An American Pope

by Doug Walker

  Cardinal Piovanelli was eager to respond, praying that this was the beginning of the end for the new pope. But he had to weasel word his answer so as not to indicate that he was in favor of such a liberal policy. “I say good for you, Your Holiness. Not just for this initiative, but for some new policy to come from your lips. The worldwide Catholic community, clergy and lay members alike wait with anticipation to learn what direction the new leader will choose.”

  “Then, Father Poulis, make the announcement and let the record show that Cardinal Piovanelli is foursquare behind this announcement.”

  “But, Your Holiness,” Piovanelli began.”

  “There, there cardinal. I know you don’t always take credit, and sometimes retire to the background, but I want the world to know that you and I are in tandem in our thinking this time. Since I’ve held this spiritual office, you’ve been at my side almost daily. Your experience and seasoning have guided my youth at every turn. You’ve buoyed up my confidence and kept my hand steady on the tiller. You and others like you might be called the Pope’s pope.”

  Piovanelli was contrite and thanked Justin for high praise.

  “The world will never know how much time I’ve spent in prayerful meditation over many issues facing the church today. But I cannot quickly absorb all the wisdom you men about me have. So I will continue to rely upon your good offices.”

  Cardinal Pujalte spoke up and questioned if the reasons Justin had given to liberalize abortions would stand.

  “Those examples that I mentioned. They form the foundation of my thinking, but I throw them out for debate. I am interested in every cardinal’s input, every bishop’s thinking and possibly above all the backbone of the church, the lay folks who attend mass, or possibly even the backsliders who we hope to pull back into the fold.”

  “How will this be accomplished, Your Holiness?” Cardinal Black asked.

  “I’m counting on Father Poulis to get the word out. First to the press here in Rome, then to the worldwide media. Visceral reaction from both sides of the issues, followed by thoughtful logic. Views from women will be paramount.”

  “Paramount, Your Holiness,” Cardinal Jozef Gagnon asked. “You mean weighted above the bishops?”

  “What is a bishop, Cardinal? He is just a man. We here are all just men. The issues we’re dealing with at the moment are women’s issues. Logic tells us women’s views should be foremost in our thinking.”

  “But women, Your Holiness. The church has always made the rules that govern women. Of course we have nuns and mothers superior, but there are no women bishops or cardinals.”

  “That’s true, Jozef. Perhaps we should deal with that problem somewhere down the road. It does seem unfair, doesn’t it?”

  “No, Your Holiness. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “But is that the proper path?”

  The Cardinal seemed puzzled that the Pope injected such a radical thought. The Vatican after all is a bastion of the church.

  “Do men get pregnant?” the Pope inquired.

  This brought chuckles and nods from those assembled.

  “I think we’ve done quite enough today,” the Pope said. “I’m sorry to bring you here, dressed the way I am, sweaty from exercise. The mind must be a pure tabernacle, but the body should also be trim and wholesome. Fitness is one way I can lead by example. Spiritually, it’s up to us all.”

  “Perhaps we could all use some gym time,” Piovanelli quipped.

  “Not a bad idea,” Justin agreed. “Let that slip during your press conference, Father Poulis. Our meeting complete, pray for guidance in our supplications. Let’s permit the word to get out and see who says a Hail Mary.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The word did get out, followed by a firestorm. The bishops who felt they were the bulwarks against change messaged to and fro with every conceivable electronic device. Their collective thinking was that this might be the first liberal crack in the dike and they should work to nip it here and now.

  But how to stand up to the Pope? Difficult. Their decision was to lie in the weeds and wait for a public outcry, then make the most of it.

  In the Vatican, Cardinal Gagnon heard that the bishops had gotten together one way or the other and decided to “lie in the weeds.” This puzzled him and he asked Cardinal Black what it meant.

  “If one walks into a field of weeds and lies down,” Black explained, “no one can see you. Thus you remain out of sight until whatever it is blows over.”

  “Blows over?” Gagnon questioned.

