Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part two, chapter 1

Italiano

English

The feasts of the crowning were past: King Vittorio, to show his benevolence to the new subjects, he ate twice in the open, so that everyone could attend His Majesty's lunch; but, neither did he bless the table to Monsignor Barbara, who as the main chaplain had the right to do so, nor did he trim the meats to the illustrious Don Antonio Maria Stella, Marquis of Spaccaforno, inherited siniscalco by virtue of the privilege granted by King John in 1462 to his family. Objections, these, that were detected and caused a certain discontent in the nobility.

Two other solemnities took place in the first months of 1714: the solemn reception of the ambassador of Malta, the fiefdom of the kingdom of Sicily, and the opening of Parliament. The ambassador of Malta, who was the bay Spinola, came to lend the homage of the Order of the Knights of Malta, feudal, with the ritual offering of a falcon and was received with a great pomp of riding, carriages, followed; the Parliament was inaugurated by the king with a speech of the crown, read, as of pragmatism, by the protonotaro of the kingdom. City life was part of its customs. And yet some news was not lacking. An order from the king prescribed to the magistrates and the Senate to stop dressing at the Spanish and to adopt Piedmontese fashion; a pragmatism strictly prohibited the immeasurable luxury of the nobility and the games of chance; obliged the lords not to hold more than two horses or mules attached to the carriage; to have no more than two lackeys; not to waste the gold in the carriages; not to carry too many jewels, trines and forestry cloths, except in court receptions. They were all things that stirred the mood of a nobility accustomed to an unimaginable race of splendor and magnificence. The ladies, especially, were furious.

But much more and more gravely troubled the kingdom. On 12 February a pontifical bull appeared behind the door of the Duomo and in the appropriate places, declaring the judge of the Monarchy and Apostolic Legacy excommunicated.

It was the first act of open hostility, with which the Roman Curia moved against the ecclesiastical autonomy of Sicily, to take away from kings the secular privilege. It is good to tell briefly the origins of the proud conflict, which for several years threw consciences into turmoil and in which, although in small proportions, seemed to relive the ancient struggles between the Church and the Empire.

The conflict had its origin in Lipari, for two and a half pounds of chickpeas, of the value of eight grains, or seventeen cents of our currency.

The bishop of Lipari, Don Nicolò Tedeschi, from Catania, had sent to sell in the square some sacks of chickpeas on which the catepans or masters of the square, anonymous officers, had asked the bishop's clerks their right to "show" - that is, an exercise fee - which, no less, ascended to two and a half pounds of chickpeas. The clerks had refused, attaching that the chickpeas came from the tithes that were paid to the bishop, and that the tithes were free to increase. But the catapans didn't give up.

"You will pay," they said, "as everyone pays, and if you do not pay, we will take you in pain and pay ten times as much. If Monsignor does not want to pay the rights of the square, sell the chickpeas in the bishopric; but if he sends them to sell in the square, he is a citizen like all the others, and must pay. Come on, let's hurry up!"

The clerks realized that the catapans would really take them in pain, that is, fined, and that the rebellion would throw some trouble at them; they muttered a few more words, and paid the right to "show."

But they went to tell the fact to Monsignor Bishop, who stood in fury, seeing in it an offense to the Church. He called the secretary and gave him a flashing letter against the jurors of the city of Lipari. They had offended the immunity of the Church, had committed a sacrilege, had incurred in the canonical punishments, had violated the faith, had provoked the wrath of heaven, prepared for the city, banishment, terrible disasters...

The jurors, to avoid boredom, sent for the catapans and persuaded them to return the chickpeas; and the catapans for peace, returned to the streets of the clerks, and returned the chickpeas, saying, "Repeat them." That was enough, wasn't it? But nossignori; ringalluzzito, the bishop laid out another epistle for the jurors of the city, to rebuke and threaten them not having recognized the rights of the bishop's table with a formal declaration, and since the jurors did not understand with public act recognizing a right that did not exist, Bishop Monsignor, after four days, made appear at the door of the church of Lipari a monitor, with which he declared that the catapanes were incurred in the greater excommunication and declared virandi, - no less! which meant that those who approached them also ran into excommunication. The poor catapans did not expect to be excommunicated in that way, for eight grains of chickpeas which they had also returned. A woodshed, go! they received many, sometimes! they would have received it even then, but to be rejected by the church, by the sacraments, to have fled as and worse than plagued, was intolerable. They went to the judge of the Monarchy who hired them.

