by Ray Flynn
The bishop slid his chair closer to the children. “Kids, I know this must be very hard on you. I am as amazed and puzzled as you are, and I doubt we will ever know exactly how your dad got to be pope. I have known your dad and his close friend Brian Cardinal Comiskey for many years. Perhaps all those cardinals in Rome wanted a good man of the people like your dad to help make the world a better place to live in. I’m sure that’s why Cardinal Comiskey came this far to see him.”
“Yes,” Roger interrupted, “it’s Uncle Brian’s fault. I hate him! I hate him!”
“No, no, Roger, it’s not his fault.” Colleen turned to the bishop. “Tell him, Sean.”
“Your sister is right, Roger. The cardinal—‘Uncle Brian,’ you called him—he alone could never make your dad the pope. That would be the choice of all those cardinals in Rome. It seems like they must have wanted to elect a layman for a reason we may or may not discover one day. They probably discussed many, many fine laymen from all over the world that various cardinals knew. And think of this: Your Uncle Brian must have been able to convince them what a kind, loving, decent man your fisherman dad is, and they were so impressed that out of all possible choices they came down on the side of your dad. But I’m sure he will be calling here very soon and wanting you to go to Rome to live with him there.”
“Is that right, Bishop?” Meghan asked breathlessly. “We can go to Rome?”
“Meghan, don’t worry. Your father is working on that right now and he’ll call you soon. If he wants you there tomorrow I’ll arrange everything. I’ll even take you over to Rome myself if that’s what you three want.”
“Will we have our own bedrooms?” Roger asked, acceptance slowly settling in.
The bishop chuckled. “Why, certainly, Roger. Maybe even two bedrooms!”
“Wow!” Meghan smiled. “Is it a big house he lives in?”
“Yes, Meghan. It’s very big. It will probably take you a month or two just to find your way around.”
“How big is it?” Roger asked.
“Well, from what I know of the place, I think there are about fourteen hundred rooms inside the Vatican. I’m sure they’ll have plenty of space there for you. It has its own post office, railroad station, movie theater, and supermarket. And you can learn all kinds of things from your dad’s new friends there. So please, just try to be happy for your dad. He has a very hard job. And if the kids in school make remarks about it, you can tell them about your big new house. Okay?”
Meghan and Roger looked at each other happily. “All right.” Meghan smiled.
Bishop Sean Patrick turned to Colleen. “It seems to me I heard that you have a problem with the Church, Colleen.”
“No problem whatsoever, Sean,” she replied coolly. “I don’t go anymore. I guess you could say I’m an atheist of sorts. Or perhaps merely an agnostic.”
Sean Patrick recalled Brian’s mentioning how hard Colleen had taken her mother’s death and how she had lost faith in God because of it. He could only think to say, “We must talk sometime about that.”
To the bishop’s surprise, the Kelly children gave him a hug.
“Why, thank you, kids! Incidentally, would you do me a very special favor?”
“What?” they chorused.
“Well, it’s this. I may be around here for a while … visiting you until you go over to live with your dad. Would you mind calling me ‘Uncle Sean’?”
They looked at each other and smiled broadly. “OK.” Their personal crisis seemed over for the moment.
“Oh dear,” Colleen exclaimed. “I forgot you told me to leave the phone off the hook. I better hang it up now in case Dad is trying to call.” She walked over to replace the receiver on the hook. Before she made it back to her chair the phone rang. She ran back, hoping to hear her father’s voice.
“Hello, Colleen Kelly speaking. Who? Oh, yes, I am. No. I mean look, I need some time … Hold on, please.” She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and looked up at the bishop. “It’s the Cape Cod Times. What do I do?”
Bishop Sean gave the matter some careful consideration. “They’ll be all over you, even if an entire state police battalion surrounded this house. You’ve got to get through a first meeting with the press as soon as possible. After that you can routinely refer them to my diocese and I will clear with the Vatican every question they may have after you make your statement.”
