Keys of This Blood (76 page)

If anything really newsworthy, really important for the man in the street, was going to transpire on that December 1 in the Vatican, it would
be in the nature of a drama; and all the rest belonged to “the grease and the paint” of the supporting cast, the carefully planned decor and the barely audible accompaniment of a very ancient and very modern voice reminding all and sundry of our deepest, wildest human hope—to see the Father of us all face-to-face and, finally, to taste the peace of true home on earth.

This sense of drama, this universally experienced feeling that not merely were two important personages about to talk but something affecting all was about to happen, pervaded the minds of observers and commentators. The fate of all in the coming years was going to be not merely discussed but molded powerfully.

For the generality of people today, there was no new thinking available “on credit,” and, therefore, no way they could think the thoughts Wojtyla and Gorbachev would verbalize carefully. Yet, it was realized that now, on the eve of the most important decade in two thousand years, someone with vaster stature than a mere “religious leader” was in close colloquy with someone endowed temporarily with more transcendent intuition than any of his Leninist predecessors.

In effect, as that first Friday in December dawned, a sea of the same awareness about the drama unfolding in the Vatican was lapping around the minds of all—the proximate witnesses, those interested from afar, the inimical, the suspicious, the cynical, the hopeful. That sea of awareness seems to have been as universal as the waters of the oceans that ebbed and flowed around the edges of all five continents, providing a symbolism and an imagery peculiarly apt for the occasion. Whether it was around Soviet Archangel in the Arctic Circle, around the meandering coastlines of Old Europe, washed by its three main seas—the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the North Sea—around the continental bulks of Africa, India, Australia, or around the newly named Pacific Rim, these same ocean waters mirrored the widespread consciousness of the Vatican event. No one was not touched. Just as no human shore could escape the washing ocean waters, so no one could be unaware, even the most adversarial—the Hermit Crab of the Adriatic's Albania, the Clown of the Caribbean in Cuba, the Beggarman Dictator of Nicaragua, or the frightened band of Touch-Me-Not Purists in Beijing.

Symbolically, too, those same waters heaved and rolled around the island of Malta, where President Bush, guarded by U.S. naval might, with a Soviet flotilla standing by, already awaited the Soviet president, straight after his visit with John Paul. There was a symbolic message and a daunting imagery carried by the wild waves of those waters, whipped slowly into fury by a winter storm around Malta. The Soviet president
would have to wait and wait before getting together with the American president. The American leader would have to hazard a motor-launch trip through those troubled waters in order to reach the Soviet leader.

By contrast, the coming together of Papa Wojtyla and President Gorbachev proceeded in great tranquillity and with customary Vatican punctilio. St. Peter's Square, sunlit beneath a clear blue sky, was closed from early morning to all traffic. Behind barricades, a policeman stood every fifty feet. At 10:50
A.M.
, the Soviet motorcade of five Russian-made ZIL limousines, carrying Gorbachev, wife Raisa, and twenty-four officials and aides and led by an ever-watchful army helicopter, swept in quietly through the Renaissance archway into the Courtyard of St. Damasus. A group of black-suited gentlemen, the receiving line, stood by.

Not waiting for the chauffeur to open the door, Gorbachev was out that door, hand extended, a broad smile on his lips as he walked over the Oriental rug spread on the ancient cobblestones, in order to greet Bishop Dino Monduzzi, prefect of the Pope's own household. Raisa followed him, dressed in a red dress, Gorbachev in a dark-blue suit but without the usual panoply of medals Soviet leaders used to display, even when dressed in “civvies.” There were smiles and handshakes all around. Twenty-four Swiss Guards, dressed in the blue-and-gold-striped uniforms designed by Michelangelo, performed, as guard of honor, their four-point
picchetto
drill with halberds.

Then the President, followed by his retinue, entered the Apostolic Palace and advanced along a red carpet up the corridor, studded with blinking pieces of audiovisual equipment. Fr. Giovanni D'Ercole, assistant press spokesman and “traffic director” for the moment, kept whispering into the microphone tucked behind his Roman collar as the Soviet party advanced, Gorbachev's every step being watched on the ubiquitous digital monitors as the cortege approached the elevator.

