Magnificat (19 page)

Cardinal Jung said nothing; Cardinal Hetre made an unconvincing laugh. “Those are the mutterings of Protestants,” he told Cardinal Aquilino. “They are always prepared to think the worst of us.”

“Protestants,” repeated Cardinal Aquilino. “Of course. When in doubt, say the Protestants are responsible, as they so often claim Catholics are.” He paused at the door. “This is a very difficult time. We must not let the turmoil overwhelm us.” With that, he opened the door. “We will have her answer by this time tomorrow, gentlemen. We can decide what is to be done then. I only pray God knows what He’s doing.”

* * *

Dmitri Karodin picked up his personal telephone, surprised to have a call at this very early hour. He said good-morning and waited to hear what his highly placed informant in Beijing had learned.

“According to what Zhuang Renxin told the government investigators from Beijing, the Cardinal came to inform her that she has been elected Pope.”

Karodin slammed down the phone.

* * *

Clancy McEllton looked at his uncle, thinking that poor old Neddy was getting much too thin. He had probably been fasting, thought Clancy with disgust. Punishment of the body was one of the many things about the Church that had caused Clancy to disbelieve at an early age. “I’ve been trying to visit you for a long time,” he said, doing his best to sound friendly and solicitous.

Father McEllton, in his white habit, smiled a bit but remained silent.

“When you left the Vatican, right after the election of Celestine, we were worried that you might have had…something unpleasant, something, perhaps, political happen to you? When you sent no word, my father thought you might have been pressured in some way.” It was as much of an opening as he dared to give. He pressed on. “I’ve been truly worried; the whole family’s been worried.”

Father McEllton lowered his eyes and made a gesture of apology.

“You can’t blame us for feeling the way we do, not with all the rumors flying, and the way the Cardinals have been carrying on,” Clancy insisted, warming to his task. “And now with all the hesitation about the new Pope, well, we can’t help but wonder if…you were pressured into leaving.”

Father McEllton shook his head twice.

“But you just…left. For no good reason. You were in an enviable position and then you’re here in this damned.… I don’t mean damned, really, but it’s.… You enter this monastery without telling anyone why. It doesn’t make any sense, unless someone ordered you here. Is someone working against you? I know how political things get with the Cardinals. And with two dead Popes so close together, it must be pretty scrambled with the Vatican right now. Did they force you into leaving? Were you ordered to come here?”

Again Father McEllton shook his head twice.

Clancy wanted to yell at his uncle in order to get him to speak. He had never been so frustrated. “You can tell me, Uncle Neddy. I won’t spread it around, but I want to be able to let the family know you’re all right. I can do that without betraying any confidence, really I can. I’ll put everyone’s mind at ease if you’ll just tell me something. Anything. There’s some of them who think you sought sanctuary here, so you wouldn’t be a target any more. That’s not true, is it?” He waited, growing angry.

Father McEllton fingered the rosary depending from his belt.

“Uncle Neddy, for Crissake—I don’t mean that, but…you’ve got to tell me something.” He rose from the plain, straight-backed chair and crossed the small white-washed room to stand beside his father’s brother. “What’s going on? What have they done to you?” If only he could learn something to tell Mister Greene of International Vision, Ltd. His most recent conversation with Mister Greene had left him with the same feeling he had had in the field, when things were about to change for the worse. Clancy had detected an urgency in Mister Greene, and through him from the International Vision, Ltd. They had raised their offer again, promising him an additional sixty thousand dollars if he could discover what had been going on in the conclave.

Father McEllton rose from his chair and started toward the inner door, his face averted.

“You’re being coerced, aren’t you? Just tell me and I’ll get you some help. You won’t have to hide out here like the cops were after you. You don’t have to knuckle under to them. Someone must have ordered you to get out and shut up. You can tell me who, can’t you? You can tell me that much.” He was afraid to follow his uncle, afraid that the priest would not consent to see him again if he did.

Father McEllton opened the door and sketched a blessing in Clancy’s direction.

“Uncle Neddy!” Clancy protested, watching helplessly as Father McEllton left him alone in the small, white-washed room.

