by Morris West
“There’s something more.” Lotte reached out and stroked his wrist. “You love Jean Marie like a brother. Rather than reject him outright, you are prepared to split yourself in two.… You’ve told him you will write this memoir about him. Are you sure you can do it with such a divided mind?”
“No, I’m not, liebchen. Rainer will do a good job on his part. It’s a plum for any journalist—a big exclusive that will go round the world. As for my part—the personal portrait, the interpretation of Jean’s thoughts—I’m not at all sure I can do it right.”
“Where will you work on it?” asked Hilde. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like.”
“We must get home to Tübingen.” Lotte was a shade too anxious. “The children will be back early next week.”
“Carl could stay awhile longer…”
“It’s not necessary.” Mendelius was firm. “Thanks for the offer, Hilde; but I’ll work better at home. I’ll talk to Georg Rainer on Friday. We’ll leave on Sunday for Tübingen. This place is too seductive—I need a strong dose of Protestant common sense.”
“Delivered in a Swabian accent!” said Herman with a grin. “As soon as summer’s over, Hilde and I will start preparing our place in Tuscany.”
“Take it easy, Herman.” Hilde sounded irritable. “Nothing’s going to happen that fast. Is it, Carl?”
Mendelius grinned and refused to be drawn. “I’m married, too, girl! We males have to stick together sometimes. I’d be inclined to get your place in order as soon as you can. If there’s a whiff of crisis, materials and manpower will double in price overnight. Besides, you’ll need to plant this winter for the next summer harvest.”
“And what are you going to do, Carl?” Hilde asked pointedly. “Your friend Jean Marie is safe in his monastery. If anything happens, Germany will be the first battle zone. What are you going to do about Lotte and the children?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
Tübingen’s only a hundred and eighty kilometers from the Swiss border,” said Herman. “It would pay you to have some of your royalties accumulate there.”
“I refuse to talk about this anymore.” Lotte was suddenly close to anger. “These are our last days in Rome. I want them to be happy ones.”
“And so they shall be!” Herman was instantly penitent. “So we dine here. Afterwards we go listen to folk music at the Arciliuto. It’s a quaint place. They say Raffaello kept a mistress there. Who knows? At least it proves the Roman talent for survival.”
There were still loose ends to be tucked away before Lotte and he could pack and be gone. He spent all of Friday morning preparing his final tape for Anneliese Meissner: an account of his visit to Monte Cassino, a frank admission of his own perplexities and a somewhat terse envoi:
“… You now have the full record as honestly as I can set it down. I want you to study it carefully before we meet again in Tübingen.… There is much more to tell; but it will keep. See you soon… I am sick of this febrile and inbred city. Carl.”
He packed the tapes carefully and instructed Francone to deliver them to a courier service which plied daily between Rome and various German cities. Then Francone drove him to his luncheon appointment with Georg Rainer. At one o’clock, tucked into a private booth at Ernesto’s, he began the ritual fencing match. Georg Rainer was a very practiced performer.
“You’ve been a busy man, Mendelius. It’s hard to keep track of your movements. That affair at the Salvator Mundi, when the police shot one man and arrested three others… you were at the hospital?”
“Yes. I was visiting Senator Malagordo.”
“I guessed as much. I didn’t print anything because I thought you shouldn’t be exposed any more.”
“That was generous. I appreciate it.”
“Also I didn’t want to spoil today’s story.… You do have one for me, I hope?”
“I do, Georg. But before I give it to you, I want to see if we can agree on some ground rules.”
Rainer shook his head. “The rules are already in operation, my friend. What you give me I check first and then put it on the telex. I guarantee an accurate rendering of the facts and the quotes and I reserve the right to make whatever comment I choose for the guidance of my editors.… I can’t guarantee your immunity from editorial emphasis, dramatic or misleading headlines, or distorted versions of the same story by other hands. Once we start this interview you’re on the witness stand and everything you say goes into the court record.…”
“In this case,” said Mendelius deliberately, “I’d like to see if we could agree the way the story is to be presented.”