Arriving on the third floor of the Apostolic Palace, the Gorbachevs found a smiling John Paul II standing and waiting for them. He wore his papal white robe, with a gold cross pendant on his chest. He addressed the Soviet president in Russian as “Mr. President.” Gorbachev alternated between “Holy Father” and “Your Holiness,” as did Raisa Gorbachev.

If these two men, Wojtyla as Pope and Gorbachev as Soviet strongman, had met ten years earlier—the moment when John Paul was fresh from Poland in his office as Pope and Gorbachev just up from the province of Stavropol and installed in Moscow as Secretary of Agriculture and Central Committee Secretary of the Communist Party—surely some exuberant commentators would have waxed poetic in their imaginations.

They would have been fed by the lithe, almost panther-like loping stride of a still fresh-faced Karol Wojtyla—the Polish yeoman straight from the
polanie
(fields) of his motherland and in search of Poland's traditional enemy to the East. They would have seen an invisible aura of mute confrontation between him and the bustling, husky figure of the Soviet man as the self-assertive, overriding and fast-talking Russian
boyar
ready at a moment's notice to hack and hew his way stolidly with a broadsword to the goal of empire and foreign possessions.

But the intervening decade has taken its toll on both men. On one as the Holder of the Petrine Keys to Heaven, which shine with the human blood of his God. On the other as the quintessential Leninist commissar, Champion of the Hammer and Sickle, which he claims today he has wiped clean of the human blood of millions mowed down in the ugly harvest of death on the way to the never-never land of the Marxist Utopia. Both men have paid their dues for their personal access to the cold, bleak plane of geopolitics they now occupy and on which they will converse alone this December day.

Perhaps, indeed, neither of them is any longer aware of the vast change of mind he has undergone because of what he has had to suffer in order to achieve a tolerable balance and equilibrium on those little-frequented heights. That was not suffering of body but of spirit, leaving invisible wounds that never heal, never scar.

Wojtyla and Gorbachev are far, far older than ten ordinary years will ensure of themselves; and the twelve-year difference between Pope (seventy) and President (fifty-eight) makes no difference. They have learned, as leaders, when to pause in wait on events and when to leap ahead of them; as inspirers, what hopes not to evoke; as commanders in chief, what commands not to give. They are wiser, not sadder, but certainly more sober and relaxed because surer than ever before that the construction they have put on events will be verified by what is going to happen for the remainder of their days on earth.

A first look at each other as they advance to shake hands, the first eyes-to-eyes stare crisscrossing between them in quick appraisal of mood and temper, the press of palm on palm and fingers on fingers, the very sound of their first syllables—all that is quite enough for quick recognition, for establishing between them the authenticity of the forthcoming conversation.

With conventional preliminaries over, Vatican aides softly and deftly guide everyone: Foreign Minister Shevardnadze with his aides and advisers off in one direction for a sit-down discussion with Cardinal Casaroli, with the Vice-Secretary of State, Archbishop Cassidy, and with their teammates from the Vatican's “Second Section”; Raisa Gorbachev on
her way to see the Raphael Rooms and “Loggias” (she has already seen their replicas in the Leningrad Hermitage) and to be frustrated in this, her second attempt to see the Sistine Chapel. When she and her husband were here as little-remarked visitors in 1971, the Chapel was closed for repairs; likewise today, December 1, 1989, she cannot get to see it.

At 11:03
A.M.
, Pope John Paul ushers Mikhail Gorbachev into his private library, motions him to a chair, sits down opposite him, opens his notes and starts talking. A reproduction of Poland's national treasure, the icon of Our Lady of Czestochowa, bearing the slash mark of a Tartar saber on the cheek, has been placed on an easel to the right of the two leaders and some few feet from the table at which they sit. It is John Paul's “touch” to the scene.

