Magnificat (34 page)

Cardinal Llanos glanced at his watch. “Our time is truly short, Father. Do you suppose we might ask His Eminence if he is ready to join us?” His outward patience stung Father Duvenant to action.

“At once, Eminences,” he said, and hurried back to Cardinal Hetre.

“I’m nearly finished,” Cardinal Hetre lied. In the last few minutes his headache had worsened steadily. “Apologize for my tardiness. I’ll be along in a minute or two.” He wondered as he said it if he would be able to walk without staggering.

“As you wish, Eminence,” said Father Duvenant, his face so expressionless that Cardinal Hetre guessed the priest knew he had not mastered his pain.

Left alone, Cardinal Hetre doubled over, his breath short and fast. Things had gone too far, much too far. He would have to speak to someone about stopping the coronation, and quickly. He could not stand idly by and see that woman ascend the Throne of Saint Peter. It was unthinkable. It was blasphemous. It was obscene.

* * *

“Why should all this pomp be necessary?” Zhuang asked Cardinal Mendosa as he guided her down the nave of Saint Peter’s. Her simple dark silk jacket and trousers seemed out of place in all this magnificence. Willie Foot followed after them, filling in where required. “I have been reading the records of what this man Jesus taught, and he said nothing worthy about finery and display, not as achievements.”

“That’s true,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “In fact, Jesus was in favor of giving up unnecessary goods to those in need. That is why the Church has so many charitable institutions, and one of the reasons the clergy is not supposed to own private property.”

“But the Church owns all of this,” said Zhuang reasonably, indicating the splendor around her. “It is oppressive to its people in order to amass this treasure. This is exploitation and an unworthy act. Jesus condemned it, from what I have read.”

“That He did,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “But we are no longer fishermen and carpenters in Judea. And I ought to remind you that fishermen and carpenters were not poor working men, not then. Those men gave up good earnings and social position to learn from Jesus. But things have changed in the last two thousand years. The Church is no longer in the hands of His disciples.”

“I should say not,” Zhuang agreed, stern disapproval in her face. “It is in the hands of.…” She frowned as she tried to recall her reading. “Didn’t Jesus drive the bankers out of the church?”

“Money-lenders from the Temple, if you want to be more accurate, though it is much the same thing,” Willie told her in Chinese before he translated her question for Cardinal Mendosa.

“Yes,” said Zhuang. “And the money-lenders have returned and multiplied. I understand the Vatican has a bank of its own.” She laughed once. “How can anyone think that this Church, with all its power and politics, is what Jesus had in mind when he was alive?”

“The Church believes it is,” said Cardinal Mendosa very carefully.

“But how is that possible? How can people make such assumptions in the face of what their own Master taught them? They read your translations of what he said, and do the opposite of what he recommended. This is not sensible.” She gestured toward the Papal altar. “Look at that. It is supposed to be in memory of that last evening meal, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you told me? This is no table for a private dinner.”

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Cardinal Mendosa in Chinese, and returned to English for the rest. “But there have been many followers of Jesus who have taught other things, and they, in their wisdom, have brought the Church to—”

“To this place,” said Zhuang. “I find it difficult to accept that those who profess to hold the word of Jesus sacred would give equal and greater weight to the commentaries on his teaching, particularly when those later writers countermand what Jesus taught.” She folded her arms and stared up at Michaelangelo’s dome. “Those later writings are commentaries, nothing more, no matter how learned. They cannot have the same significance as what Jesus said. You know, Mendosa, I am beginning to think you were correct to come to me, after all. I can see why I am needed, to restore a proper balance in your Church teaching.”

“Spoken like a true Confucianist,” said Cardinal Mendosa when Willie had finished. “And you’re probably right.”

“You sound surprised,” said Zhuang, looking directly at Cardinal Mendosa.

He shook his head, a faint smile in his eyes. “Not really.”

She was willing to take him at his word. She approached the altar. “This building is so vast. Must it be the place where the coronation takes place?”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “You would upset many, many people if you refused to have the ceremony here.”

