cuentos de barro - DSpace Universidad Don Bosco

El obispo, de pie ante él, se enjabonaba
las manos en su duda y en su rango.
Pujó.
Dos lágrimas corrían por las mejillas
marchitas del padre. Repitió su excusa:
—Un afán, un vago deseo de ser padre.
Es como mi hija.
Su voz era oscura.
—Los niños despertaron siempre en mi
alma una dulce inquietud...
—¡Hm!...
Apretó el obispo sus labios temibles y
lanzó al cura su más irónica mirada. Pero
ante él se irguió austero, nobilísimo y
puro, el rostro del acu sado, encendido
en radiante sinceridad; irresistible en
su sencillez: tal si el mismo Dios mirara
por sus ojos húmedos, abatiendo al
instante la aus teridad, la insolencia y el
rango.
132
The bishop, standing in front of the
priest, was washing his hands to
demonstrate his doubt and impose his
rank. He cleared his throat.
Two tears rolled down the marcid
cheeks of the priest. He repeated his
excuse:
“An urge, a vague desire to be a father.
She is like my daughter.”
His voice was dark.
“The children always awakened a sweet
anxiety in me…”
“Hm!”
The bishop squeezed his fearsome lips
together and gave the priest his most
ironic look. But before him the face
of the defendant stood austere, very
noble and pure, lit in radiant sincerity;
irresistible in his humbleness: as if God
himself were looking through his wet
eyes, instantly knocking down the
bishop’s austerity, the insolence and
the rank.