Monk In The Cellar

The rental car had a luxurious new smell.  I drove while Harpo held on to the arm rest and the seat belt strapped across his chest. 

“Do you have to drive so fast?” he asked.

I slowed down to 45 as we headed east over Oriskany Boulevard.

“I have a secret to tell you,”  I told him.

Harpo sighed.  “I already know it.  We’re rich.”

“You don’t sound happy, but I can guess why,” I said.

“I didn’t become a monk to get rich,” he said.  “Any inclination in that direction could eventually turn us into a St.  Anne and his ilk.”

“It’s a lot of money, Harpo,” I said.

“I know,” he answered.  “Lance told me so you wouldn’t have to bear it alone.”

“He doesn’t trust me, probably,” I said.

“A hundred thousand?  Two hundred?  I don’t remember the amount,” said Harpo, “but it’s a windfall.  And Lance says there may be something from Agnes’ estate.”

“I didn’t know that,” I admitted.  “Should we tell anyone else?”

“We're Brothers, Bouncer!  How could we not tell them,” he said.  “We can only hope that as a group we do the right thing.”

"If you were to become our abbot," I said, "then you could simply edict what is to be done with the money."

Harpo sighed again, this time more deeply.  

"The same is true for you," he said.  "The Abbot Bilhild would be totally free to dispense with the money as he sees fit."

I looked over at Harpo and he was smirking.

"You know I'd build the most monastery I could with the money," I said.

"And lose your peace in the process," he said.  "Poverty, dear Bilhild,  is a very underrated state of bliss."

Side By Side - Martin & Lewis