"Hatzinikolaou, Leonidas - The Holy Pledge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hatzinikolaou Leonidas)

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Abbot Theodossios closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair with
a small sigh. His pencil dropped through his stiffened fingers and
rolled on the thick book that lay open on his desktop. As his
leathery, gaunt face pulled away from the halo of his old-fashioned
lamp, his silent companion of countless vigils, the wrinkles lining
his face grew deeper, darker. His rich beard, however, resisted the
passage of time, giving to his features a younger appearance.
He began to breathe rhythmically, immersing himself in a short
meditative prayer. Across his massive desk the two hands of the old
timepiece on the wall were about to merge at midnight. He had
stayed up late again, and his bones were aching.
Common sense dictated that he should have wrapped up his day
and gone to bed, but during the long years of his tenure he had
realized that as the Archbishop of the Sinai, Paran and Raithou and
Abbot of the St. Catherine's monastery, he could hardly allow
himself a single hour of sleep, if he were to keep up with the count-
less duties and functions of his office. Indeed, it was still a mystery
to Theodossios, even after all those years at the helm of his abbey,
how his predecessors had administered to their substantially larger
flock than his own.
Such thoughts always made him restless. His eyes snapped open,
and wandered over the open tome lying on his desk. Not the holy
Gospel this one, he thought wryly, but the current volume of the
monastery's accounts, brimming with records of their everyday
transactions.
Well, at least the accounts balanced! Who would have imagined it,
that even at the heart of the desert the path to salvation passes
through a labyrinth of black and red logistical entries...
Mentally scolding himself for his self-pitying thoughts, the abbot
switched off the light and walked out to the balcony for his nightly
rounds. At this hour all of the comings and goings of the friars had
stopped and the walled courtyard rested in silence.
Silence.
It was the perfect backdrop for the magical night sky of the Sinai
that was glimmering like the crystal chandelier of St. Catherine's
basilica. Thousands upon thousands of bright stars provided an
exhilarating spectacle, affirming Theodossios's staple advice to his
brethren that when in prayer one should keep the head heavenward,
to absorb the divine presence above.
Feasting his eyes on the desert sky Theodossios remained
perfectly still, as if even a single breath might shatter the luminous
wonder. Then, feeling again the pressure of time, he reluctantly
turned around and stepped onto the gallery that led off toward the
cells of the monks. He took his time as he walked, enjoying the rich
creaking sound the wooden boards were making under his soles.
Sitting on a solitary chair at the far end of the empty gallery, St.
Catherine's young novice was gazing idly at the towering stone walls
across the courtyard, like a guard on duty after the first couple of