  “Generally the expression would be used if someone was in hot water. By hot water I mean some sort of difficulty. In this case the bishops had decided to keep a low profile waiting for a great public hue and cry against the Pope’s initiative.”

  “Against liberalizing abortion?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But the Pope’s announcement was made several days ago and from all indications there is no public, or Catholic outcry.”

  “Also true. In seems the public and the Catholic community have sided with the Pope.”

  “And against the bishops?” Gagnon asked in disbelief.

  “Not really. Because the bishops are lying in the weeds.”

  This brought a smile to the old cardinal’s face. “I would think they’d be tiring. Also thirsty and hungry and possibly in need of sanitary facilities. When do you suppose they will emerge from that field of weeds?”

  “I suppose they must deliberate among themselves. At the end of that time what posture they might assume is not predictable. But I suspect whatever it is will be subtle. With a Pope who seems to have been appointed by the hand of God, and Catholics and non-Catholics alike in favor of moving the church on to spiritual matters and getting out of the bedroom, it would seem a fine kettle of fish.” Black enjoyed using odd figures of speech when talking to Gagnon. In this case the old cardinal did not rise to the bait, but ambled off mumbling about fish.

  With the initial knee-jerk reaction out of the way and the worldwide Catholic debate settled down to a rational basis, Justin’s strategy was to let sufficient time expire, then post his initial thoughts as church doctrine. The talking heads and the chattering element would smooth his landing strip and take care of the problem for him.

  In their late-night tryst, Sister Sylvia remarked that he had seemed to dodge that bullet.

  “Just as I thought it would go, my love. I didn’t take that psych class in college for nothing.”

  “To think 101 could outfox the bishops and archbishops for that matter.”

  “To stand up to the Pope is daunting for good Catholics and we are talking extraordinarily good Catholics.”

  “Well, I’m getting to be a tired Catholic,” Sylvia said. “These late-night assignations are gradually wearing me down. How do you remain so chipper?”

  “After lunch I retire to my chapel for prayerful meditation for two hours. I find napping clears my mind and facilitates such meditation. The chapel is a spiritual place with icons of Mary, Joseph and Jesus. There's also one of St. George slaying a dragon and so forth. It’s totally restful and recharges my batteries.”

  “What if someone should enter and catch you and St. George and that lot, all as silent as the tomb?” Sylvia questioned.

  “The Swiss guard stationed at the door has his orders. According to their code, he would prefer death to permitting anyone to pass. A fairly good assurance.”

  “My batteries are running down, Justin. What do you suggest?”

  “I suggest you get an additional two hours of sleep every morning. You can write it off to prayer and supplications. You have a cell, don’t you?”

  “I do. And unlike the convent, I even have a lock on the door to guard against prowling Vatican brigands.”

  “Then you’re home free, Sylvia. If anyone complains, let me know. I have ways of fixing things around here. How’s the women’s issues thing going?”

  “Swimmingly since your divine revelations on abo
rtion and birth control. Women are in seventh heaven. I hope you can keep them in that state of mind.”

  “Fear not. Once the water clears, such will become doctrine. Let’s get physical.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Pope Leo XIV’s personal secretary was Father Stevens. All the staff in the Pope’s office were male and their number was legion. There was mail, e-mails, personally delivered pleas for justice and mercy and so forth. It had been decided long ago that every message deserved an answer. The traffic in e-mails alone was horrendous. Most of the material the Pope never saw. Others he personally answered through Father Stevens.

  If a seemingly knotty problem cropped up he called in his cardinals, first Black, then Piovanelli and then others more conversant with the problem or geographic area. He was persistent and would stick with a situation until totally satisfied.

  He had caused sick African children to be transported to medical facilities in Switzerland and a Cambodian cow thought to be under an evil-eye spell to be exorcized in a traditional ceremony.

  Although new to the job, Father Stevens had proven to be an excellent secretary. Justin and Cardinal Black had thought it wise to clear out the dead pope’s staff, giving them soft spots to land, while recruiting a bright, new crowd.