* * *

Shortly before sunset, Vitale, Cardinal Cadini met Charles, Cardinal Mendosa near the entrance to the Sistine Chapel; he was dressed in his tweed jacket and open-necked polo shirt and carried a large book on the history of China. “At least it’s a pleasant evening. Are you nervous?”

Charles, Cardinal Mendosa wore his favorite dark suit, silk shirt and cowboy boots. “Petrified.”

“But it’s in God’s hands now,” said Cardinal Cadini with a splendid smile. “You have done everything humanly possible—”

“Short of kidnapping her,” Cardinal Mendosa interjected. “But I wouldn’t have known how to get her through customs,” he added, his joke not very successful.

“Yes; but that would not have made our offer very attractive, would it.” He looked up at the sky. “I’ve been reading about China today, in case she accepts. I think it would be sensible if more of us did so.”

“Very likely,” said Cardinal Mendosa, still distracted.

“Jet lag?” Cardinal Cadini suggested.

“Yeah, but that’s not what’s getting to me,” Cardinal Mendosa said, fidgeting with his tie-clasp. “We’ll know sometime tonight, I guess.”

“Would you like to pray about it?” Cardinal Cadini asked. “God won’t mind if we ask Him for a little more help.”

Cardinal Mendosa shrugged, his manner slightly brusque. “God’s heard more than enough from me in the past few days. I’ve been pestering Him half to death. He’s probably just as glad to have me shut up for a while. Besides, the others are doubtless putting their two cents worth in with Him. I’d get lost in the shuffle.” He rocked back on his heels. “Don’t be annoyed. It’s not you.” There was no way for him to explain the visions that had filled what little sleep he had been able to have since his plane landed. He was certain now that Zhuang Renxin would be elevated, that she had been chosen to reign as Pope since her birth. It was not her coronation that troubled Cardinal Mendosa—it was what would come after.

“What did you think of her? Really?” asked Cardinal Cadini.

He did not look at the short, rotund Italian; instead he narrowed his eyes and stared into the remote distance. “I thought she was very responsible, very…very
dutiful
.” He pressed his hands together, then dropped them. “She’s not the kind to take any wheeling and dealing. It’s not her style. She won’t take flattery very well, either. She doesn’t trust sycophants. She…she’s very sensible and…and I think she’s compassionate.”

“And what do you base that on?” Cardinal Cadini prompted, more to keep Cardinal Mendosa talking than to hear his explanation.

“Faith.” The Texan looked at Cardinal Cadini, and took the greatest chance he dared. “I think God knew what He wanted when He nominated her.”

“That’s quite a recommendation,” said Cardinal Cadini. He began to stroll down the side of the Vatican Museum. “My physician insists that I walk for twenty minutes every day. Nothing strenuous, but a gentle, steady pace.”

“Fine with me,” said Cardinal Mendosa, who was relieved that Cardinal Cadini had not pressed him. “You set the pace, I’ll tag along.”

This suited Cardinal Cadini, who ambled his way, ignoring those moving faster than he. “I suppose you’re aware that Cardinal Jung is trying to mount a real opposition to the Chinese woman,” he said conversationally. “While you were gone he stepped up his efforts tremendously.”

“I thought he might,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

“Strange company he’s been keeping, too, because of it. He’s made a strong play for the third world Cardinals: Africa and Latin America, for political reasons. It’s not his usual clique. He’s trying to get Cardinal Hetre to side with him, because he wants someone who runs with the liberals to—”

“Cardinal Hetre isn’t a liberal,” Cardinal Mendosa protested.

“He’s often perceived that way, and you know it,” said Cardinal Cadini, nodding as a group of red-cassocked seminarians hurried past them. “Do you remember what it was like, being one of them?”

“Not really; I never
was
like them. I didn’t study in Rome,” he reminded Cardinal Cadini, who was already aware of it.

“I did, for a year,” said Cardinal Cadini. “I got into a terrible argument with another of the seminarians, and I was the one asked to go elsewhere to study. It was the most sensible thing I ever did.” He beamed at Cardinal Mendosa. “Tell me some more about our future Pope.”