Colleen sighed. “You’re right, Sean. Shall we make it three o’clock this afternoon?”
The bishop nodded. “Yes, by all means today. Three in the afternoon. I’ll help you draw up your statement.”
Colleen removed her hand from over the phone. “Hello. Yes, come over today at three in the afternoon. If you really are who you say, you can spread the word. We’ll talk to all media people this afternoon at three.”
After a pause Colleen’s voice turned vehement. “No, definitely not now! Please, understand that this is all coming as a shock to us. We have to get prepared.” She politely but finally restated the three o’clock time, gently placed the phone down, and turned toward the bishop. “You want that coffee now, Sean?”
18
SETTLING IN
As Pope Peter II returned from the first universal blessing of his new career at four-thirty, he was surrounded and congratulated by a number of the cardinals who had been the most supportive of his papacy, especially Cardinal Motupu and the five other black Churchmen. Some of them, like the pope himself, were wiping the remains of tears from their eyes.
Brian could not resist a natural impulse born of years of close friendship. He reached out and grabbed Bill and gave him a big hug. “God bless you, Bill. I’m so proud of you. Were you scared out there?”
Bill regained his usual comfort zone and grinned conspiratorially. “Only the launderer who does my underwear will ever know.” His remark brought a burst of laughter.
Robitelli maintained a somewhat more distant demeanor as he advanced to shake the pontiff’s hand. “Your Holiness, you must be starved. Your dinner for the cardinals is scheduled for six-thirty. After Mass tomorrow morning everyone returns to his assigned duties.”
“Gene, thank you. And please call me whatever name you feel most comfortable with. And, by the way, as we say out on the sea, the sun is definitely over the yardarm.”
At Cardinal Robitelli’s questioning glance Bill chuckled. “That means it is after noon and we would all appreciate a good drink.”
Robitelli laughed and smiled warmly. “Your Holiness, I’ll see to it.”
With the secretary of state leading the way, the pope and Brian followed toward the large study for a drink. Suddenly Bill stopped and grabbed Brian’s arm. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I almost forgot, Brian. Could you find Monsignor Cippolini and ask him to join us for dinner?”
Brian colored, as he noticed the cardinals who were with them had heard the request and were looking askance. “Well, Bill, this affair is usually—that is to say, always—limited to just the cardinals who have had to endure their long captivity in the conclave.”
“I see. Look, I was invited out by Monsignor Cippolini before you led me into the conclave, so I have to return the favor. He thought I was delivering some documents and then I’d be back out. Now, just this once can we allow him to join us? I hate to break my promise to him.”
Brian hastily departed to find Monsignor Cippolini. Bill felt a friendly hand patting his shoulder and turned to see the smiling face of Cardinal Motupu. “Pope Bill, Monsignor Cippolini should sit next to me. He has invited me to dine with him many times also.”
“Great, Cardinal. What’s your first name?”
“Augustine is my Christian name. ‘Gus’ for short, with friends.”
“Okay, Gus, thanks for the support. Brian told me you had something fundamental to do with this ‘joke’ thing. I confess I know nothing about you, or any other cardinal except Brian, for that matter. Tell me, are you a brainy Vatican hand or are you, say”—Bill grinned broadly—“an affirmative-actio
n cardinal?”
Motupu roared with laughter until tears came to his eyes, while the cardinals nearby regarded him nervously. “Dear Lord, I love sincere, honest talk like that, Bill. As a matter of fact I fit quite comfortably into the token mold. But I now see some hope for the future.” He lowered his tone. “And I’ll be wanting to visit you sometime and discuss my thoughts on the subject.”
“Please do that! When you place the call just tell them the pope asked you to contact him and needs to talk to you—immediately.”
Cardinal Motupu nodded wisely. “You know more about the chain of command here than you let on, Bill.”