And it was worse. The bishop began to strangle against the judge of the Monarchy, who had dared to absolve the excommunicated claiming that Lipari did not depend on the kingdom of Sicily, because Alfonso the Magnanimo had aggregate it to the kingdom of Naples, and therefore was outside the jurisdiction of the judge; and he forgot that Philip II had then returned it to Sicily. He sent his canonary secretary to Messina where the Spanish Viceroy, Marquis of Balbases, was to plead the cause of the chickpeas. But when the Viceroy knew what it was about, he lost the wandering.

Without so much talk, he took the canon and had him imprisoned. Of course, Monsignor Bishop! If it didn't burst, it was a miracle. He rented a ship and ran to Messina... To make the Viceroy tremble? Perhaps he thought so; but the Marquis of Balbases washed his head, urging him to be wiser in the future, if he did not feel that he had to be more evangelical. Ah, poor bishop's liver! The canon's release wasn't worth putting it back. Yellow of spite, green of bile, pale of anger, red of shame, with all colors on his face, Bishop, swearing revenge, concealed himself in a galley of Tuscany that sailed, and went to Rome.

Then (1712) the war continued for the succession to the throne of Spain and the pope sailed between France and Austria to tighten to the winner: when he was sure that the house of Bourbon came out badly, he went out of reserve, and thought to give a blow to the court of the Monarchy. And he sent to the bishops of Sicily a letter from the Holy Congregation of Immunity, by which the absolution given by the judge of the Monarchy was canceled, the excommunication of the catapans was reconfirmed, and the bishops were obliged to post that letter in the usual places of their seats.

To us today, this seems to laugh about it; but then, no: it was indeed a very serious thing, which wounded the kingdom in one of its prerogatives. With that notification, in fact, the ancient privilege of the Apostolic Legacy is absolved, for which the churches of Sicily were removed from the direct jurisdiction of the Roman Curia, and placed under that of the king, as apostolic legate of law, and for it of the judge of the Monarchy.

The letter, dated January 16, 1712, came to the bishops in February: some of them, as cautious as those of Palermo and Monreale, sent it to the tax attorney to give the executioner, who was denied; others made present in Rome the consequences of that inconsulted notification; while others certainly published it, like that of Catania. But the city jurors took it out of the church door and sent it to the Viceroy.

And then also the bishop of Catania came into conflict; and after him that of Girgenti; and behind them all a large part of the clergy, forgot of himself, instead of defending the independence of the church of Sicily, he partied for the pope: the question, arose for seventeen cents of chickpeas, became a struggle between the secular power and the ecclesiastical; between the State and the Church. The pope excommunicated the judge of the Monarchy, Monsignor Miranda; he banned the churches of Catania and Girgenti, opened the conflict.

King Vittorio Amedeo, succeeding the Spanish monarchy, found the kingdom in these conditions. He tried to come to agreements with the pontifical Curia, but in Rome there was only one goal: to take away from the crown of Sicily the secular privilege. But the king would not, nor should he give up his right. And the struggle entered a new phase, more acute.

Vittorio called around him the most learned lawyers: of course Don Raimondo was not spared and did not displease him.

From that terrible night he had lived almost secluded, not risking to leave the house, suspicious of everyone, but harboring ferocious purposes of vengeance, and raging to come to the head of discovering that mysterious sect that, leaving aside the mysterious and symbolic letters, had stood before him as a living and terrifying reality.

Even Gabriella had become silent, cloudy, irritable. In the hours in which they saw each other, at the table, they seemed to hate each other; so much was the coldness with which they dealt and the care not to look at each other. So the first months of 1714 had passed. Then, since the Beati Paoli had not given a sign of life, he had, if not reassured, raised himself somewhat: so that the real invitation found him in better conditions of spirit and was worth instilling some, albeit mild, hopes of being able to exercise his vengeance on a more secure head.

Matteo Lo Vecchio had returned from Girgenti, where he had given a strong hand to the tax lawyer, to drive away priests and friars who were more inclined to obey Rome than to Palermo. Back, he had run to revere Don Raimondo and to find out if anything new had happened.