Outside the closed doors of the papal library, four Swiss Guards stand on watch. All approaches to those doors, within the Apostolic Palace, are littered with elements of the Vatican Secret Service, the Italian police, some of President Gorbachev's personal bodyguards. Television monitors and radio communications sweep every inch of corridors, rooms, elevators and lobbies. Outside electronic and “body” surveillance on the grounds around the Palace and in the air above it seal off the two men from any interference.

As planned, the two men will have about five minutes alone, conversing in Russian. Then they will be joined by interpreters and some others. The switch ensures accuracy and correctness of understanding, as well as a witnessed record of what transpires between the two leaders. Enemies and friends of both men in the Vatican and the Kremlin must have some crumbs to chew on and digest.

The initial minutes together and alone permit these men some things they both need. The meat of today's transaction between Papa Wojtyla and President Gorbachev is reviewed here. Before any third party from either side participates, they must be able to agree on what will not be aired verbally during the full session. For both men have dissidents and adversaries in their political households, and those must not be privy to certain ultimate goals and certain decisions Papa Wojtyla and President Gorbachev nourish in the only confidentiality that is absolute—their own hearts and wills.

In addition, one or two subjects are to be touched on that are best not mentioned in public communiqués. Perhaps some particular individual on one side or the other? A forgotten prisoner in the Gulag? An intelligence
matter between Vatican and Kremlin? A fleeting exchange about John Paul's would-be assassin, Mehmet Ali Agca?

And then there are assurances to be given mutually, about which the wide world will never hear: John Paul's deepest intention in visiting the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev's ultimate disposition regarding God and religion and Russia. These themes are ultimately connected, since both men are convinced that the papal visit will be much more than a mere papal visit. On that event will hang the ultimate judgment of history about the significance of Gorbachev and Wojtyla. Perhaps, indeed, that is why the Soviet president interspersed his actual words of invitation to John Paul with an “if God keeps us all alive and well in the meantime” phrase.

Lastly, between the two there is an agreed-upon assessment of where world affairs stand and the most desirable directions in which they should go. It is not the first time this subject has arisen between them. They already share common words, concepts and principles, so there is no need for long-winded explanations or detailed exposition. Already, through trusted personal intermediaries, they have had substantial communication on the ticklish issues. So now they act more or less after the manner of two master mariners preparing to set sail who finger the key rigging, test the rudder, ensure the working order of the ship's radio, glance at their provisions and scrutinize momentarily their already planned voyage on the map. There is very little need of talk or extended discussion; just telling phrases and indicative gestures. Then they are ready to give orders to the working crew.

The session with interpreters using a mélange of Polish, Russian and Italian will get down to the details on which the two leaders wish to establish a protocol of agreement. Prior consultations between Vatican and Kremlin people have located the general areas in which the two leaders can form a public agreement: the establishment of a permanent channel of official communication between Kremlin and Vatican; full diplomatic relations; the passage of an effective freedom-of-conscience and religious-liberty measure through the Soviet Parliament; the demands of the Holy See on behalf of its faithful in the Baltic States, the Ukraine, Byelorussia, and elsewhere in the Soviet Union; Soviet policy in Latin America and the Middle East; an official visit by Pope John Paul II to the Soviet Union in response to Gorbachev's official invitation; and, lastly, the present and future relationship between the Holy See and the Russian Orthodox Patriarchate of Moscow.

Who, even from among all our current world leaders, could have usefully joined in that transaction—for transaction it was—at this geopolitical summit? That question is greeted by the same silence of unknowing that cloaks the Vatican meeting.

Essentially, that transaction between the two consisted in identifying the similarities, parallels and coincidences between their individual geopolitical minds and intentions. The agreement between the two was reached by matching up and measuring mind to mind, intention to intention. The disagreement between them was evident where mind did not meet mind, where intention flew in the face of intention.

But always, as should be the rule between the two sole participants in a genuine and tense endgame in which both are gambling all in order to win all, there was no clash and no infringement upon the individual differentials between them. Knowledge of those, and mutual acknowledgment of them, this was all that the success of the meeting required. This was no battlefield, no competition—all that belonged outside, on the open terrain of living millions, competing ideologies, governments, armies, and the stuff and matter of economics and industry.