“Sounds good to me but I am interested in what your question is.”
They ordered the bill, which came unpredictably fast, until they saw the line of people, surprisingly many wearing skullcaps, waiting for a table as they left. Mammon was triumphing, yet again.
“So what is your question, Miriam?”
Sunday, Jaffa and Tel Aviv
“My question is simple. What’s in this for you, Michele?
“Before answering, let me explain some things. This is not me trying to be an inquisitor or even to be inquisitive. But your motivation is what I don’t understand. Noach’s, however much you and I may dislike the Settlers, I can understand. Inma’s fear for Opus Dei, especially in the context of what she says the clergy did under Franco and having seen what some clergy did to children in the US or Ireland or Holland, I can also understand. As she explained, she is trying to ensure that an institution that is personally precious to her survives. For me, there is no real motivation other than the rather pathetic one, compared to Noach and Inma, of keeping my father off my back. You’ve made that nice and easy, and I’m grateful. But what about you?”
“Trust you, Miriam, to ask what I have carefully managed to avoid answering. You always did know how to find the penetrating question and go for it. I am not quite sure where to start or to finish.
“When da Ferraz recruited me to work through the Santofonino financial details I was annoyed more than pleased. Yes, it was good to be doing financial things again but I’d recently taken my vows and was enjoying ministering in my assigned parish outside Chicago. I felt useful and at home.
“Then I found myself forcibly removed from my parish. My Bishop gave me no choice. Next I was in the Vatican. Of course I recognised that this was an honour. But it wasn’t what I really wanted at that time.
“A further consideration, which is really not very defensible, is that I started hearing more and more stories about how constrained priests are. In many ways they’re slaves of their bishops, down to the point that even salaries, pensions and accommodation are dispensed by the bishop. If you move diocese you don’t take your salary with you; that’s up to your new bishop.
“In fact, it wasn’t the salary or accommodation that got to me but the pension aspect. Remember, Miriam, that we both lost our pensions and savings when Wall Street collapsed and Lehmans went belly-up. One of the less known consequences of the abuse of children by priests’ scandal is that many of the pay-offs to the abused in the USA have been funded by bishops raiding diocesan pension funds. In effect this means that many of today’s priests will not have sufficient to live off when they retire. This is why the connection to Opus Dei and Mariano’s and now Inma’s fears resonated with me.
“To lose one pension was bad enough. The prospect of losing another, through no fault of my own, was and is unbearable to me. It was this that started me down the road which led us here.”
He paused to look around. This area of Jaffa was called Yefet Street according to the signpost in Hebrew, Arabic and English. It was grubby and typically Middle-Eastern-looking. Clearly it was not a Jewish area because some shops were open. Reflecting that it was a Sunday and, he thought, many Arabs in Jaffa were Christian, this might explain why many were closed. Looking around he did not see any obviously Jewish-looking people, with skullcaps or the like. Rather it was more like Damascus or Beirut or Amman than the commercial centre of Israel. What a place of contrasts.
Inma and Miriam waited, just about patiently, for him to continue.
“Where was I? Pensions; yes, that’s at the root of what I started. It has, however, progressed as more and more money rolled in. I‘ve now squirrelled away a sum of money worth about double what I could expect from my diocese when I retire.”
What he did not say was that this was actually about twenty times what he might expect, though this was probably only a tenth of what he had previously set aside in Lehman stock before its demise. “This is carefully invested outside the USA to grow at more than inflation.
“As you both are well aware we have been way more successful than we ever anticipated. This has meant that I have much more than I need for my pension. The question I asked myself was what to do with this excess. I felt I couldn’t continue taking more for myself than decently reasonable, so I set up two different charitable investment funds. One borrowed from Mariano and Inma. This takes a part of my share and contributes to where our church has to make pay-offs for the behaviour of its priests but seems to be doing this out of pension funds for innocent priests. In some small way I’m trying to reduce the risk that these innocents are penalised for the sins of their colleagues.
“The second fund is more open. In effect I have control of a charity that can give for whatever purpose it sees fit. So far it’s given nothing. But I imagine a disaster will occur where I can, anonymously of course, make some or all available where it’ll make a difference.
“So you see, from a couple of bad experiences and a wrong-doing are coming some good deeds. I admit this sounds rather self-serving but that is what happened. My hope is that, one day, I will be permitted to return to a parish. My suspicion is that it will not occur as I am too useful in Rome. I am therefore somewhat stuck, unless I give up my calling.”
Inma and Miriam had stopped. Michele found that he was some metres ahead of them, opposite a fine white-steepled church with what looked like a Filipino wedding party emerging onto the street outside, all in great good humour. The bridegroom was tall; the bride tiny. He turned to find Inma and Miriam. They were staring at each other at his last revelations. This was not what either of them had expected.
“Would you really do that?” asked Miriam, aware that this might open a door that she had thought closed, one perhaps to a more decent person.
“Give up my calling? I’m not sure. Probably not now. I am too far in and do not think I could voluntarily leave our church easily, unless something pushed me.” He deliberately avoided looking at Miriam. “Occasionally I think about it as a passing thought, but no. The temptation is there but not so far the will to succumb. I’ve been too thoroughly Vaticanised and the fact is there really is fun to be had being simultaneously priest and financier. Sometimes the kicks and privileges are even better than on a trading floor. And I know I’m doing something good for the church with the Santofonino and the funds it raises.”