No matter how hard Don Raimondo tried to keep his mask cold and impenetrable, the fine and penetrating eye of the birro read on the face and in the manner of the duke who hid something from him.

"Does Your Excellency need to use me? Do you want me to pick up my track?"

"It's useless. I have material evidence that that admired one belongs to the sect."

"Your Excellency has proof? But then..."

The birro looked at him with astonishment.

"Then you have to shut up and wait for the right moment."

The birro made a face, but bowed the boss. He thought: "There is a mystery under here; it is evident. But I'll figure it out."

"You don't have to let him out of your sight."

"I won't lose him..."

"And find out where the sect gathers..."

"To catch them in the lair. I get it."

"You know about that gunshot shot at me at St. Matthew's last October..."

"I know."

"The culprit has not yet been traced and could not be discovered from where he fled. Someone must have the key to that mystery..."

"Of course."

"Here is another field to go... The villain is an old unfaithful servant whom I hunted out of the house. He could not escape justice without a protector..."

"It's obvious."

"Search, then."

"It won't be hard. We'll find the ban..."

Matteo Lo Vecchio in the street made a reasoning that was not lacking in logic.

"The Duke has the material proof that Don Girolamo is a Beato Paolo; how he had it I don't know yet, but it doesn't matter. Don Girolamo seems, in fact, I'm sure, he's against the Duke. Why? This is to be investigated. For now let us fix this point: that Fr Jerome, Beato Paolo, is an enemy of the Duke. That servant pulls a gunshot at the duke; he runs into the church, and he disappears. It is not proven that he has become a bird and has come out of the dome: someone has stolen it in a mysterious way. He who armed the arm of that servant must be the same one who took him away; who, of course, was inside the church to see the outcome of the blow. And this one can only be an enemy of the duke; and, by the way in which he made the servant disappear, he will certainly be one of the sect, and he could also be Don Jerome admired. All of this seems so obvious to me that we do not need to rethink it. Instead, it is necessary to see from where and how that servant and his accomplice came out of the church of St. Matthew. He says that the city captain had him rumble even under the altars, even in the burial of the confreres, and in vain. Yet that is where the key to mystery will be found. If they let me do it!... Caution and patience are needed. He said, "Give me time and I'll give you a hole!"

The next day, he had already worked out his plan. She shaved herself carefully, she dyed her fine wrinkles right, put on a feminine wig, wore a slightly worn black robe and covered her head with a cloak of black wool, shiny and patched. He looked in the mirror and smiled with satisfaction; he did not recognize himself. With a long rosary in his hand, leaning on a stick, bent forward like a blind old girl, he left the house and started early at the church of St. Matthew. It looked like one of those beghines who spent their lives in churches and didn't look at anyone. Through the alley nobody recognized him.

"Good sign. So I'm sure," he thought.

He entered the church, and as he marked himself with the blessed water looked around, to choose a place of observation that kept him less visible. He stopped in the second chapel on the left, and sat down, with the rosary between his fingers, biascizing prayers, all gathered, but not losing sight of those who entered.

Mass at the altar of the Crucifix came out.

Matthew dragged the chair there, walking in small steps barely. There were other devotees, good people on their knees, fervently praying with an upbuilding appearance. People came and went; some of those devotees stayed in church, passing from one chapel to another, like people who find no other occupation in life, than to pray. They stayed there until almost noon, now when the church, emptying, was closed.

Matteo Lo Vecchio came out last, after throwing a small piece of bronze into the box of the alms. That day nothing fixed his attention.

He went back to the church the next day, and then the other, spending half a day praying and spying, and always seeing the same devotees go from one chapel to another. On the third day, half an hour before the church closed, he saw Fr. Girolamo Ammirata entering.

He had a thrill of joy and, bowed his face so as to hide it, followed him with the tail of his eye.

Don Girolamo approached two of those devotees who prayed on their knees at the Angel's Chapel Caretaker. The church was almost empty.

Matthew approached by dragging, and kneeled in the nearby chapel of Our Lady of Graces; he heard Don Jerome reciting with half a voice of the verses of psalms and one of those devotees, in the same tone, himself reciting verses as if he had answered.

He went through. Were they conventional words?

He shook the black mantle around his face, sharpening his gaze and hearing, but he could not catch a word.

The last faithful had gradually come out of the church; they did not remain now that Fr Jerome, the two devotees, Matteo Lo Vecchio.

