knew for certain_ and was sure his so-called victims knew_ that the hour or so of pain and torment endured on earth was but a small price to pay for an eternity of heavenly joy in Paradise. These poor souls had lost their way, and earthly torture and death was their only chance of redemption. He would die a happy man, he had done his duty to humanity and to God.
Many thousands had suffered physical torture, he never wasted time collating the figures made available to him. What did it matter if half a million Jews had been forced out of the country, if a hundred thousand had died on the rack or been burnt at the stake. A drop in the ocean. He never once had a sleepless night, why would he? He knew, and God knows that he had done everything with a clear conscience, he had not one iota of hate in his soul.
He was grateful that he had discovered in time that human beings have the means of hiding the poison in them. It was not the fault of the Jews or the Muslims that their systems were rotten to the core, the witch really believes that Satan was her true friend in need. They develop strategies to hide their fault-lines to the rest of the world. His uncle the Cardinal led a sinful life, a hedonistic life of excess and extravagance, but convinced himself that every sin he committed was a homage to our Lord. As a child he had been fascinated to watch the cracked egg slowly falling apart as the sweet little yellow chick pushed its way out. Now he knew that it was a law of nature. The shell had to be got rid of, otherwise the chick’s life would be crushed. He learnt to interpret the laws of God as are clearly expressed in the Bible to justify his wretched actions.
And he’d never have seen the truth if on his last night at the Bella Mariposa, God had not directed his steps Brother Velasquez’s bedroom, where he caught sight of cardinal and secretary with not a stitch on, embracing in bed.
