After I had been with him for three weeks,I got so skinny that my legs wouldn't hold me up out of sheer hunger.I saw that I was heading right straight for the grave if God and my wits didn't come to my rescue.But there was no way I could trick him because there wasn't a thing I could steal.And even if there had been something,I couldn't blind him the way I did the other one (may he rest in peace if that blow on the head finished him off).Because even though the other fellow was smart,without that valuable fifth sense he couldn't tell what I was doing.But this new guy--there isn't anyone whose sight was as good as his was.
When we were passing around the offering plate,not a penny fell into the basket that he didn't have it spotted.He kept one eye on the people and the other on my hands.His eyes danced in their sockets like quicksilver.Every cent that was put in was ticked off in his mind.And as soon as the offering was over,he would take the plate away from me and put it on the altar.
I wasn't able to get a penny away from him all the time I lived with him--or,to be more precise,all the time I died with him.He never sent me to the tavern for even a drop of wine:what little he brought back from the offering and put in the chest he rationed out so that it lasted him a whole week.And to cover up his terrible stinginess,he would say to me,"Look,son,we priests have to be very moderate in our eating and drinking,and that's why I don't indulge the way other people do."But that old miser was really lying,because when we prayed at meetings or at funerals and other people were paying for the food,he ate like a wolf and drank more than any old,thirsty quack doctor.
Speaking of funerals,God forgive me but I was never an enemy of mankind except during them.This was because we really ate well and I was able to gorge myself.I used to hope and pray that God would kill off someone every day.We'd give the sacraments to the sick people,and the priest would ask everyone there to pray.And I was certainly not the last to begin--especially at extreme unction.With all my heart and soul I prayed to God--not that His will be done,as they say,but that He take the person from this world.
And when one of them escaped (God forgive me),I damned him to hell a thousand times.But when one died,I blessed him just as much.Because in all the time that I was there--which must have been nearly six months--only twenty people died.And I really think that I killed them;I mean,they died at my request.Because I think that the Lord must have seen my own endless and awful dying,and He was glad to kill them so that I could live.But at that time I couldn't find any relief for my misery.If I came to life on the days that we buried someone,I really felt the pangs of hunger when there wasn't any funeral.Because I would get used to filling myself up,and then I would have to go back to my usual hunger again.So I couldn't think of any way out except to die:I wanted death for myself sometimes just as much as for the others.But I never saw it,even though it was always inside of me.
Lots of times I thought about running away from that penny-pinching master,but I didn't for two reasons.First,I didn't trust my legs:lack of food had made them so skinny that I was afraid they wouldn't hold me up.Second,I thought a while,and I said:"I've had two masters:the first one nearly starved me to death,and when I left him I met up with this one;and he gives me so little to eat that I've already got one foot in the grave.Well,if I leave this one and find a master who is one step lower,how could it possibly end except with my death?"So I didn't dare to move an inch.I really thought that each step would just get worse.And if I were to go down one more step,Lazaro wouldn't make another peep and no one would ever hear of him again.
So there I was,in a terrible state (and God help any true Christian who finds himself in those circumstances),not knowing what to do and seeing that I was going from bad to worse.Then one day when that miserable,tightfisted master of mine had gone out,a tinker came to my door.I think he must have been an angel in disguise,sent down by the hand of God.He asked me if there was anything I wanted fixed."You could fix me up,and you wouldn't be doing half bad,"I said softly but not so he could hear me.But there wasn't enough time so I could waste it on witty sayings and,inspired by the Holy Spirit,I said to him,"Sir,I've lost the key to this chest,and I'm afraid my master will beat me.Please look and see if one of those keys you have will fit.I'll pay you for it."
The angelic tinker began to try out the keys on his chain,one after the other,and I was helping him with my feeble prayers.Then,when I least expected it,I saw the face of God,as they say,formed by the loaves of bread inside that chest.When it was all the way open I said to him,"I don't have any money to give you for the key,but take your payment from what's in there."
He took the loaf of bread that looked best to him,and he gave me the key and went away happy,leaving me even happier.But I didn't touch a thing right then so that the loss wouldn't be noticeable.And,too,when I saw that I was the Lord of all that,I didn't think my hunger would dare come near me.Then my miserly old master came back,and--thank God--he didn't notice the missing loaf of bread that the angel had carried off.
The next day,when he left the house,I opened my breadly paradise and sank my hands and teeth into a loaf,and in a flash I made it invisible.And,of course,I didn't forget to lock up the chest again.Then I began to sweep the house very happily,thinking that from now on my sad life would change.And so that day and the next I was happy.But it wasn't meant for that peace to last very long because on the third day real tertian fever struck.