“You’re so certain?” Cardinal Mendosa asked.

“Well, you are, so I am taking a page from your book.” He smiled merrily, his eyes showing a return of the twinkle they usually held. “How will she cope with the College of Cardinals and the Curia?”

“She won’t like them very much,” said Cardinal Mendosa bluntly. “She doesn’t suffer foolishness well.”

“What about fools?” asked Cardinal Cadini.

“She was very patient with me and the two men with me. That says something in her favor, doesn’t it? She asked sensible questions.” He studied the backs of his hands. “She thinks the religion is confusing and the bureaucracy is cumbersome. If she agrees, she has asked me to return to China to teach her more. Willie Foot says he will go with me.”

“He’d be an idiot if he didn’t. He’ll do a book about this and make a fortune.” Cardinal Cadini beamed. “Other people will do the same thing, no matter how this turns out, but at least Willie will get it right. That’s something to be pleased about.”

“You’re sounding downright optimistic,” said Cardinal Mendosa, unable to stave off the nervousness that possessed him. “I’ve been wondering if she’ll be able to call, and how the call will be arranged. Dame Leonie said she would take care of everything, but.…” He looked east, toward the river and away from the bulk of the Vatican.

“Dame Leonie must know what she’s doing,” said Cardinal Cadini, paying little attention to Cardinal Mendosa’s edginess. “Yes. I am optimistic. I think that the Church needs this crisis, don’t you?”

Cardinal Mendosa stopped walking and stared at Cardinal Cadini. “What do you mean?”

His expression remained as affable as ever, but there was an unaccustomed somberness in his voice. “Oh, that the Church has been coasting since John XXIII. We’ve been burrowing for the seventeenth century, as if we could regress. We’ve learned to use computers but we do it with medieval minds. We’re approaching another millennium, and the world is constantly in upheaval. Look how much Europe has changed in the last decade, and how much more change is coming. If we do not share that upheaval, we will be buried in the rubble. And we will deserve it.”

“Magistrate Zhuang might be more than anyone bargained for,” Cardinal Mendosa warned, with a faint smile.

“So much the better,” said Cardinal Cadini.

* * *

The phone call came while Dame Leonie was having breakfast. She set her coffee aside and answered the summons from her butler.

“Yes, thank you, Harding,” she said as she took the receiver. “Leonie Purcell here,” and she wished her caller a pleasant good morning in Chinese.

“To you as well, Madame Ambassadress,” said Zhuang Renxin. “Have you a recording device, as you informed me yesterday you would?”

“Yes, Worthy Magistrate,” said Dame Leonie. “I have and it is working.”

“Very good,” said Magistrate Zhuang. “I must ask you to relay this recording to Cardinal Mendosa in Rome. I want you to tell him that I have considered everything he has told me very carefully.”

“And you have reached a decision?” Dame Leonie said, doing her best not to hold her breath.

“Yes. I said I would inform him this morning, and with your assistance, I will.” She paused. “Please inform Cardinal Mendosa that providing he can arrange for me to come to Rome, I will accept the office I have been offered.”

Dame Leonie wanted to shriek happily and bounce into the air, but she merely said, “This is excellent news, Worthy Magistrate. I am honored to be able to relay it for you.”

“I will inform my government what has taken place, and then put the problem of leaving China in the hands of others.” She sounded resigned but not despondent. “You have been very kind to help me, Dame Leonie.”

“It is my pleasure, Worthy Magistrate,” said Dame Leonie as she heard Zhuang Renxin hang up. Then she put down her receiver, took the tape from the recorder next to the phone and hurried to her office. Before she placed her call to Cardinal Mendosa at the Vatican, she faxed a short message to Willie Foot:
the
widow says yes
.

Chapter 11

An argument camouflaged as a discussion was taking place in the Cardinal’s private reading room in the Vatican library; it had begun shortly before midnight, and now, nearly two hours later, showed no sign of abating. Cardinal Gemme and Cardinal Jung had squared off early and were still throwing dogma and precedents at each other, seconded or decried by about thirty of their fellows. None of them admitted they were waiting for word from China.