“Remember that my closest friend is a cardinal. My wife always tortured him with piles of lobster and apple pie till he confessed many Vatican secrets.”
“Lobster and apple pie! What a way to suffer.”
“He endured it well. All those years of religious discipline.” The pope smiled.
* * *
The media was frantically trying to make some sense of what had happened in the conclave. How could it transpire that a layman, albeit a former priest, had been elected? What disturbed them most was that for the first time in recent history not one cardinal had said any more than the standard “We cannot discuss what transpires in a conclave.”
The local Italian newspapers and TV consortium were only temporarily frustrated, they thought. Cardinal Angellini sat on the company’s board and was their inside man. The consortium had given a sizable donation to his favorite charity with the tacit understanding that he would pass along important details of what happened inside. With the resulting stunning conclusion of this historic conclave, Angellini’s story would be worth all the support and favorable media attention he had received over the years from the press. A news courier was dispatched to his apartment near the Vatican to retrieve the scoop of the century. After a short wait, he was handed an envelope by the cardinal’s assistant, which he quickly pocketed, and hastily returned to his editor’s desk. The editor was all smiles as he opened his treasure. But the smile turned to a sour droop of the lips as he pulled out a short missive that read simply, “Sorry, we are not, as you know, allowed to discuss conclave affairs.” It was evident that each cardinal was determined to abide by the rules.
* * *
Cardinal Comiskey returned with the news that Monsignor Cippolini, extremely reluctant at first, would join them for dinner with great pleasure. Alone with Brian, the pope then remarked, “I could sure use a touch of the Bush about now.”
“I’ll see that Old Bushmills whiskey, black label, is added to the pope’s private wine stock,” Brian promised.
“Please, Brian, stay here and help me. I need someone close by. We can appoint another bishop or cardinal to your post in Armagh.”
Brian shook his head. “Forget it, pal. I love my country and my priests and my people. I can best serve my Church there. I could never work here in the curia. It’s too crowded with sycophants and bureaucrats”—he grinned at his old friend—“as you will soon learn.”
“Well, I am the pope, you know. I could order you to stay.”
“Yes, you could, but I also know you won’t. Listen sharply to Ambassador Kirby and let Monsignor Shanahan, that college rector, be your closest guide. I would have suggested that you have him moved permanently to the Vatican, but it’s possible he can be more valuable if he is not openly perceived by others as an éminence grise. Trust him above all others no matter what their cursed rank. Shanahan and Kirby are currently the keys to your success and, I might add, survival. Ed, I know, will not resign his ambassadorship as long as you need him.”
They walked down the corridor and were met by the ubiquitous Cardinal Robitelli.
“Ah, Comiskey, I knew you might be here. Listen, the media people are here and driving me to distraction looking for some sort of ‘political’ explanation. Since you were the one everyone knows left the conclave and evidently went to fetch His Holiness, I thought you might satisfy them by coming up with some … vague … er … general statements. I’m sure you can think of something.”
“I owe you that much at the very least, Eminenza. Where are they?”
“In our communications office. I told them you’d be along shortly.”
“I’ll talk to them. Please show the pope his apartments so that he can make some necessary phone calls. I’ll go get this thing over with. See you soon at dinner, Bill.” Brian hastened out the door, down the long marble stairs, and across St. Peter’s Square to the communications office.
A round of applause greeted him as he entered the room, taking him entirely by surprise. There were media people he had known for some time, smiling and cracking jokes at his expense. “You rascal, Your Eminence, are you responsible for this? How did it happen? Who else was in the game? When did you decide on a layman?”
The cardinal raised his arms for quiet. “Dear friends … please understand that this was the work of the Holy Spirit. Besides, I am bound by conclave rules. I can’t give you all the answers. It must be self-evident that we had a lengthy discussion about the role of the layman. But remember again, it’s the Holy Spirit who guides our actions.”
“Who were the other candidates?” a reporter shouted.
