Magnificat (21 page)

“Are you certain about that?” Willie realized he knew the answer already. “You’re right, of course. It would mean losing face internationally, giving her permission to come here. He won’t tolerate that. So how will you deal with him?”

“I don’t know, not for sure. But first things first, and that means I go back to China. Then we’ll let all that diplomatic machinery start clanking along.” He peered into the street. “In the next day or so, we’re going to be besieged here in Rome, worse than when the barbarians were at the gates. Everyone in the Catholic world will be coming here to make themselves heard. For once you can bet they aren’t going to bow their heads and accept what the Cardinals do as being the true expression of God’s will, not without demanding some explanation. And the non-Catholics will be here, too. It’s going to be a bitch.” He poked at his pastry with a fork. “You know, I love these things, and this morning I can’t bring myself to eat.”

“Then don’t,” Willie recommended, starting on his second one.

Cardinal Mendosa stuck his fork in the pastry again, as if testing its interior, then stared at it. “No. Not this morning,” he said regretfully. He picked up his latte again, and sipped. “Coffee jangles all day, but all things considered, that’s minor.” He laughed once, the sound harsh.

Willie finished his second pastry and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When do you think we’ll leave?”

“What?” Cardinal Mendosa had been distracted, his eyes focused at some point three feet beyond the wall. “Leave?”

“For China, dear boy,” said Willie. “You do need a translator still, and I’m having the time of my life with this. I’m on the inside, and you and Nigel No are the only other ones. You aren’t going to write about it, and Nigel has promised Dame Leonie that he won’t divulge anything about our trip. Which leaves yours faithfully. I’ve already had four calls from publishers who want books from me.”

“That was predictable,” said Cardinal Mendosa blandly. “What have you told them?”

“That the story isn’t finished yet; they can talk to me when it is. And in the meantime, I’m piling up notes galore. I’m going to retire on this adventure of ours, and the best part of it is that I love it.” He picked up his espresso doppio and drank half of it. “You tell me when you want to leave and I’ll be ready in two hours. Less, if necessary.”

“I hope it’ll be soon,” said Cardinal Mendosa wistfully, then achieved a single, rough laugh. “For one thing, if I stick around here, I’m going to peel the hide off Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung, mortal sin or not.” He slapped his palm on the zinc table top. “You didn’t hear that.”

“Deaf as the proverbial post,” said Willie, understanding why Cardinal Mendosa was so harried, but enjoying himself hugely. “Any word from Magistrate Zhuang, other than yes?”

“Not yet. Dame Leonie told us that she’d heard Magistrate Zhuang was flown to Xi’an earlier today. The official word is that some of the government honchos want to pick her brains about our visit, but the best rumor is that the honcho is Zuo himself.” He had the last of the latte and signaled the waiter for a second one. “I’ll be on the ceiling for hours, but who’s going to notice?”

Willie saw the worn look on the Texas Cardinal’s face, and the light in his eyes. “You all right, Charles?”

Cardinal Mendosa glanced at him, then looked away. “Probably,” he said after a short hesitation. “But this whole thing is taking a toll on me, and there’s no doubt about it.” He lowered his eyes. “I wish I had a magic wand, something I could just wave and all the red tape and bullshit would disappear, and Zhuang Renxin would be here, where the Church would welcome her wholeheartedly.” He shoved his chair back a little. “Officially the Church believes in miracles.”

“You’re being cynical, Your Eminence,” said Willie, hearing the despair at the back of the Cardinal’s words.

“You learn to be, in this job. The same way you learn to be in yours.” He rubbed his eyes. “Cardinal Gemme is supposed to go on Gordon Mennell’s program tomorrow to explain what has happened and why Magistrate Zhuang is about to become Pope of the Catholic Church, providing we can manage the diplomatic footwork.” He shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. He might love those lights and cameras, but I don’t think he’s going to have any fun this time.”

“Very media-wise, is Gemme,” said Willie.

“You don’t approve?” Cardinal Mendosa asked, picking up on the faint condemnation in Willie’s apparent praise.