Charles, Cardinal Mendosa did not find this bickering amusing, and, after an hour of it, had left for his own quarters. He admitted being restless, though he was utterly convinced that Zhuang Renxin would agree to reign as Pope. He knelt at his prie-dieu, making no effort to block the visions that had crowded his mind all day. It was a relief to experience them, for denying their existence was a greater strain than perceiving them. Even the one vision that troubled him the most, that ended in confusion and tremendous light, did not upset him this evening. He whispered, “‘Lord, now let Thy servant depart in peace,” taking great comfort in the familiar plea. The tranquil Asian face surmounted by the Papal tiara filled his thoughts. Catholics, he observed as he prayed, were about to meet their Confucius—or Buddha.

Father Andreas Viernes knocked on the door to Cardinal Mendosa’s apartments a short while later. “Eminence,” he said very quietly, still too awed by his superior to be a very effective secretary. “There is a phone call for you.”

Cardinal Mendosa crossed himself, smiling as he did it. He rose. “Coming,” he called out, and headed toward the door in long strides that looked out of place in his dark cassock. He opened the door and beamed at Father Viernes. “Where?”

“Your office.” Father Viernes moved awkwardly, as if he did not want to get too close to the Cardinal. “It’s long distance.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Cardinal Mendosa, surging past his new secretary and hastening to his office. As he entered the door he reached across the desk and picked up the receiver. “This is Cardinal Mendosa.”

“Good morning, Cardinal,” said Dame Leonie Purcell. “I have a tape recording to play for you.” Without further ado, she replayed the call she had received less than ten minutes before.

“Brief and to the point,” said Cardinal Mendosa when Dame Leonie had translated the short conversation. “Thank you, thank you, Dame Leonie. I’ll need copies of that, with translation. You and my secretary can work out the details of shipping. In the meantime I will have to inform my…colleagues that the question is out of our hands at last.” He paused. “I am very grateful to you, Madame Ambassadress.”

“Nonsense, Your Eminence,” she replied with as much sincerity as good manners. “It is part of my function, as finding this woman is part of yours.” She chuckled suddenly. “Besides, it’s been very exciting. Most of the time my duties are nowhere near as interesting.”

“If you insist,” said Cardinal Mendosa with a welling of affection for the British Ambassadress to the People’s Republic of China Hong Kong District.

“I’m afraid I do, Your Eminence,” she said as demurely as she was able. “There may be other times when it will no longer be the case.”

“Those times may come sooner than you think,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “We will still have to arrange for her to come here.” He sighed as he considered what would have to be done to start the process, “I suppose I’ll have to make formal application to visit Magistrate Zhuang officially. That promises to be tricky. And Premiere Zuo must be properly notified. Although how we’re to manage that, I don’t know.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start rattling on. Let me say a formal thank you, assure you of proper acknowledgement of your services in this quest, and go break the news to the others.”

“You can do that, Eminence. And I will speak with your secretary to work out the prompt transfer of the tapes. Would diplomatic pouch suit you?” She hesitated. “I don’t envy you, having to give this news to the world.”

Cardinal Mendosa did not respond at once, and when he did there was a lilt of mischief under his drawl. “You mean all those Bishops and Archbishops and Cardinals who voted against women in the priesthood having to swallow a woman Pope? Well, I kind of think it’s going to be fun. It’s been a hoot so far.”

This time Dame Leonie laughed outright. “Good luck, Mendosa,” she said when she stopped.

“Thanks, Ma’am,” said Cardinal Mendosa, signaling to his secretary. “You arrange things with Father Viernes here. Be patient with him. He’s new.” With that he handed the receiver to Father Viernes, who had been hovering in the door. As he started out of the room, Cardinal Mendosa said quietly, “
Habemus Papam
, son, and this one’s going to knock your socks off,” and paid no attention to the sudden, shocked look Father Viernes shot him.

