The Mazovia Legacy (22 page)

“In fact, Monsignor Fiorentino,” Delaney continued, “I may have some questions for you of my own.”

“This was not intended to be an interview, Mr.

Delaney.”

“Interviewing is to be from your side only, is that correct?”

“If you agree,” Fiorentino said.

“I don't know what I'm willing to agree to yet,” Delaney said. “What would you like to know?”

Fiorentino was clearly not happy with this situation. He would not want to show his hand; Delaney had no doubt about that. He would not be accustomed to having people throw questions his way. Few senior Catholic clerics were, in Delaney's experience. And certainly not in the Vatican
Curia
.

“Let me put this to you another way, Mr. Delaney,” Fiorentino said after a pause. “Would you consider, if you come across information or items that may be of interest to us here in the Vatican, letting us know what you have discovered and giving us the opportunity to help you decide how these things are to be used?”

“How would we know what is of interest to you and what is not?”

“I think, Mr. Delaney, that in this case it will be obvious.”

“I am not in the habit of having my activities as a journalist or what I make public approved by anyone,” Delaney said.

“Except your editors, of course,” Fiorentino said.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps we should have a word with them on this.”

“If you like,” Delaney said.

Fiorentino was becoming less and less amused. “Do you have a clear idea, Mr. Delaney,” Fiorentino said, “how complex the European political situation is at the present moment?”

“I think I do,” Delaney said. “Yes.”

“The Catholic Church has always taken a keen interest in the political, how shall we say, proclivities of its people, as you no doubt already know. We continue to do this even as Europe and the world change daily before us. It seems to us that the article you are working on, if it is to be an article at all, could have ramifications for us here and for Catholics elsewhere. It could also have an effect on the outcomes of the political process in countries in which we take a very serious interest.”

“Like Poland,” Delaney said.

“Obviously. Like Poland.”

“You flatter me, Monsignor,” Delaney said, “if you are concerned that my work can affect politics in Poland.”

“It is not so much that we are concerned your work can have an effect, Mr. Delaney. We would simply like to be able to gauge what those effects might be before they are allowed to manifest themselves. It is an old technique in the Vatican, which has served us well over the centuries. Intelligencegathering, it is called these days. And, of course, we have always liked to be able retrieve any of our lost properties, if they have been scattered around the globe for one reason or another.”

“I am not in the habit of influencing European politics, Monsignor, or any other politics,” Delaney said. “Not intentionally, in any case.”

“Are you sure of that, Mr. Delaney? Have you never taken sides?”

“No.” Delaney was no longer sure that was true.

“Then you have been one of the lucky ones. Perhaps, though, Canada is one of the few places where people like yourself can say that and actually be telling the truth.”

“Why would you assume that even if I were the type of journalist to take sides it would be your side, Monsignor Fiorentino?” Delaney asked.

“I did not suggest that you take our side in particular, Mr. Delaney. I suggested that you simply help us to get to some information that would be of interest to us.”

“Is that not taking a side?”

“Not necessarily,” Fiorentino said. “It could possibly be as simple as giving no side any advantage whatsoever.”

“That would be assuming I might provide information, or, as you say, property, to some other side as well.”

“Providing it to another side, yes, possibly. Or risking having it taken from you.”

“By which side?”

“By any side, actually, Signore Delaney.” That was as much of a warning or a threat as a Vatican bureaucrat would ever be likely to make, Delaney knew. But Fiorentino was apparently tired of this conversational tack now. He abruptly turned his attention to Natalia.

“You are very silent, Signora Janovski,” he said.

“I sometimes learn a great deal about things just by listening,” she said.

“You may well learn things, but perhaps you do not share what you already know,” Fiorentino said.

Natalia simply looked at him steadily without replying.

She uses silences like a professional,
Delaney thought. It was now his turn to watch.

“Are you a Catholic, Signora?” Fiorentino asked.

“When I was a child I was sent to Catholic Church and Catholic schools, Monsignor,” Natalia said. “Does that make me a Catholic?”

“I think you would know precisely what it means to be a Catholic, Signora Janovski. You are possibly being influenced by your journalist friend here. Did you always answer questions with questions?”

“In my work it's sometimes useful,” she said.

“I wonder what your answer would be if I asked directly whether you would be willing to help us?” Fiorentino said.

“I'm afraid you haven't made it clear to me either exactly what you want,” Natalia said.

“Do you consider yourself Polish, or Canadian, Signora Janovski?” Fiorentino asked. “A difficult question,” she said.

“Not so difficult. Do you care what happens in Poland now?”

“I suppose I do, yes.”

“You suppose. That is a luxury. Do you think your father and your uncle would have had such a luxury, Signora Janovski? Of merely supposing that they cared?” Fiorentino was showing his hand a little now. “Or other Poles of their generation who fought and died for what they thought was just?”

Delaney worried about this low blow, but Natalia was not as fragile as he expected.

“You seem to know a little about my family, Monsignor,” she said.

“What we need to know,” Fiorentino said. “What it may be useful to know. But is that how you are going to answer my question, Signora Janovski?”

“Shall I apologize for having been born in Canada, Monsignor Fiorentino, or for having been lucky enough to have escaped the horrors of war?” Natalia asked.