“Well, it doesn’t make any sense, but no, I don’t. It strikes me as a little smarmy when a member of the clergy is so savvy and polished and…smee-ooth.” As he said this last he stroked the air as if it were glossy fur.

“He can be that,” said Cardinal Mendosa with a one-sided smile. He handed the waiter a tip as his second latte appeared. “And right now, I’m glad we have him. But you’re right about him being smooth, and that also means he’s slippery.”

“My very point,” said Willie. He fell silent, staring out into the bustle and beauty of Rome: it was a wonderful morning, bright and not too hot yet; a flock of tourists—Germans by the look of them—were headed in the general direction of the Tiber, and the bridges that crossed to the Vatican.

“We’ve got it on good authority that the whole city’s going to fill up in the next several days,” said Cardinal Mendosa distantly as he, too, studied the tourists who had attracted Willie’s attention.

“Surely you expected that,” said Willie, but without much interest. “Whenever something happens about Popes, Rome fills up with tourists. It’s been that way for a millennium.”

Cardinal Mendosa raised his hand in protest. “Don’t say that word.”

“What word?” Willie asked. “Tourist?”

“Millennium,” said Cardinal Mendosa heavily. “It’s becoming a real issue. Thanks to Magistrate Zhuang, we’ve already had one salvo fired at us from the Fundamentalists. Reverend Marcus has warned his flocks throughout the good old U.S. of A. that since it’s almost 2000, the election of a woman to the Papacy is the fulfillment of the prophesy of the reign of the Antichrist.” His expression showed the depth of his disgust for only an instant, then turned wry. “He milked forty minutes out of that theme about an hour after the announcement was made. My secretary has had calls from priests all over Texas and Oklahoma about the harangue he calls a sermon. Reverend Williamson hasn’t been heard from yet, but I assume his views will be very much the same; Reverend Williamson has been riding the millennium for all it’s worth for over a year now. He’s going to be in his glory over the new Pope.”

“But people don’t take him that seriously. They can’t,” said Willie.

“There’s where you’re wrong,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Maybe he’s considered a joke in Europe, but in America he’s serious business, and his following is getting larger and more militant every week.”

“But televangelists went out with the Bakkers, I thought,” said Willie.

“They might have gone out, but they’ve come back in again, and they’re talking hard-line Fundamentalist salvation and the end of the world. If they said Allah instead of Jesus, you’d think they were Shi’ites. And Reverends Marcus and Williamson are getting very rich and powerful.” He started to drink his second latte. ‘We have to get Magistrate Zhuang here as soon as possible. There’s too much pressure on the Church, and on Christians in general, for that matter,” said Cardinal Mendosa with conviction.

“Aren’t they supposed to be one and the same thing?” Willie teased.

But for once Cardinal Mendosa was not amused. “You know better than that. And you know how volatile people can get when their religion is being questioned. Don’t tell me it couldn’t turn ugly and violent; you know the history better than I do.” He had more latte and was left with a white moustache of steamed milk on his upper lip.

“Why not issue a statement of some kind?” Willie suggested.

“About what?” Cardinal Mendosa asked. “We’re still waiting for the dust to settle from our last announcement.”

“About…oh, I don’t know—charity, perhaps?” Willie gave his best benign grin. “How good it is to respect the beliefs of others?”

“Wouldn’t Reverend Williamson love that,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “He’d use it as a rallying cry for his audiences.”

“Audience, not congregation?” Willie inquired sweetly.

“What else do you call a large group of people who watch and support the same television show?” Cardinal Mendosa snapped, then looked away. “Sorry. Caffeine and lack of sleep.” He tapped the latte glass. “I probably shouldn’t finish this.”

“But you’re going to?” Willie said.

Cardinal Mendosa nodded. “And then I have to get back to work. I’ve got a trip to arrange.” He lifted his large glass and offered Willie a slight, ironic toast before he drank the rest in two long swallows.

Chapter 12

It was windy in The Hague, and Gunnar Hvolsvollur was still trying to restore order in his pale hair as he came into the meeting room. “I must apologize for being late,” he said in English.

