The night was peaceful, and the candles still burned with that humble light so beloved by the old monks.
Frater Aurelius carried a roll of parchments under his arm. Frater Gregorius listened with his usual patience.
—Gregorius.
—Yes, Master?
—You’ve called me Master for many years.
—That’s true.
—I no longer remember when you started.
Gregorius smiled.
—Neither do I.
—Perhaps I should have told you to stop.
—Perhaps.
—I never did.
—No.
—Has it ever bothered you?
—Never.
They stood in silence for a moment.
—Gregorius.
—Yes, Master?
—When I’m gone, what will you do with all these papers?
Gregorius gently touched the parchment Aurelius was holding.
—I’ll keep them.
—Why?
—Because they’re yours.
—They’re only papers.
—No, Master.
—They’re the years.
Aurelius lowered his eyes.
—You always have an answer.
—Not always.
—Yes, Gregorius.
—Almost always.
The old chronicler smiled.
—Blessed be your patience.
—You’ve been blessing me for many years, Master.
—And you still haven’t grown tired of it?
—No.
—Why?
Gregorius took a moment before answering.
—Because I’ve had the good fortune to walk beside you.
And Frater Aurelius, who for many years had found no words for certain things, simply nodded.
The two old monks continued walking slowly among the books, unhurried, like friends who no longer need to fill every silence.
— Fragment found among the papers of Frater Gregorius.