As he hurried toward the Vatican library, Cardinal Mendosa considered all the ways he could make the announcement. In the end, he did the most simple thing: he entered the reading room quietly, hoping for a break in the continuing dispute that would permit him to speak.

But Cardinal Tayibha caught sight of him and nudged Cardinal Pingari, who signaled to Cardinal Hetre, and very shortly the room fell silent.

Cardinal Mendosa remained where he was. “I’ve had a call,” he said in a low voice. “And the answer is yes.” He did not linger to hear all the exclamations and discussion, but withdrew from the room. He wanted to visit the Sistine Chapel, to gaze at Michelangelo’s enormous vision where he could lose himself for a short time in all the grandeur. But he started back to his office to begin the complicated process of bringing the new Pope to Rome, and to inform the world that something extraordinary had happened.

* * *

“Oh, Jesus-bloody-Christ!” President Carey swore, then looked at Cardinal Bradeston. “Pardon, Your Eminence.”

Cardinal Bradeston, in full scarlet finery, smiled tolerantly, his offence modified by his own ambivalent reaction to the news. “I do understand the feeling. Some of the Cardinals share it, though they don’t express it quite the same way.” He hoped the President would not be so put out that he would cut their interview short. “I am sure others will share your sentiments.”

“I can just bet.” Houghton Carey sat down; behind him the windows were dark. He had come from a formal dinner, and he unfastened his black velvet tie as he went on. “Well, it’s certainly unexpected, I’ll say that for it. You tell me a woman’s been elected Pope, not two years after the Church decided that women could not be priests. When you asked for help getting someone out of China, I didn’t think this was the reason.”

“What did you think it was?” asked Alexander, Cardinal Bradeston, curious to know which of the various rumors the President believed.

“I thought she had some information about those priests who disappeared in China during the Sixties. I assumed that there was a move to elect one of them, but you needed to find someone who could tell you if any of them were still alive and sane. Or something like that.” He stared down at the glossy surface of his desk. “A Chinese woman Pope. Now that’s pretty amazing.”

“It’ll be in the media in the next thirty minutes,” said Cardinal Bradeston with a fatalistic sigh. “We’re trying to prepare major world leaders, give them a little time to come up with a comment.” He hesitated. “And we need help getting her out.”

“I said you ought to talk to the Secretary of State. I don’t want to get mixed up directly in this.” He almost added
mess
but bit it off in time.

“Certainly; Cardinal Durand and I have an appointment with her tomorrow morning. But you understand that we do not want to talk with her until you are aware of what we intend to ask, and the reason we must ask it. It would not be proper to do it any other way, would it?” The corners of his mouth twitched but it was far from a smile.

Houghton Carey’s eyes filled with ironic humor. “Don’t miss a trick. It’s sixteen hundred years’ practice, I guess.” He held up his hand. “Don’t dispute the time; the Church didn’t swing much weight until then, and you know it.”

“Conceded,” said Cardinal Bradeston, going on with more emphasis. “You’ll allow us to ask the Secretary of State to act—”

“Let me call Abby and find out what she has to say. Right now. You stay right here, so you’ll know what I tell her, okay?” He said it genially enough but it was clearly an order, and Cardinal Bradeston, who disliked being ordered about, nodded grudgingly.

“Sandy,” said the President to his secretary in the outer office, “Will you get Abigail Corleon for me? Thank you.” He put his phone on mute and regarded the Bostonian Cardinal speculatively. “Pope. I…I can’t get over it. You sure about this?”

“It hardly matters if I’m sure,” said Cardinal Bradeston stiffly. “We’ve elected her twice.”

“Is that important?” asked the President.

“Yes,” said Cardinal Bradeston. “We think so.”

The phone buzzed and President Carey motioned to Cardinal Bradeston to silence. “Abby, Tony. Sorry to disturb you when you have guests; it’s urgent. I’ve got Cardinal Bradeston here.… Yeah, I know you’re seeing him tomorrow.… He’s just told me something you better know about in advance: that Chinese woman we heard about? Well, the College of Cardinals somehow or other elected her Pope.… You’re telling me. Anyhow, they have to get her out of China and they think we might be able to help. There’re a lot of Catholics in this country. Maybe we better do something.”