  Stevens had been suspected of child molestation in his native Sweden, but nothing had been proven. He had been transferred to a cloistered order briefly, but his outstanding resume had come to the fore when the Pope was seeking staff. He spoke perfect English, and he and the Pope would practice Italian for twenty or thirty minutes each morning.

  Justin suspected the meticulous Stevens was gay, and it bothered him not at all. In fact, at some point in the future there would likely be a push for gay rights if Justin was able to survive. Stevens had offered to wash his hair and give him backrubs. Justin resisted. But after a particularly tiring meeting he did permit Stevens to massage his shoulders.

  On this particular morning Stevens came into the Pope’s office to announce that a woman named Hilda Krieg sought a personal audience.

  The request puzzled Justin. Personal audiences were reserved for dignitaries or celebrities and generally announced by one of his two favorite cardinals. He wondered if this particular person wore a suicide vest.

  “The name is unfamiliar to me, Stevens.”

  “She is the miracle woman, the one who propelled you to the papacy, the one your touch healed of a severe crippling disorder.”

  Justin nodded in understanding. He wondered what had become of her and had expected her to surface sooner or later. Her celebrity had bought her admission to a few talk shows around the globe, possibly a few dollars for interviews, even stories she had penned, but little more. Of course she had her good health. Who could ask for anything more? Who indeed?

  “Show her in, Stevens. And I’ll talk with her alone.”

  “Is that perfectly safe, Your Holiness?”

  “Yes it is. She is a lamb of God and a true follower of the cross.”

  “Of course.”

  Hilda entered without a word and was waved to a seat across from the Pope.

  “It’s good to see you again, Hilda. Are you in good health?”

  “Excellent, Your Holiness. Thanks to you.”

  “We both had a role, didn’t we?”

  The woman smiled, on the verge of laughter. “Your role was better than mine, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, look at you,” Hilda said. “Silks and satins, a staff to jump to your command. All the money you could ever want. Fine foods, wine.”

  “Celibacy and the weight of the world on my shoulders. That’s what you saddled me with.”

  “Whatever it was, I want something in return or you’ll soon be whistling another tune.”

  Justin was surprised the conversation had turned rough so soon. He expected something a bit more subtle. “How did you fake it, Hilda?”

  The woman shrugged. “Family, friends, a senile doctor. My sister’s his nurse. It was very easy. Then those two simple-minded Jesuits. Just school boys.”

  “And what sort of power do you feel you hold over me?”

  “I hold every card. Heaven and Hell. Damnation and heresy.”

  “But I was duly elected pope.”

  “And I suppose they can kick your can out of the Vatican once they find you and I were in cahoots.”

  Justin laughed. “I’ve been to London and I’ve been to Paris, but I’ve never been to cahoots. Is it tropical?”

  “I’ll tropical your bum.”

  Justin grinned like a chessy cat, reached in a desk drawer, withdrew an evil looking pistol and pointed it at Hilda. Startled, she pulled back, her eyes widened. Then she regained her composure. She was quite an operator. “You won’t shoot me here in this office.”

  “Really, Hilda, why not? What better place for the Pope to shoot someone? I can have your body wrapped and carried out to the Vatican crematorium. By sundown you’d be a pile of ashes tossed into the Tiber. I’m certain you’re not in a state of grace. But you can perform an act of perfect contrition before I pull the trigger. Simply say, ‘Father forgive me.’”

  “Not so fast, Your Holiness.”

  “Go ahead, Hilda. Lively now, ‘Father forgive me.’”

  “We can deal.”

  “A deal with the Pope, Hilda. I’d say you’re better equipped to deal with the devil. Knowing your closeness to the dark one, he might go easy on you. Or is Satan a woman? Maybe in a satin gown?”

  “I don’t want much, Your Holiness. Just a living. If I destroy you, I’ve destroyed my meal ticket, my ticket to ride. I just wanted to throw a little scare into you. You’ve bested me.”

  “For the moment, but will you stay bested? That’s the question. OK, I’ll be your friend and help you. But if you get out of line you will end up in a place you may not like. Now stand up and take off your jacket.”