Vitale, Cardinal Cadini beamed at him and responded in the same tongue, “In such weather it is not surprising that it takes time to get from place to place. I was told that tree branches have blown down in a few places.” He was in a business suit and for once wore his two lapel pins. “I am very pleased that you have been willing to speak with me.”

Gunnar Hvolsvollur nodded uncomfortably. “I was told you had been ill. I trust your health is better.” The inquiry was little more than a delaying tactic while he sized up the charismatic Cardinal Cadini; he looked around the small conference room. “Who else will be here?”

“Just you and I, Mister Secretary-General,” said Cardinal Cadini. “And thank you for your kindness: I am recovering very well for a man of my age.”

The Icelandic Secretary-General of the United Nations looked thoughtful. “I see.”

“This is unofficial, naturally, in spite of the setting,” Cardinal Cadini continued, as though unaware of the Secretary-General’s reservation. “We have entered a time unique in the history of the Church, of Christianity, I believe. We have no protocol to follow, so we must go…experimentally.”

Hvolsvollur decided not to respond directly. “Considering where we are, I would expect Cardinal van Hooven to be with you, or perhaps Cardinal Sclamonde from Belgium. It is a little surprising that you’ve come alone. Ordinarily wouldn’t I be speaking with two of you at least?” He took great care not to make his observation a criticism, though he was mildly offended as well as puzzled, and was rewarded with another one of Cardinal Cadini’s beneficent smiles.

“Ordinarily, yes; Cardinal van Hooven and I would be speaking with you, along with Cardinal Pingari and probably Cardinal Shumwoe or Cardinal Ochoa, as well, to cover all the bases. But as everyone is aware, these are not ordinary times in the Church and each of us has had unique tasks thrust upon us. I fear my days with your institution nominated me to speak to you, as the earlier works of others have become new work for them. You know, it is one of my most honored laurels, or so I tell myself, that I served the Vatican at the United Nations.” Now that he had accustomed his ear to the Icelandic cadences of Hvolsvollur’s English, he began to relax, aware that he spoke the language as well or better than the Secretary-General. He indicated a grouping of low chairs away from the more formal conference table. “Please; I think we’ll be more comfortable here.”

“Oh, of course.” Hvolsvollur’s manner, courteous and solicitous, was also guarded. “How thoughtless of me.” There were fine lace curtains over the tall windows, diffusing the soft afternoon light, rendering the dying storm in gauzy, wavering pastels. The draperies flanking the windows were of a soft green-grey, as was the upholstery of all the chairs in the room: the place was a paradigm of pleasant neutrality.

Cardinal Cadini laughed. “I’m not an invalid, Mister Secretary-General. I am merely someone who prefers to be at ease.” He was already sinking into one of the plump, round-armed chairs.

It was obvious that Hvolsvollur was not convinced, but he obediently selected the chair across from Cardinal Cadini and folded his long, strapping frame down into it. “We have had a very…well, a number of very strong reactions to your announcement of the new Pope.”

“So have we,” said Cardinal Cadini, not quite as affably as before. “Some of the Dominican nuns at Santissima Pieta have been dragooned into reading and sorting the mail we are receiving, and there are more priests on the switchboard than we’ve ever had.” He sighed. “The trouble is that we have elected her twice, and so our hands are tied. She must be Pope.”

The Secretary-General of the United Nations had been briefed on the process and protocol of Papal elections, and so he had no need of further explanation. “And apparently she has agreed.”

“Yes; for which we are all deeply thankful. Now we have an entirely new order of difficulty, for we are left with the business of bringing her to Rome.” His smile was still charming but weighted with fatigue. “We need the assistance of…a great many people, Mister Secretary-General, if we are to be allowed to bring this woman out of China.”

The Icelander’s steel-colored eyes narrowed. “Not everyone is in favor of that, are they?”

“No, they’re not,” said Cardinal Cadini openly. “And to be candid, many of them are within the Church. We have to circumvent their obstructions at the same time we are trying to cut international red tape. Dame Leonie Purcell in Hong Kong has said that she will be pleased to serve us in any way she can. She will be notifying you by letter of her willingness to assist. Since she did so much to ease the Hong Kong transition, you know how capable she is.” He leaned back awkwardly. “These seats are very deep; perhaps too deep for me. Either that, or my legs ought to be a little longer.”