“Mister President.…” Cardinal Bradeston began.

But President Carey was answering a question from his Secretary of State. “I think we better have a statement for the media. We won’t mention the problem of getting her out yet; we’ll say just the usual blather, how surprised we are, the changes it will bring to the world—which for once is the truth—how we’ll have to wait and see how Catholics respond to this new development—” He laughed. “Well, you’ll handle it right.” He listened again, nodded. “I’ll be glad to. And thanks. It’s a pain in the ass to be interrupted by this kind of news.… Yeah, there’s lots of worse news to be interrupted with.” This time he chuckled, then thanked her and hung up. “She’s asking you to arrange to come to the rear entrance at State in the morning. She’s certain the streets will be crawling with reporters looking for anything in a cassock.”

“She’s probably right,” said Cardinal Bradeston sourly.

“No doubt about it. You’ll have
The Washington Post
on one side and CBS
News
on the other and all the international services bringing up the rear if you try to go in the front.” He studied Cardinal Bradeston. “How long have you known about this?”

“A few hours; not very long,” answered Cardinal Bradeston. “I was told of her acceptance when I arrived at Dulles. There was a call waiting for me. I got in at nine-forty. Word came in Rome a little after two a.m., relayed through Hong Kong.”

“So it’s getting known. The morning news will be full of it. That’s something.” He pursed his lips speculatively. “Well, at least it’s night in Europe. That’ll give you Cardinals a little time to put yourselves in order. And there’s a lot to get in order. Any idea when she’ll arrive in Rome?”

“None,” said Cardinal Bradeston. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Right,” said President Carey.

* * *

It was almost four in the morning when Cardinal van Hooven placed his call to Metropolitan Gosteshenko in Moscow. He knew that the Russian rose at six for morning prayers. “Good day, old friend,” he said when Pavel Gosteshenko growled at him.

“Ah, Piet. Good day to you as well,” he said, his voice sharpening as sleep left him. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“We have had word from China,” said Cardinal van Hooven.

“Ah,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko warily.

“Truly,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “She has agreed.”

“Ah,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko again.

“We are about to approach the Premier of China—not directly, of course—to request she be allowed to leave China for the Vatican.” He said it as if this were the most ordinary situation in the world.

“And who is going to make this approach?” asked Metropolitan Gosteshenko. “I fear I will not be of any assistance to you.”

“We were hoping to find a Protestant or someone who isn’t Christian at all,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “The People’s Republic of China would probably like it if we could find an atheistic diplomat from a Third World country with a degree in theology and thirty years’ experience in international relations. Since we haven’t found one of those yet, we’re doing what we can. We are going to the United Nations for assistance, at least to begin with, and the major powers. We also have contacts with those who have some ties to China and Premier Zuo.” He spoke with the serene confidence that might be nothing more than sleepiness.

“Then what do you need of me?” asked Metropolitan Gosteshenko.

This time Cardinal van Hooven hesitated. “I would appreciate it if you would be willing to speak with the authorities there, in Russia, to request that no action be taken that might interfere with our negotiations. I realize that this is a tremendous thing to ask of you; and I know that you do not necessarily have any say in what happens at such levels in the government, but I must do what I can. Your country could make this very difficult for us, especially if your intelligence community becomes determined to…to create obstacles for us. We may be the opiate of the masses, but sniping at us for recreation doesn’t help when we’re trying to resolve a delicate situation, such as this one.” He waited for Metropolitan Gosteshenko to speak; when no comment came, he went on. “You can appreciate why such action concerns us, I am certain. You know what it is like for those of us in the Church, attempting to reach a government that does not recognize us at all. It would take very little for that lack of recognition to become an insurmountable barrier to all our efforts.”

“True enough,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko. “Very well, Piet. I will do what I can, but that might not be very much.”

“Anything will have my thanks and my prayers,” said Cardinal van Hooven. He looked out through the curtains at the darkness, imagining the bulk of Saint Peter’s. “I would provide more if I could.”