  “Do what?”

  “You heard me. Then place it on my desk.”

  She did as she was told and he rifled through her jacket. Nothing. She was wearing a loose blouse and he ordered her to remove it.

  “Really, your holiness.”

  He gave her a hard stare and she complied. She was not wearing a bra, but had a small box and wires taped to her upper body.

  “Oh, Hilda, you are such a devious person. Are you acting alone or do you have a confederate?”

  Without hesitation she replied, “I’m alone.”

  “Take off the recorder and place it on my desk.” She did so, then struck a saucy pose. Provocative! Not a bad looking woman for her early forties.

  “You can peddle your wares somewhere else, Hilda. Get dressed and have a seat against the wall.”

  Justin buzzed Stevens and asked him to find Sylvia and send her to his office.

  “Where might I find her, Your Holiness?”

  “Sister Sylvia. She has a women’s rights office nearby. I’ve never been there, but I’m certain you can ferret it out.”

  Five minutes of desultory conversation with Hilda, then Stevens ushered Sylvia into his office. Justin indicated a seat near Hilda, then looked up at Stevens who remained standing in the doorway.

  “You may go, Stevens. No interruptions. No electronic eavesdropping.”

  “But, Your Holiness. Alone in your office with two attractive women?”

  “Sister Sylvia is a nun and Miss Krieg is the product of an act of God. I’m certain I’ll be safe from all temptation.” Stevens exited. Justin had the idea the secretary was putting him on. If Stevens became insolent, he made a note to send him off to Cape Horn or northern Alaska to do the Lord’s bidding.

  He turned to Sylvia and said, “You may remember Hilda Krieg, the crippled woman who was saved by my touch. Probably she’s responsible for my present office. So I either owe her my gratitude or my anger. She did rob me of my freedom while giving me very little except a chance to serve the Lord in exchange. She holds the quaint notion that I am
grateful for my present predicament and has come to collect what she believes is due her.”

  Sylvia took a sidelong glance at Hilda, then said, “I’m guessing she played out some sort of hoax.”

  “Truly, and she’s not alone in it. There are confederates who were able to convince a couple of sly Jesuits that she and I and God were in league in a miraculous healing.”

  “I sniff blackmail,” Sylvia opined.

  “Exactly. And once a person succumbs to blackmail, it never stops. Demands follow demands. I offered to shoot Hilda, wrap her body and have it shipped off to our on-site crematorium, but she objected.” Justin pointed a finger at the pistol that lay on his desk. He was certain Father Stevens had seen the weapon and he wondered what thought had passed through his head. He also wondered if Stevens had some way to overhear their conversation. He would have to have that attended to.

  At this point Hilda objected. “I came here not to blackmail, but to simply ask for help. I am middle-aged and jobless. My assets are being drained. It would be a Christian act to help a poor struggler.”

  “We are nothing if we are not Christians here. What do you make of this, Sister Sylvia?”

  “You have the ability to come to Hilda’s aid in a modest way as long as it doesn’t get out of hand. It’s her confederates that concern me. They must know the entire story.”

  “There is really only one,” Hilda broke in. “A nurse, a relative. And her only wish is to help me. She’s a good person.”

  “A good person engaged in bad things,” the Pope observed. “What I think is that Hilda should remain with us for a few days until we can work something out. Frankly, I’d rather not shoot her. It would be unseemly for a person in my office to start shooting people, and word might get out.”

  “She could be poisoned or drowned, or maybe simply a blunt instrument to smash her skull. What think you, Hilda?”

  “I think you are speaking in the broadest jest. Although your humor lacks a certain appeal. I would be pleased to remain here for a few days and accept the Vatican’s hospitality for food and shelter. We could see what comes of this. You will find me as honest as any blackmailer anywhere on earth, although that term fails to please me. I will abide by a square deal.”

  “We both have dogs in this fight, Hilda, and we both have cards up our sleeves. I will trust Sister Sylvia to find you a nun’s cell somewhere on the premises. If you fail to play us true, Hilda, there will be consequences.”