Chapter Sixteen

  Tom’s health continued to decline as the disease progressed. So ironic these terms! By 1993, he wasn’t as strong as a couple of years before. We wanted to return to Europe, we knew it needed to be different, with more time and space for Tom to rest. I had an acquaintance, a woman I worked with, who had a place in a little village—Istrago, Italy—that she was willing to rent to us, so we arranged to do that. I continued to keep a journal and published accounts of our trip when we returned.

We were in Vienna in August 1993. Leaving there, we had a leisurely day on an uncrowded boat along the Danube. Tom got excited when we went through the locks, went up on top, and watched the process. After lunch, we sat on the deck together; I kept dozing off. We talked, laughed, and compared this to our trip on the Rhine.

At Melk, we had reservations “beneath the abbey.” We surveyed the town, sat down for a beer. I couldn’t sit still. All the little stores were open. We bought soap and water. Ate at the Rathskeller. Tom fell asleep early. A heavy rain started. I bought a fan that Tom described as "cheap and tiny." It was.

He spoke of it again the last Friday night of his life. Tony didn’t understand what he was saying, thought he was talking about milk.

“No, Melk. He’s talking about the fan I bought in Melk.” 

In Salzburg, we learned the city’s name was derived from salt when it was as valuable as gold. We toured the fortress by way of the funicular. Six hundred years in the building, starting in 1077 AD. Seventeen archbishops led the construction—and everything else, dominating the spiritual and political landscape until Napoleon defeated them.

To be in trouble with the law was to also have trouble with the church, and to question the teachings or the actions of the church could cause punishment by the state. The two were one.

We were shown the instruments of torture, told how the iron vest was heated white hot before it was put on the victim.

“Is there a record of how many people were tortured? Just a few?”

“Thousands were, and it continued until 200 years ago.”

The guide showed us the mark made on a marble column by a cannonball shot in the revolt of 1525, where the peasants shot from the public square, a quarter mile away, at the central wooden beam in the fortress, where the archbishops lived. They lived on top of the building with “stars” made of pure gold above their heads. They slept near God. 

People were accused of witchcraft or of being werewolves during medieval days. For example, from 1675 to 1690, 100 people were tortured and killed for such charges. Some of them were children.

This was one of many experiences I’ve had, through years of reading and traveling, of corruption in the church, with the common folk suffering from the dominance of the “holy” men. I didn’t give up on the Christian faith because of one thing, but many. So many books I read, and history. Traveling in Europe brought historical events to life, to reality.

 Enroute to Istrago, Italy, from Salzburg, we took in the