“I can only give you this one name since he was the one selected. Certainly many, if not all, of the cardinals in the college know many upstanding men who might be worthy of consideration. The fact is that we settled finally on William Kelly, and he accepted our offer.” Then, after a pause and an inadvertent shrug of the shoulders, “Although it will now and in the future probably render him no little sorrow and pain.”
He hesitated and then continued confidently. “You will not have great difficulty finding out about the man, but let me give you a brief sketch of the background of our new Pope Peter II. The then Father Kelly and I went through the seminary together. We were so ordained. After six years’ active ministry Father Kelly applied for and received dispensation from his vows. He returned to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, to work with his father as a professional fisherman. All this time he was busy taking special care of immigrant children, Portuguese children in particular. He married a young lady from Ireland whom he had met while a priest, and they were happily married for seventeen years until his wife’s tragic death due to cancer. They have four children, whom I’m sure you will meet soon via American television. All the details of how they will live together here will take some time to work out, I know. We were aware of the possible—I should say definite—shock it will have on the faithful. But the ending of the Latin Mass was a rough hurdle for them, and they handled it with considerable grace.”
Brian paused and sensed that a more generous explanation was expected by these experienced Vatican reporters. “Remember also,” he added, “we did not proceed contrary to Catholic tradition. William was, and thus always will be, a priest. We settled, I guess you could say, on a halfway measure. He has a lifetime of experience, both clerical and lay. Who knows, perhaps someday this simple layman, like St. Peter himself, will become a great pope. He certainly has always been a great follower of Christ.”
Cardinal Comiskey smiled and paused. Then, “That is all I can give you now.” With that the cardinal hastened out the door and the media scrambled to use the available phones. Those who had been videotaping were off to screen the surprising update over the networks.
* * *
Cardinal Robitelli led Pope Peter away from the cardinals still milling around the conclave area in the Sistine Chapel. “Please, this way, Your Holiness, and I’ll show you your apartments and how to use the telephones here. I imagine you may want to, ah”—he paused over the troublesome concept—“call your children.”
“Yes, I certainly must! They will be terribly worried and anxious by now.”
They entered the apartment, majestic in its simplicity. The cardinal turned to the pope. He was very grave. “Your Holiness, let me be frank with you. This whole affair flies in the face of everything I have believed d
uring a lifetime of service. I’m sure the Church will adapt to you as it has adapted to certain”—he again paused, choosing his words carefully—“distinctive, even ‘anomalous’ popes through its two millennia. But for my own peace of mind, you should know that I did not in any way agree with the proceedings of this day. From what I have heard and seen thus far, I feel that we probably are not going to find ourselves in agreement on most important or perhaps even trivial matters. I am a convinced traditionalist and very much set in my ways. So, if you prefer, I would be more than happy to step down as your official secretary of state. My personal advice would be yours always. In the official role we would be constantly associating with each other, virtually every day. I am anxious to clear the air on this matter.”
Pope Peter smiled benignly and sympathetically at his cardinal. “No, Secretary Robitelli, it is, I think, vital for the stability of the Church that you remain secretary of state. Brian told me that you were never one to conceal your true outlook and that you spoke your mind honestly and forthrightly. I see now and for myself that he is correct in this assessment.” Their eyes met in a moment neither would ever forget.
Robitelli, touched, nodded in agreement and the pope continued. “I need a man of your caliber close to me. It is true that we will disagree, but that will give me a chance to assess the other side of any argument. I’m going to depend on you to run the business and government of the Church for some time. I need to learn what I must do here. I know that all of you see me as only a figurehead.” He shrugged helplessly. “Fine. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be, but maybe I can give you … justify myself along the way.” Looking directly in his eyes, Bill, mustering up what sincerity he could, said, “Cardinal Robitelli, I want you to know that I believe that what happened was the work of God. I am going to try as hard as I can to serve Christ and His Church as best as I humanly can. I will never intentionally bring shame to the Church. As God is my judge.”