The birro saw that the sacristan after exchanging a look with Don Girolamo, approached him. He pretended to be immersed in prayers.

"Aunt," said the sacristan, "it is time to close."

Matteo Lo Vecchio made a gesture with his head; he stood up marking himself and kissing from a distance with a gesture the images of the saints, and went out. He realized that he could not linger without arousing suspicions but as much as he regretted leaving the church, he was satisfied.

"We're on the track."

He continued assiduous and devoted, in his disguise, to attend the church, from the early hours of the morning until the closing: obediently obeying the Sacristan's injunctions, throwing his bronze coin into the box, kissing all the images from afar, with the usual gesture. One morning he brought a candle to the sacristan to light it at the altar of the Madonna delle Grazie.

"It is for a grace that I ask;" he said with a little voice in falsetto that made the sacristan laugh. "A grace that Our Lady Most Holy must give me, to remove me from a great tribulation."

The sagrestan had begun to look at him with sympathy; not doubting that she was a good old woman inoffensive and afflicted by a great pain, had taken her almost under her protection, and did not tell her to leave church except when she had to lock the door.

For another two times Matteo Lo Vecchio saw Don Girolamo Ammirata coming, he saw him confabulate in Latin with the two devotees, and remained in church, not in spite of the fact that the sacristan invited him out. It was necessary to find a way to grasp their speeches without being seen, and to know what they were doing in the church, after his departure. But where to hide?

He looked at the two little organs, placed here and beyond the forum, over the doors of the sacristy. Those two organs, with the hanging cantoria made of golden wood, could offer a comfortable hiding place; but how can they get up there? The hidden doors in the wall were closed, at least supposed, and on the other hand if they had been opened it was necessary to seize the opportune moment in order to be able to enter without being seen.

He began to get confused among the faithful, and to go out of church before others, to make his person lose sight of him; at first the sacristan noticed that the "old" was no longer staying in church, as it used to be, and asked him:

"Aunt, are you leaving so soon?"

"I found a good lady, who gives me to sew some underwear."

"Was that the grace you asked for, Aunt?"

"Oh, no, my son... that's another thing; it's a great tribulation..."

It ended that the sacristan no longer looked after him. Matteo Lo Vecchio was studying, spying, collecting. He no longer had any doubt that the sacristan was of the league and that those crooked hills that seemed to be saints, were the big pieces of the mysterious society; and he assumed that when the church closed, they confabulated and concerted their blows. That was the lair. We had to spy, have in our hands some of their secrets, and find a way to catch them, at a stroke, and thus eradicate the roots of that poisonous plant.

For every good purpose he did not go to church, without hiding under his clothes a pair of short guns and a dagger. He was determined to go all the way, and it was good to premunicate against every surprise.

A morning that, for a feast, the church was more crowded, Matthew confused among the faithful, sitting on the side of the chapel of the Crucifix, a few steps from the organ door: there was mass sung and the door was ajar, because there were musicians up in the singing room. Matteo Lo Vecchio stayed until the end of the service; he followed the celebrants in the sacristy, offered a candle for the Madonna delle Grazie; he went up and down, looking out over the chairs, like a maid, and waiting for the church to empty. In the meantime, Don Girolamo Ammirata and two other devotees, who had gathered in the chapel of St. Anna, where the sacristan had lingered a little, apparently to light a lamp.

The church was emptying, but in the room before the sacristy, there were still people. That little room was a meeting place in winter, at the dawn mass; sometimes it served as a refuge for those who had need to say some of those things that are said in intimacy.

Matteo Lo Vecchio waited for the moment in which the attention of the few faithful was turned elsewhere and quickly pushed the little door of the organ, he pushed himself inside and closed it. He stood there listening a little, had they ever noticed those maneuvers, with a heart throbbing. The minutes seemed hours to him. Nobody came.

The church sank into an ever-higher silence, a sign that it became increasingly deserted. Matthew heard the sacristan's voice, admonishing someone who was still lingering.

"Now it closes," he thought. "If I could see!"

He took off his shoes, and slowly, like a cat, mounted the ladder, went up to the organ and hid behind the reeds. There was some space between one reed and the other; he leaned on your eye and paled. He saw the sacristan making a nod to the organ and approaching.