“Do you feel no duty at all to Poland or to your family?” Fiorentino asked. “Are we all just to be atoms floating around in a cold universe without duties or certainties?”

“That's a question not many of us have been able to settle,” Natalia said.

“For some of us it is settled,” Fiorentino said.

“How lucky for you,” Natalia said.

Fiorentino paused for a moment, considering moves.

“I would like you both to give some serious thought to what I am asking of you,” he said finally. “You do not have to answer today. At the very least we would like you to keep these matters in mind as you proceed. Because you are treading on what one would have to call quite dangerous ground.”

Fiorentino let that sink in for a moment. He looked closely at Natalia, and then at Delaney. Apparently, the interview was coming to an end.

Fiorentino then asked Natalia suddenly: “Would you like to meet our Polish Pope, my dear?” Natalia looked dumbfounded.

“And possibly you, too, Signore Delaney?” Fiorentino asked.

Delaney looked incredulously over at Natalia, willing to follow her lead on this.

“I never thought I would get the opportunity,” she said, looking back over at Delaney.

“His Holiness as you know takes a keen interest in the events of his former country, his home country,” Fiorentino said.

“That would be understating it somewhat, would it not?” Delaney said.

He could not let this one go by. But he thought it might be unwise to raise the delicate matter of the Pope indulging his interest in Polish affairs to the extent of receiving regular briefings over the years from senior American officials on the situation in Poland. William Casey, for example, the former CIA director, who used to have cozy chats with His Holiness while they examined spy satellite photos of the home country. In exchange for the latest intelligence from the Pope's army of East Bloc priests. It was an open secret, in some circles, that the Pope had received advance word of the Soviet troop build-up that led to the declaration of martial law in Poland in 1981.

Fiorentino decided, apparently, to ignore Delaney's remark.

“We have informed His Holiness that you could possibly be of some assistance to us,” he said. “I think he would see you for a very short time.”

Fiorentino would probably never have had anyone ever refuse such an offer, so he picked up one of the telephone receivers and spoke for a moment in Italian. He put the receiver down again.

“His Holiness has been working in his private apartment on some papers this afternoon. He could see you in a few minutes' time, but only very briefly. We told him that you would be here today at about this time and he expressed an interest in an audience with you. Would you come this way with me? Yes?”

Fiorentino brought them to a drawing room far down a tapestried hallway. A Swiss guard stood outside the door. They sat on a couple of embroidered divans, drinking still more coffee that was brought in. They were suddenly like two schoolchildren on an unexpected excursion together. The high stakes were forgotten for the moment.

After about twenty minutes, Fiorentino returned with some assistants.

“His Holiness can see you for a very few minutes,” he said.

They walked together down another long hallway and into a dim anteroom. It appeared that the room fully enclosed another smaller room and that any one of the tall panelled doors on any side would let them into the inner one. Various assistants and retainers sat or stood near them as they waited.

Monsignor Fiorentino picked up a telephone and spoke briefly into it in Italian. He then knocked quietly on one of the panels and let himself in. Delaney caught a glimpse of high, glass-fronted bookcases and more exquisite carpet and furniture. Then Fiorentino returned, saying quietly: “Come in now, please. Women are to curtsy. Men bow.”

The Pope was standing beside his small desk. This one too had several telephones on it. He had apparently been writing letters. Paper and a fountain pen sat on a leather blotter. He was dressed in buffcoloured robes and a buff skullcap. He wore a pair of old-fashioned black buckle shoes and what looked to Delaney like linen leggings. His face was much redder than in the official photographs. Natalia curtsied. Delaney bowed.

“Welcome,” the Pope said in English. He passed his hands over both of them in the ancient symbol of Christian blessing and made the sign of the cross. “Welcome.”

He turned immediately to Natalia.

“You are a Catholic, I am told,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“And Polish.”

“My parents were.”

“Very good,” he said, turning to Delaney. “And you are a Catholic, as well?”

“No. I'm afraid not,” Delaney said.

“But you are both, I am told, going to be of some assistance to us on a matter of importance.”

This to Natalia.

“Possibly,” she said. “If we are able.”

“Thank-you,” the Pope said. “I thank you. It is a complicated matter, I am told.”

“Yes,” Natalia said.

“For too long in Poland ours was the Church of Silence,” he said. “Yes,” Natalia said.

“It must not be such a church again,” he said.

“No,” Natalia said.

“I have been to your country, Canada,” the Pope said. “I have said Mass for your Indians. In the outdoors.”

“Yes,” Natalia said. “That was lovely.”

“Now a long time ago.”

“Yes.”

The Pope stood silently for a moment. Fiorentino gave a sign, and a grim-faced photographer with severely slicked-down hair came in carrying a Hasselblad and took two quick shots of them standing together. There was another blessing, some smiles all around, a little more polite conversation, and then they were ushered out. In the anteroom another assistant came up to them with a tray covered in small pouches.

“Choose one,” the man said.

“What are these?” Delaney asked.

“These are rosaries, blessed by His Holiness. Choose one.”

They each selected a small leather pouch. Fiorentino brought them back into the hallway where still other assistants stood and waited.

“That is how it usually is,” he said. “Not long and not much said.”

“That was fine,” Natalia said.