“No,” said Georg Rainer flatly. “Because I can make no agreement about what happens after the copy leaves my office. I’m happy to show you what I file, and I’ll gladly change any rendering that seems inaccurate.… But if you’re thinking there’s some way to control the consequences of a news release, forget it! It’s like Pandora’s box: once you open it, all the mischiefs fly out.… Why are you giving me this story anyway?”
“First, you kept your word to me; I’m trying to keep mine to you. Second, I want the truth about a friend put on public record before the mythmakers get to work. And, third, I want to do a companion piece to your story in the form of a personal memoir. I can’t do that if your version goes wildly off the rails. So, let me frame my question another way. How can we get together to meet my needs and yours?”
“Tell me the name of the story first.”
“The abdication of Gregory the Seventeenth.”
Georg Rainer gaped at him in undisguised amazement. “The true story?”
“Yes.”
“Can you document it?”
“Provided we can agree on appropriate use or nonuse of the documents, yes… and to save you further trouble, Georg, I’ve just spent twenty-four hours with Gregory the Seventeenth in the Monastery of Monte Cassino!”
“And he agrees to the disclosures?”
“He offers no impediment, and relies on my discretion in the choice of a reporter for the exclusive story. We have been close friends for a long time. So you see, Georg, I have to be very sure of the ground rules before we start.”
A waiter hurried up flourishing his pad and pencil.
Georg Rainer said, “Let’s order first, shall we? I hate waiters hovering around while I’m doing an interview.”
They settled for a pasta, saltimbocca and a carafe of Bardolino. Then Georg Rainer laid his miniature tape recorder on the table and pushed it towards Mendelius. He said quietly:
“You handle the recording. You keep the tape until we’ve agreed a final text. We’ll work on it together. All out-takes will be destroyed immediately. Satisfactory?”
“Fine!” said Mendelius. “Let’s begin with two documents, handwritten by Gregory the Seventeenth and delivered to me by personal messenger. The one is a letter to me describing the events which led to his abdication. The other is an unpublished encyclical which the Curia suppressed.”
“Can I see them?”
“At an appropriate time, yes. Obviously I don’t carry them around.”
“What is the key message?”
“Gregory the Seventeenth was forced to abdicate because he claimed to have had a vision of the end of the world—the holocaust and the Second Coming. He believed he was called to be the precursor of the event.” He gave a wry-mouthed grin and added, “Now you understand why I ducked the story on the end of the world. I was testing the theme on an audience of Evangelical clerics before I went to Monte Cassino.…”
Georg Rainer sipped at his wine and munched a crust of dry bread. Finally he shrugged, like a losing poker-player, and said, “Now of course it all makes sense. The Curia simply had to get rid of him. The man’s a lunatic.”
“That’s the problem, Georg.” Mendelius poured more wine and signalled the waiter to remove the pasta plates. “He’s as sane as you or I.”
“Who says so?” Rainer stabbed a finger at his chest. “
You, his friend?”
“I, yes. And Cardinal Drexel and Abbot Andrew, who directs his life at Monte Cassino. These two accept him as a mystic like John of the Cross. Drexel’s going through a crisis of conscience because he didn’t defend him against the Curia and the Sacred College.”
“You’ve talked to Drexel?”
“Twice. And twice to the Abbot of Monte Cassino. The odd thing is they’re the believers and I’m the skeptic.”
“Which is just the way they want it,” said Rainer with tart humour. “They’ve removed a troublesome Pope—now they can afford to praise his obedient virtue.… You know, Mendelius, for a notable scholar you’re sometimes very naïve. You even accept to be driven around by the Cardinal’s chauffeur in the Cardinal’s car; so Drexel knows every move you’ve made in Rome—including this lunch with me.”
“The point is, Georg, I don’t care a curse what he knows.”
“Does he know you’ve got the documents?”