“I have already upset many, many people,” she said in cadenced English. “But your point is made,” she went on in Chinese. “There is no good reason to oppose the tradition, though I dislike such pomp. It serves only to remind me that the Church is an instrument of oppression and exploitation, where it is supposed to be a haven.”

“You’ll get your chance to change that,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

She looked around the basilica again, her face filled with doubt. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was distant. “So you tell me.”

* * *

“We are pleased to announce,” said Vitale, Cardinal Cadini at the start of the Vatican’s daily press conference two days later, “that the Papal coronation will take place in six days, on the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary. That is August 15th, for those of you not familiar with the calendar of saints.” He chuckled to let the reporters know he was not slighting them. He beamed as the questions began, not the slightest flicker betraying the long hours of controversy which had led to this decision.

A tall reporter from Oslo made himself heard over the babble. “What about the Mass, Cardinal? Will it be modified?”

The roar of accompanying questions made it impossible for Cardinal Cadini to answer at once. He held up his hands, waiting amiably while the noise diminished. “Thank you,” he said when he knew they were listening again. “Now I know how the early Christians felt, facing the lions,” he quipped, and let the reporters be amused. “It would be easier if you do not all try to speak at once. And yes, there will be modifications in the Mass. There must be. Zhuang Renxin is not an ordained priest or yet Bishop of Rome, and has said she does not wish to become either one.”

“Doesn’t that cause problems?” one of the Greek reporters bellowed.

“Certainly it does,” said Cardinal Cadini at his most disarming. “What would be the point of denying the problems? The entire election has caused problems. But we will not set ourselves against the manifested will of the Holy Spirit. There are measures we can take to adapt the Mass for these…remarkable circumstances, and I assure you that they will be carefully scrutinized during our preparations, to ensure the integrity of the elevation.” He nodded toward a woman from Sao Paolo. “What is it?”

The woman cleared her throat and almost lost her chance to speak. “It doesn’t seem likely that the College of Cardinals would be able to agree about every change required by such a Mass. Have there been clashes?”

“Naturally. There have been clashes,” said Cardinal Cadini with his usual smiling candor. “But that’s nothing new. There are clashes constantly in the College of Cardinals. It did not take the coming of Zhuang Renxin to do that. We have always debated and argued. It is part of our purpose. In this instance, we have disagreed more often because we are less certain of how we should proceed.” He shrugged eloquently.

The next volley of questions came more quickly, and Cardinal Cadini provided a blanket answer.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you the details of the Coronation Mass because, frankly, we are still working them out. We will prepare a full release to issue in four days. Every one of you will receive the text. Until then, it would be most incorrect of me to speculate on the final form the Mass will take.” He hesitated. “We are planning to continue our daily press conferences until the coronation. We are also going to keep the Vatican closed until the celebration. This is for the protection of Zhuang Renxin and for public safety. I need hardly remind you of the hundreds of thousands of people who have come here in the last month. We are not prepared to guarantee the safety of so large a crowd.”

“What about the threats? Have there been threats on her life?” demanded a newsman from a Los Angeles tabloid.

“There are always threats to the Pope,” said Cardinal Cadini mildly. “There are threats to Cardinals and Bishops and monks as well. It is part of the job, as they say, to receive threats. Perhaps,” he added with a trace of mischief, “a few of you might have received a threat or two at some time?”

“What precautions are being taken?” shouted a journalist from Egypt.

“The same we have taken in the past. We have our own Vatican security forces, and the assistance of the EECPA and Interpol,” Cardinal Cadini answered, continuing, “The Pope is given the same protection as other heads of state. You’re all aware of that, aren’t you?”

Another barrage of questions came, none of them distinct.

Again Cardinal Cadini held up his hands. “Please, please, ladies and gentlemen. I can’t answer you if you all shout at once, and in so many languages. Be patient, if you will. I’ll answer as many of you as I can in the time allotted. Now then. The gentleman from Warsaw. What is your question?”

“The Separatists are claiming their numbers have increased steadily since the election of this Chinese woman was announced. Have you anything to say to that?” It was the same question he had been asking for over a week, but Cardinal Cadini answered it as if it were new to him.

