Summary: Girolamo always wanted to know.

Girolamo knew since he could remember, that he had questions that aroused inside him the desire to know more and other questions that did not.

As a teenager who had grown up an orphan in one of the many monasteries in Rome, he had never wondered who his parents were and why they had abandoned him, as there wasn't much to discover. Unlike his companions, he didn't fantasize that they were nobles whose parents had protected them under the protective arm of the Church for one day to return for them.

He was sure that he probably was born from poor peasants who, unable or unwilling to raise a child in hardships, appealed to the monasteries where they had guaranteed shelter and food, from deceased parents or, in the worst case, from one of the many Roman prostitutes.

There was no mystery to unveil because he knew with certainty that his Father, his true Father, wasn't on earth.

There were other questions that left him with an unstoppable desire to find the answer. He knew that there were answers for everything, but he wasn't going to find them in the mouth of the priests who lived there, because they knew the same thing or less than him. Some told him that God had the answer, that God didn't pretend that his sons knew it yet, that the human soul wasn't prepared to understand certain things while it was in its earthly phase. The time to gain knowledge would come once they returned to paradise.

But for Girolamo, those answers were not enough, no matter how much he tried to convince himself. Perhaps the priests were those who didn't have the ability to understand the knowledge of these issues. But Girolamo did, and somewhere in the world, God had left the information to those with eagerness and ability to apprehend it.

When they finished studying Genesis, there was a question that Girolamo had pending to solve. Where were the children of fallen angels and women? What had happened to them? They should be in the land, where sinful humans also lived. Because there was no mention in the sacred scriptures that they were in hell, and God would not allow them to dwell in Eden.

Some priests watched him in fright, others answered that God knew that and that, when the time came, he would enlighten him with the answer

Tired of so many vaguenesses, Girolamo spent days reading and reading all the sacred writings in the different versions he could read; at fourteen, apart from Latin, he understood Greek and a little, very little, of Hebrew, but comparing, perhaps, some clue would come.

Concerned about his recent obsession, one of the oldest priests decided to take action on the matter. He sat next to the teenager and asked for explanations. He knew that Girolamo was different from the other apprentices; that the vague and repetitive explanations that other young people accepted without questioning in Girolamo awakened hundreds of new questions.

"The Nephilim" said the old man, rubbing his beard, "I guess the other priests have already told you that it is not known what happened to them after the flood sent by the Lord."

Girolamo nodded exasperated of hearing the same thing again but hoping to get some new clue.

The old man looked carefully around him, making sure no one heard their conversation. But they were alone in the precarious library, the behavior of his disciple had filled the patience of many priests.

"In other lands, there are rumors that the Nephilim inhabit underground caves, where they are in deep lethargy, as punishment. Others believe they have been exterminated."

Girolamo shook his head, disappointed

"Rumors," said with some arrogance. "Rumors are useless, I won't reach any response based on rumors."

"It's possible," said the old man without feeling offended. "But investigating whether a rumor reflects the truth or not is a good starting point to find an answer that men don't have." He smiled briefly. "That, or look for the Book of leaves, if it really exists."

"The book of leaves?"

The priest smiled again having achieved the interest of the boy.

"This is another rumor," he clarified and restrained himself from laughing at the boy's annoyance. "An infinite book, written by beings of higher consciousness, close to that of the Holy Father, perhaps the angels themselves, where great secrets and knowledge are revealed which are otherwise unattainable."

"Another rumor" Girolamo murmured annoyed.

"Another rumor" confirmed the old man, "that you can believe or not. Perhaps one day you, who do so much research, find a more concrete clue. Some believe that the clues are in the Vatican itself. Strive to get there and you'll know."

Girolamo didn't answer. Nor did he pay attention again. In the end, everything had been a ruse to convince him to spend his life in Rome, at the service of the Vatican.

But Girolamo had other plans. He was going to travel the world. Rome was too small to house all the answers.

Perhaps when he left the monastery he would not have all the necessary resources to travel. But he still had time to find the way.

All he had to take with him was his faith. Because God wasn't only in the Church, but in the hearts of the faithful. And Girolamo knew that he would guide him in his search.