“Yes. I told him.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t think he might drop a word to have them recovered—or diverted to more orthodox hands?”
“Frankly, I can’t see Drexel as a spymaster or a receiver of stolen manuscripts.”
“Then you’re more trusting than I am.” Rainer shrugged. “I read history, too, and the usages of power don’t change in the Church or anywhere else. However… let’s talk about Gregory the Seventeenth. How do you judge him?”
“I believe he’s sane—and sincere in his own convictions.”
“There’s nobody more dangerous than a sincere visionary.”
“Jean Marie recognized that. He abdicated to avoid a schism. He is silent because he has no legitimizing sign to prove his vision authentic.”
“Legitimizing sign? I don’t recall the expression.”
“It’s a term that’s become popular in modem biblical analysis. Basically it means that when the prophet or the reformer claims to speak in the name of God he needs to show some patent of authority.…”
“Neither you nor I can give him that.”
“No; but between us we should be able to guarantee him an honest publication of the facts and an enlightened interpretation of his message. We can set down the events that led to the abdication. The documents will demonstrate the why of the matter. We can record what Jean Marie Barette has told me about his alleged vision.”
“So far so good. But that vision deals with mighty matters: the end of the world, the Second Coming, the Last Judgment. What can you and I tell our readers about those things?”
“I can tell them what people in the past believed and wrote about these things. I can direct their attention to the existence of millenarian sects in today’s world.…”
“Nothing else?”
“After that, Georg, it’s your turn. You’re the man who writes the bulletins about the state of the nations. How close are we now to Armageddon? The world is full of prophets. Could anyone of them be the One who is to come? If you look at it in concordance with all the crazy social phenomena, Jean Marie’s prediction is far from irrational.”
“I agree.” Rainer was thoughtful. “But to get this story into readable shape will take a hell of a lot of work. Can you stay on in Rome?”
“I’m afraid not. I have to prepare for the opening of the University. What’s the chance of your spending a few days in Tübingen? You’d be very welcome to stay in my house. We could work better there. I have all my texts and filing systems.”
“I need to work fast. It’s my training to grab the idea, test the logic and write it for the telex the same day.…”
“I’m probably much slower,” said Mendelius, “but I at least am prepared in the subject.… Anyway, I’ll leave here Sunday and begin work the next day.”
“I could be with you by Wednesday. I’ll get a stringer to cover for me here. But I don’t want to discuss this story with my editor until you and I have written it together and tested every phrase of it.… So I’ll have to work up an excuse for a few days’ absence.”
“There’s one thing we should discuss,” said Mendelius. “You and I have to act jointly. There should be a contract between us. And I’d like to use my agent in New York to arrange our joint contracts with publishers.”
“That’s fine.”
“Then I’ll call him tonight and ask him to meet us both in Tübingen.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice, Mendelius? For God’s sake be careful with those documents. Lodge them in the bank. I know people who’d kill you to get hold of them.”
“Jean Marie warned me of that in his letter. I’m afraid I didn’t take him too seriously.”
“Then you’d better be very serious from now on. This story will make you just as famous or notorious as the shooting on the Corso. Even when you’re back in Tübingen, watch your step. You’re still a key witness against the girl, and you’ve cost the underground four men.… These operators have long arms and long memories.”
“The terrorist thing, I understand.” Mendelius was genuinely puzzled. “But the documents—a private letter to me, an unpublished encyclical—I can see their news value, but they’re certainly not worth a man’s life.”
“No? Look at it another way. The encyclical brought about a papal abdication. It could equally have brought about a schism or caused Gregory the Seventeenth to be certified insane.…”
“True, but…”
“So far,” Rainer silenced him brusquely, “all you’ve thought about is your personal reaction to his affair, and your concern for your friend. But what about all the thousands of other people with whom Gregory the Seventeenth had dealings during his pontificate? How have they reacted? How might they react if they knew the true facts? Some of them must have had very close relationships with him.…”
“They did. He sent me a list…”
“What kind of list?” Rainer was instantly alert.