Gunnar Hvolsvollur thought that the chairs were a bit too small, but kept his peace. “You were speaking of red tape.”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Cadini, prepared to return to their topic. “You are well-aware that the Holy See has no direct connections to the People’s Republic of China. In fact, the Church is regarded in much the same light as the die-hard Shi’ites view the USA. This makes it all very complicated. We must approach sideways, like a crab. For that, we need the support and endorsement of countries and institutions recognizing and recognized by the Church and the PRC. The United Nations is one such institution.”

“It is rather a weak one at present,” said Hvolsvollur carefully. “I’m afraid the Albanian crisis still haunts us.”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Cardinal Cadini sincerely. “But there is no reason that makes it wholly impossible for you to assist us, is there? Your Chinese delegation could be empowered to pass on your request for cooperation, couldn’t they? Especially with some help from Dame Leonie?” His face shone with hope. “The Church does not intend to make this any more official than is absolutely necessary, for we do not want to do anything that might compromise the work of the United Nations. That support cannot be unilateral I know. It need not be a formal proclamation, or public endorsement, or anything beyond a simple note. But we would count it a very special favor if you were to aid us.”

Hvolsvollur glared. “You do not grasp the implications of your request. It would be extremely delicate, Your Eminence.”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Cadini blandly. “I am very much aware of that. And I accept that I have no direct authority where you are concerned. Iceland has a national church that is a brand of Lutheranism, doesn’t it? I can understand why this negotiation would be an embarrassment—you have your own religion to consider as well as the rejection of religion in the PRC.” He nodded, his little raisin eyes bright with compassion. “But there are millions of people who are relying on us to bring them their Pope, who was summoned of God. And for once, few of those people will be able to say that we are rotating favor through the older Cardinals. Nine of the Cardinals are over eighty, and with this election, any hope they might have had of their elevation must end, even in these days of increased longevity. I am not quite old enough to be of their number, and I do not aspire to the Throne of Saint Peter, but it is sobering to know that my opportunity is gone.” He regarded Hvolsvollur steadily. “If it is possible to have a Pope untainted by Catholicism, we have one now. Or we will have, if we can bring her to Rome and place the tiara on her head.”

There had been several occasions in the past when Secretary-General Hvolsvollur had taken the Catholic Church to task for being reactionary, self-serving and insular; Cardinal Cadini’s mild challenge struck at the heart of Hvolsvollur’s beliefs. “It would seem that Beijing is the place you should visit, not Cabbage Patch,” he said, using the irreverent nick-name of The Hague.

“Beijing is not exempt, Mister Hvolsvollur, but pragmatically inaccessible. We must find a way to reach the PRC,” said Cardinal Cadini with the same steady good-will as before. “We are obliged to try every means we can think of to bring our new Pope to us.”

“And what of your people who are determined to keep her away?” He hurried on in case Cardinal Cadini wanted to protest. “You have admitted that there are those in the Church who are not in favor of her reign; they have already started undermining your efforts to bring her out of China. My office has received two visits already from high-ranking Churchmen who do not want this to occur. Their concerns were well-expressed, as yours are, and appeared equally valid. Their visits were unofficial and confidential, so I cannot reveal who they are. You ask me to help bring the woman to Rome: they asked me to do all that I can to prevent that eventuality. They have reasons which are to them as cogent as yours are to you. They do not want the U.N. or any other organization offering support to any action aimed at bringing that Chinese widow to Rome.” He paused, trying to assess Cardinal Cadini’s reaction, but without success. “We have assured them we would do nothing, either to help or to hinder, and we will offer no suggestions to any of our member nations in this regard. I assured your colleagues of our continuing non-involvement; and I will now assure you of it.”

Cardinal Cadini nodded but without obvious disappointment. “Is that your final decision?”

