The Clowns of God (17 page)

What you see is what exists. Remove the visible symbols of an established organisation the cathedrals, the parish church, the bishop in his mitre and the Christian assembly, for many, ceases to exist. You can talk until you’re blue in the face about the abiding Spirit and the Mystical Body; but even among the clergy, you’ll be talking to the deaf. Subconsciously they associate these things with the cultists and the charismatics. Discipline is the safe word discipline, doctrinal authority and the Cardinal’s High Mass on Sunday!

There’s no place any more for wandering saints. Most people prefer a simple religion. You make your offering in the temple and carry away salvation in a package. Do you think any cleric in his right mind is going to preach a charismatic church or a Christian diaspora?”

“Probably not.” Mendelius gave a small reluctant smile.

“But they do have to come to terms with one fact.”

“Which is?”

“We all belong to an endangered species: millennium man!”

Drexel pondered the phrase for a moment and then nodded approval.

“A sobering thought, Mendelius. It merits a meditation.”

“I’m glad you think so, Eminence. I propose to include it in my essay on Gregory XVII.”

Drexel showed no surprise. He asked, almost as if it were a matter of academic interest: “Do you think such an essay is opportune at this moment?”

“Even if it were not, Eminence, I believe it is a matter of simple justice. The meanest functionary is memorialised on his retirement, even if only by five lines in the Government Gazette. I hope I may be free to consult your Eminence on matters of fact perhaps even coax you into an expression of opinion on certain aspects of recent history.”

“On matters of fact,” said Drexel calmly, “I am happy to assist, by directing you to appropriate sources. As for my opinions I’m afraid they are not for publication. My present master would hardly approve. But thank you for the invitation. And good luck with your essay.”

“I’m glad you like the idea.” Mendelius was bland as honey.

“I didn’t say I liked it.” Drexel’s craggy face was lit by a fleeting smile.

“I recognise it as an act of piety, which, morally, I am bound to commend.”

“Thank you, Eminence,” said Carl Mendelius.

“And thank you for the protection you have afforded me and my wife in this place.”

“I wish I could extend it,” said Drexel gravely.

“But where you are going my writ does not run. Go with God, Professor!”

* It was five in the afternoon when Francone dropped him off at the apartment. Lotte and Hilde were at the hairdresser;

Herman had not yet returned from the Academy; so he had time and privacy to bathe, rest and set his thoughts in order before reporting to the others his experiences at Monte Cassino. He was happy about one thing: he was no longer bound to secrecy. He could discuss the issues involved; test his opinions against those of devotees and cynics alike, talk out his puzzlements in the language of simple folk, instead of the loaded dialect of the theologians.

He was still far from satisfied by the explanations Jean Marie had given him. The description of his mystical states, which obviously others had witnessed, seemed too bland, too familiar, too he groped for the word too derivative from the vast body of devotional writing. Jean Marie was precise about the possibilities of catastrophic conflict. He was, even in visionary terms, vague about the nature of the Parousia itself. Most apocalyptic writings were vivid and detailed. The revelation of Jean Marie Barette was too open and general for credence.

In psychological terms there was a contradiction, also, between Jean Marie’s view of himself as a natural careerist and his tragic failure to exercise power in a crisis. His willingness, not to say his eagerness, to accept even a partial defence in the popular press was sad, if not faintly sinister, in a man who claimed a private dialogue with Omnipotence.

And yet, and yet… as he stepped out into the sunset glow on the terrace Mendelius was forced to admit that Jean Marie Barette was easier to damn in absence than to demean face to face. He had not retreated one pace from his claim of a disclosure experience or from his calm conviction that the legitimi sing sign would be given. Beside him, Carl Mendelius was the small man, the courier who carried secrets of state in his body belt, but had no personal convictions beyond the state of the beds and the cost of the wine in the post houses

All this and more Mendelius talked out eagerly with Lotte and the Franks over cocktails. He was surprised that they all put him under rigid inquisition. Herman Frank was the most anxious questioner.

“Aren’t you really saying, Carl, that you believe half the story at least? Discount the vision, discount the Second Coming, which is a primitive myth anyway; but the catastrophe of global war is very close to us.”

“That’s about the size of it, Herman.”

“I don’t think it is.” Hilde’s smile carried more than a hint of irony.

“You’re still a believer, Carl. So you’re still plagued by the presence of a God in every proposition. You’ve been like that as long as I’ve known you half rationalist, half poet. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Mendelius reached for his drink.

“But the rationalist says all the evidence isn’t in yet and the poet says there’s no time for versifying when the assassins are at the gates.”

“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, darling. 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 Tubingen.” Lotte was a shade too anxious.

“The children will be back early next week.”

“Carl could stay a while 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 Tubingen. 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.”

“Tubingen’s only a hundred and eighty kilometres from the Swiss border,” said Herman.

“It would pay you to have some of your royalties accumulate there.”

“I refuse to talk about this any more.” 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 Raphael 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 Tubingen… 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 practised performer.

“You’ve teen 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 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 myth-makers 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 XVII.”

Georg Rainer gaped at him in undisguised amazement.

“The true story?”

“Yes.”

“Can you document it?”

“Provided we can agree an appropriate use or non-use of the documents, yes… and to save you further trouble, Georg, I’ve just spent twenty-four hours with Gregory XVII 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 XVII 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 XVII 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 sceptic.”

“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 naive.

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.”