“People in high places all over the world, who he believed would be receptive to his message.”
“Can you give me some of the names on it?” Mendelius thought for a moment and then recited half a dozen names, which Rainer wrote in his notebook. Then he asked, “Has any one of these tried to contact him in Monte Cassino?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. However, they’d certainly be thoroughly screened before they got through. I was. In fact I never did speak to Jean Marie on the telephone. There were moments when I thought I was being carefully steered away from him; but Drexel was definite. There were no impediments to my visit, just a lot of official interest.”
“Which is hardly likely to wane, now that they know you’ve talked to me.”
“Let’s be fair, Georg. Drexel didn’t enquire what I proposed to do. He didn’t make any further mention of the documents—and he took some very rough talk from me.”
“So what does that prove? Nothing except that he’s a patient man. And, remember, he was the one the Cardinals chose to be their messenger. Think about that! As for other friends or acquaintances of Gregory the Seventeenth, I’m going to be doing some digging on my own account before I come to Tübingen.… No! No! I’m paying for lunch. I’m going to make so much money out of you it’s almost obscene!”
“You’ll work for it, my friend.” Mendelius laughed. “Two things I learned from the Jesuits were the rules of evidence and a respect for stylish writing. I want this to be the best story you’ve ever delivered!”
As soon as he reached the apartment, Mendelius made a guarded telephone call to his agent, Lars Larsen, in New York. Larsen’s immediate reaction was a whistle of excitement and then a howl of anguish.… The idea was wonderful. It was worth a mint of money—but why the hell did Mendelius have to share it with a journalist? Rainer had nothing to contribute but his connection with a big German news empire. This story should be launched from America.…
And so on, and so on, for ten minutes of impassioned pleading, after which Mendelius explained pa
tiently that the whole purpose of the exercise was to present a sober account of recent events and direct serious attention to the core of Jean Marie’s last message. Therefore, would Lars please come to Tübingen and discuss the matter with the gravity it deserved?…
Lotte, listening to the one-sided conversation, tuttutted unhappily.
“… I warned you, Carl! All these people have personal concerns that must conflict with yours. The agent smells big money. Georg Rainer’s reputation as a newsman will be enormously enhanced. But you… You’re writing about a friend. You’re treating a subject which you know has haunted man through his history. You can’t let yourself be treated like an overnight film star.… You hold the trump card: the documents. Don’t display them to anyone until you’ve got all the terms you need to protect yourself and Jean Marie.”
Later, cradled in his arms in the big baroque bed, she mused drowsily:
“… It’s ironic really. In spite of all your skepticism, you’ve given Jean exactly what he asked in the first place. Because you’re his friend you can’t fail to give him sympathetic treatment. Because you’re a scholar of world repute, your commentaries will protect him from the clowns. If Anneliese Meissner is willing to go into print with you, she’ll be at least clinically honest.… All in all, my love, you’re making a handsome payment on our debts to Jean Marie. By the way, I bought a gift today for Herman and Hilde. It was rather expensive but I knew you wouldn’t mind. They’ve been so generous with us.”
“What is it, liebchen?”
“A piece of old Capo di Monte, Cupid and Psyche. The dealer said it was quite rare. I’ll show it to you in the morning. I hope they’ll like it.”
“I’m sure they will.” He was grateful for the quiet aimless talk.
“Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Katrin sent us a card from Paris. It doesn’t say much except: ‘Love is wonderful. Thanks to you both from both of us.’ There’s also a long letter and some colour prints from Johann.”
“That’s a surprise! I thought he’d be the one to send the postcard.”
“I know. Funny, isn’t it? He’s quite lyrical about his vacation. They didn’t get very far, though—not even into Austria. He and his friend discovered a little valley high up the Bavarian Alps. It has a lake and a few ruined cabins… not a soul for miles around. They’ve been camping there ever since, just going into town for supplies.…”