“The Separatists are well-intentioned but misguided. They claim that the Church has lost the mandate of the Holy Spirit. They are saying that the current election is proof of that. But I ask how, if not by the mandate of the Holy Spirit, could the entire College of Cardinals unanimously elect a woman Magistrate in China? Still I do understand the difficulties many Catholics are experiencing now, nor am I surprised that the Separatists are taking advantage of the confusion. It does not astonish me that others share this confusion. It saddens me that there are so many willing to take advantage of the doubts of Catholics. And I am confident that in time most of them who now turn to the Separatists will realize that they have erred and will wish to return to the Church. Those who follow the Separatists in good conscience can reconcile themselves to the Church when their doubts are ended, and the Church will receive them gladly. I can comprehend why someone, faced with the tremendous changes of the last few months might seek something more familiar than the current Church appears to be. In turmoil most of us cling to what we have known before. It is a prudent mistake, to seek the familiar. But religion is not familiarity, it is mystery.” He smiled directly at the Polish reporter. “You may recall how many were upset when John-Paul II was first elected, but his election did not destroy the Church, as many predicted it would. The election of Zhuang Renxin may be more unexpected than the election of John-Paul II, but it is as valid.”

“But what about those who claim the woman is the Antichrist?” shouted a man with a strong Alabama accent.

“They are not part of the Roman Catholic Church,” answered Cardinal Cadini smoothly. “It isn’t my place to comment on them, except to say that they do not reflect the Church’s position.” He raised his voice. “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but you will have to save your questions for tomorrow. Trevor, Cardinal Stevenson of Melbourne will be here.” He ignored the last, persistent rush of questions. “Thank you very much for your attention.”

* * *

He could not sleep and he was unable to pray. Since midnight he had been in the grip of his unadmitted gift. Cardinal Mendosa lay on his bed, every atom of his being fixed on the vision that enveloped him. There was light, so much light, so intense that it ought to have hurt his eyes, though it did not. In that light was Zhuang Renxin; her kind, sensible face was turned toward him. She was speaking, but no words came. There was, instead, a distant, soft, tremendous sound, more exalted than singing. She wore the Papal ring on her thumb, and though she extended her hand, she would not permit him to kiss the ring.

Somewhere not far away a clock chimed the quarter hour and was echoed by bells. Cardinal Mendosa heard them but paid no heed. The vision claimed him as it had never done before. He was caught up wholly, engulfed in light. He watched the glowing nimbus radiating from Zhuang Renxin and longed for words to express his reverence and awe; none seemed adequate.

As he watched, Zhuang Renxin held out her hand again, not to him, but to figures beyond the light. The light spread. The walls of Saint Peter’s crumbled but not into ruin—an edifice of light took its place, more glorious than jewels and gold could ever be. With an effort, Cardinal Mendosa remembered to breathe. Zhuang Renxin stood in the center of that refulgence and nodded once in approval.

Then Cardinal Mendosa stumbled and fell; an instant later, Zhuang Renxin disappeared.

He came to himself suddenly, gasping, one arm flailing against his sheets.

After a moment, Cardinal Mendosa lay back, his breath still ragged in his throat, his body tingling. He pressed his lips closed, as if he feared he might cry out. Not since he was a boy and had told Father Aloysius about the murdered Catholic President he had seen in his mind, had he talked about his visions; not to his priest, not to his family or anyone else. For years he had kept it all to himself. But never had he experienced anything as vast, as
real
as what had just transpired. He made himself be still. He didn’t want to blow it now. I’d be a fool to talk about this, he cautioned himself. Worse than that. They’d claim I’d gone off my rocker, and they’d use it against Zhuang. Everything I’ve worked for would be jeopardized if I start blabbing now.

Very carefully, as if he were recovering from a serious illness, he got out of bed. He felt light-headed, almost tipsy. “This’ll never do,” he muttered to the darkness, and hoped that neither Father Viernes nor Father Gilbert were awake. Had he made any noise that might alert the two junior members of his staff? Bishop Peverston kept to his own quarters at night, and therefore would not be aware of any disturbances. He pulled on his robe and wandered toward his bathroom. “What I need,” he announced to the air, “is a long, hot tub. It was good enough for the old Romans; it’s good enough for me.”