A blasphemy came upon his mouth. He heard the sagrestan push the little door, but no steps on the ladder: in fact, he almost immediately heard the door shut with a double key, and he saw the sagrestan moving away. He was safe.

Don Girolamo, the other two saints were there, before the chapel of St. Anna; and they were the only people who were now in church. The sacristan had gone to close the three doors: the noise of the heavy doors rumbled in the empty church.

"Did you close?" asked Fr Girolamo to the sacristan.

"Closed."

"Good. Let's go."

Shall we? Where were they going? Matteo Lo Vecchio saw the three and the sacristano crossing the church and entering the sacristy, by the door that was under the organ where he had hidden himself. He waited: they would certainly go out. Hours passed, no one came out of the sacristy, no noise was heard. He shyly looked out of the organ loggia; the church was deserted and silent. Then he went down and tried the door lock; with the blade of the dagger he was able to open. He held his ear toward the sacristy; deep silence. He pushed carefully, went through the room that preceded the sacristy, stopping at every step, with his ear intent, and as he proceeded, together with the security, he painted a deep astonishment over his face. Where were they then? On the threshold of the sacristy he stopped, leaning on the outer cleft and slowly leaned his head: no one! Then he entered firmly, with his hands under his clothes, on the handles of the guns. The sacristy was empty; the windows closed internally, and on the other hand were defended by large irons.

"God damn it! Spirits are not certain; neither will they be transformed into birds. On the one hand they will certainly have gone out: but from where?"

He began to travel far and wide the sacristy, beating with his feet on the floor, to hear if ever in some place it sounded empty: but it sounded opaque and the same for everything. So there was no underground. Then the walls began to examine: they too did not sound; but largely they were covered with large wooden cabinets carved. Those closets! They were all tight; they certainly contained sacred vestments, pottery and other sacred furnishings; yet... He testified and tried the doors of the closets, and one by one, after leaning his ear on them; and he came to a door with a small key attached to it. He opened it. The closet had no boxes, and it kept nothing. Matteo Lo Vecchio stopped to look in silence, with his eyebrows clogged, his heart hasty. Then with his hands he went down the bottom of the closet, pressing on it.

Suddenly he sent a suffocated cry: a dark compartment had opened suddenly and a black corridor was prolonged and lost in darkness.

Where did he put it? How long was it?

Matteo Lo Vecchio had a moment of fear: or at least he doubted. Would he venture into that hallway? What if he didn't find his way back? He held his ear; no noise came; he sharpened his eyes, he saw nothing. It was the uncertainty of an instant. He took a candle from the table and lit it to a lamp, dragged a chair, and put it across the room to prevent it from closing, and laid the feminine robe, to be agile, with a dagger between his teeth and a gun in his hand, entered the narrow and gone one. The candle lighted his way: but even without the candle he could have walked it, for he always went in a straight line.

He walked a piece without making a noise, dwelling to listen, until he found himself in front of a door. He stopped, and there seemed to him a slight buzz. He turned off the candle and approached, a small hole revealed to him the patch; he set his eye on it; he saw no one, but the hum was more distinct; he probably came from another room, which was not the one communicating with the door. He encouraged his hearing to pick up a few words. And he heard.

One voice said, "Giuseppicus is for us..."

"They must hurry to come," another voice observed.

"Andrea sent to say that they will come by the way of the earth..."

"If they come before the duke Go with the king..."

"The journey is long: from Messina to here it will take three or four days..."

"So be it. Meanwhile, Uncle Rosario, keep the room ready; we will put Giuseppico together with Peppa la Sarda... A lot, they were good friends..."

Matteo Lo Vecchio recorded three names in his brain: Andrea, Giuseppico, Peppa and the Duke. He knew who Andrea was; he didn't know who the other two were; but evidently all three plotted something against the duke, so Andrea had gone to Messina. The Duke was supposed to own the key.

Not hearing anything anymore, Matthew the Elder returned, walking in darkness with enough confidence; he returned to the sacristy, removed the chair and the compartment closed itself. He was happy. In addition to the clues of that plot, he had discovered the secret way from which Andrew had fled to justice, and he had the confidence that the sacristan and that Zi' Rosario, whose name he had heard, belonged to the sect.