“I’m afraid it must be,” said Secretary-General Hvolsvollur, for once truly regretful; he hated saying no to Cardinal Cadini. “We have made every effort to keep religious conflicts out of the United Nations and—”

“Such as Israel and Palestine? And the rest of the Arab world, for that matter? Or Bangladesh? I recall when I was representing the Vatican at the U.N.—and, as I have said, I was truly privileged to do so—I was asked to support various non-Catholic efforts in those conflicts. But I take your point, that the Vatican is a religious state, which makes it suspect, I suppose?” Cardinal Cadini suggested without heat. “Those events had larger world implications, and there was a religious component to the trouble, as I remember.”

Gunnar Hvolsvollur was much too experienced a diplomat to squirm, but he had to admit that Cardinal Cadini’s comments stung. “The peace we have cobbled together in those regions might not hold.”

“And the United Nations may have to answer for it if the peace fails,” said Cardinal Cadini with real concern. “I am aware of how precarious the peace is: the last people killed before the Bangladesh truce went into effect were a party of nursing nuns, sent their for humanitarian relief.” He crossed himself. “May God lift up their souls.”

“Yes.” Hvolsvollur stared over the promontory of his knees toward his feet. “It is lamentable that we cannot assist you, but I can see you appreciate how difficult our position is.”

“I can see that, yes,” said Cardinal Cadini. He gave a long sigh, then favored Hvolsvollur with another smile, this one rueful. “Well, I thank you for your time and your frankness. You’ve been attentive and direct, which is a refreshing change from what I have endured these past three days.” He pushed himself forward in the chair. “I won’t keep you any longer, Mister Secretary-General. You are a very busy man and you have better things to do than try to find pleasant ways to say no to an old man.”

As Hvolsvollur rose to his feet, he said, “If things were otherwise, I would be more than pleased to lend my encouragement to your efforts.”

Cardinal Cadini, who was half out of his chair, stopped as if something new had just occurred to him. “Do you mean that if some other institution or agency were to give the Church aid, you would support it?”

Too late Hvolsvollur saw the trap. “It’s possible,” he admitted, suddenly very cautious.

Cardinal Cadini straightened up. “Well, thank you; I’ll keep that in mind, Mister Secretary-General.” He held out his hand. “Who knows? It might be useful.”

Gunnar Hvolsvollur shook Cardinal Cadini’s small, firm, plump hand, and fought down a niggle of panic; the amiable little Cardinal had beaten him at his own game.

* * *

Under the very bright lights Marc-Luc, Cardinal Gemme looked pale. His attractive features were more worn and a little of his high gloss had faded. This was his third major television interview in as many days, and he was feeling the strain. For the first time in his life he was starting to dislike the attention he received.

“Don’t worry, Your Eminence,” said the newsman who would be conducting the interview, an open-faced American with an easy manner and the instincts of a wolverine. “We’ll cover the ground we discussed. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Cardinal Gemme repeated. “If you understood the magnitude of what’s taken place, you wouldn’t say that.” Such a caustic response was unlike him and he apologized at once: it wouldn’t do to get Crane’s back up before the program began. “I ask your pardon. I’m afraid some of those who have been asking questions of late have no concept of the significance of this election.”

“Um-hum,” said the newsman, taking his place at right angles to Cardinal Gemme. “How are we for levels, Mike?”

From somewhere in the dark there came an answer. “You’re fine. Ask the Cardinal to give us a few more words, will you?”

The newsman started to speak, but Cardinal Gemme cut him off. “I’d appreciate it if you’d direct questions for me to me.”

“That’s fine for levels,” said the invisible Mike.

“We’re about two minutes to air,” said the newsman. “We’ll be counting down now.” He made himself comfortable as one of the three cameras dollied in closer. “How many times have you been on my show now, Your Eminence?”

Cardinal Gemme pulled himself back from his preoccupation. “This will make it five times, I think.” He folded his hands, then unfolded them and put them on the arms of his chair. No, he decided, folded was probably better. “The first time was in ‘94. You were in Rome for the World Council on Hunger and Famine.”

“Hey, that’s right,” said the newsman—who had watched the tape of that interview only two hours ago—as the music came up.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer’s voice from his vantage point in the director’s box. “And welcome to…
Conversations
with Daniel Crane. This evening Daniel Crane will be speaking with Marc-Luc, Cardinal Gemme, of the Roman Catholic Church.”