His acquaintances were widening; gradually he was discovering those notorious and mysterious Beati Paoli who filled the whole territory of Palermo with terror, and this caused him some thrills of pleasure, which comforted him of the bites of hunger that he already felt. He had not foresaw the possibility of spending the night in church and had not provided for a loaf; neither in church could he find anything to feed himself. I give heights to make of necessity virtue; and, as he ascended on the organ, he settled on a chair and, philosophically resigned, waited for you the night and sleep. He couldn't get out until dawn.

The bells of the first mass woke him up. He fixed his clothes, reassembled himself and prepared to get out of his hiding place. The first mass is recited at St. Matthew when it is still dark; the church is then immersed in the darkness, broken just before the altar at which it is celebrated by the two bright candles. It was therefore necessary to grasp the moment when the sacristan would be occupied in his office, to go out and mix among the faithful; it succeeded him perfectly and easily.

After the Mass, the sacristan saw the usual old woman kneeling before the altar of Our Lady of Graces.

"Well, aunt," he asked not without wonder, "so soon today?"

"Didn't I tell you I had work? Today you have to hurry some linens, and I came soon..."

"Bravo. And did Our Lady give you grace?"

"Wait. I have faith."

Shortly after Matteo Lo Vecchio came out of the church, dragging, kneeling before every image, lingering as usual, but in reality with a great impatience in the feet, which they would have wanted to run. He didn't think it was time to get home, lay that disguise, take up his usual appearance, and go to the Albamonte palace.

Don Raimondo had breakfast then and had entered his studio to get papers to present to the king. On the face of Matteo Lo Vecchio he read that there was some great news in the air.

"Well?" he asked.

Matteo Lo Vecchio went to close the door, and approached the duke and said to him in a low voice: "I know where that Andrea came out, and where he went."

"Huh?" exclaimed the surprised duke; "So..."

"Then," Matteo said, capturing Fr. Raimondo's thought, "we must wait for him to return, to catch him..."

"Where did he go?"

"A Messina."

"In Messina? Why?..."

"To get you a certain Giuseppico."

The duke became horribly pale. Matthew observed him, pretending not to notice that pallor and continued:

"Joseph will live with a woman named Peppa la Sarda!..."

Don Raimondo was frightening; he asked with an altered voice:

"For what purpose?"

"Because both must serve against your Excellency..."

The duke was sweating cold; he stuttered,

"Who told you?"

"I heard it with these ears."

You? Did you hear that? Where? How?"

Don Raimondo trembled; he feared that Matthew the Old had come to know his secret, of which he had no doubt that others were masters. The birro told him briefly how he sensed that between the crime attempted by Andrea and the persecutions of which the duke was made a sign, there was a connection, and that he had to go and find the key of Andrea's escape inside the church of St. Matthew; and down, from his disguise until the discovery of the secret passage. Don Raimondo trembled, agitated by a thousand doubts, by a thousand suspicions, by a thousand terrors, wondered what occult reasons don Girolamo Admirata had come in possession of his secret, and had gone tracing his ancient accomplices; and who were those others, that uncle Rosario. Are you thirsty for money? He would have given them; he would have enriched them if they had gone to ask for them; but they had never asked for them. Revenge? Of what? He had never offended them!... Meanwhile, here rise from the shadow where those two terrible names and accusers were forgotten: Giuseppico and Peppa la Sarda.

"We must," he said, "have them in our hands... at once..."

"Your Excellency forgets to have done Release Don Girolamo... You have to find a reason to arrest him."

"Isn't he here? Isn't he an accomplice to Andrea?..."

"And so you have to start by getting your hands on that Andrea. And above all..."

"Your Excellency say..."

Don Raimondo seemed to gather a minute; on his face it was clearly seen that he made a great effort. He said, "Matthew the Old Man, I can make your fortune..."

"What says your Excellency!..."

"Ask what you want: I promise to please you..."

"Your Excellency command me what I have to do, since I have consecrated my virtue to you..."

"Well, you must have that Joseph in your hands, first of all, first of all; to have him in your hands: either alive or dead."

"That's all we need. Today I leave for Termini.."

"Here's some money."

He took a scroll of shields out of a lock and gave it to him, adding:

"Come back to midday; I will give you an order from the great Judge of the kingdom for all the captains and officers of the cavalrymen and the companies of weapons, to give you a strong hand..."

"Very good. At midday minus a quarter I'll be here, and I'll leave right away."