This time he smiled at Miriam. She knew what he was referring to; she had been even better as an investment banker than he when they were at Lehmans.
Inma watched them. She was in some ways repulsed at his casual worldliness dressed up in pious words from the mouth of a priest. In other ways she sort of admired what he was doing and why he had done it. It wasn‘t so different from what she was doing, though it appeared that she and Miriam were the only ones not to take anything for themselves. As for Michele she thought she saw him hoping that Miriam would hear the expectation in his voice. Miriam seemed to understand. Would she respond? They must have had something special.
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, New Jersey
It had been a long dull journey on the overnight flight. Miriam had reached Ben Gurion the previous evening without incident though, forewarned by Michele, she had pre-agreed a price with the taxi driver. Passing through security at the airport proved to be every bit as tedious as all had forecast: lots of standing in a line, eternal waiting, and finally being questioned at length about very little before being passed through to check-in. The only good point that she could see was those asking the questions seemed patient and calm. One passenger in front had become visibly and volubly upset but there was no sign of any counter-response. They must train them well, she thought.
Boarding had been a nightmare, especially as the flight was full. Most of those returning to Newark seemed to be Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox Jewish Americans. Probably this was like after Thanksgiving, without the good cheer. Few appeared to have any concept of consideration for others or even of their own families. Miriam watc
hed as men expected women encumbered with several children to do all the carrying and lifting as well as marshalling of those children without raising a hand to help. Almost Arab-like, she thought, except for their white prayer shawls and large black hats. Not a cheerful-looking lot, dressed in black and dingy white.
Her seat was thankfully on the aisle in the middle of the cabin. She shared her row with a family to her right. When the ones on the inside wanted out they clambered over each other rather than her. That was a small but welcome relief.
Miriam managed to sleep but not like on the flight out. It was now just before 3 a.m. New York time, which was nearly 10 a.m. in Israel. Inma and Michele must be home or nearly so by now. Judith would have had breakfast. She had called her sister before leaving, after Yom Kippur had finished, which proved a bad idea, as they were finally eating after finishing their fast. She could hear the boys and Noach clamouring for yet more food in the background.
The plane settled gently onto the Newark runway and slowed before turning towards the International Terminal. The captain announced that they would be arriving at the gate about thirty minutes early but it would be at least another forty-five minutes to an hour before they could disembark. Apparently that was when Immigration opened. At least coffee and tea, the captain announced, would be available. When offered a coffee she took it and resigned herself to waiting, unlike many around her who started complaining.
When Miriam eventually left the plane she walked as fast and crisply as possible, overtaking many fellow passengers on the way. She knew how US Immigration worked — slowly, even for returning US citizens. Today she was lucky, only having to hold a few minutes before being processed by an officer who looked as tired as she felt.
After collecting her luggage Miriam picked up her car and drove west. As anticipated before leaving the previous Thursday, she had the advantage of going against the rush hour traffic, arriving home within an hour.
She had switched on the coffee maker and changed for a short, crisp run. Afterwards she showered and dressed in refreshingly clean clothes. Feeling human again, Miriam started up her laptop to find, fortunately, no appointments for the rest of the day or the next day until late afternoon, not even any made by her answering service while away. That wasn’t good for business but did give her time to recover and think.
First she was going to have to look in detail at the account from which she transferred monies to her father. She needed to see what was there and how much had passed through. Having realised in Tel Aviv that she had not kept any mental count, Miriam was now increasingly convinced that her father’s source of infinite income was going to come to an end. Whether this was soon or in the future remained unclear. Nevertheless she should start rationing his expectations.
Sometime later she realised just how much money she had paid over, and how much was left. She decided, kind of in accordance with what she, Inma and Michele had discussed, that she would tell her father that he could only expect another, say, two years of transfers and that these would likely reduce after the end of this coming year. Miriam had enough in the account to deliver this without any more monies arriving if she imposed a 30 per cent reduction from the end of the year. Her father was going to bleat and complain. Frankly, too bad: jet-lagged, she was in no mood to be generous.
She also considered booking her flight to Spain. She faced some choices. She could go on the Thursday overnight flight to Madrid, rent a car to go to this Yuste place, and return on the Sunday or the Monday morning flight. But Inma had made a suggestion when they had returned to the hotel after lunch. If she would like to, Inma had said, Miriam would be welcome to come out a day or so earlier or leave a couple of days after they had finished meeting and stay to enjoy the finca.
She was in two minds about the invitation. A break would be welcome. On the other hand, Miriam was pretty sure that she did not want Inma trying to sell her Catholicism in general or Opus Dei in particular. She remembered that conversation in the car from Belvoir with abnormal clarity. It had disturbed her then. It disturbed her still. She could not put her finger on why, though. Inma clearly appreciated why Michele was important. Perhaps Inma thought that if she could persuade her to join Opus Dei then this would keep her away from Michele?
Then there was Michele. Miriam helped herself to more coffee before sitting down on her preferred sofa. She would start her other work later. Michele was a problem. She was missing excitement. He clearly still liked her. After a couple of days in his company she clearly remembered what happened when they had been together. This gave her a distinctly pleasurable tingle … She fell asleep.
Monday, Monteverde
Conor and Caterina stood in a café near their hotel. Breakfast was being a touch generous in its description, at least by Irish or Australian standards. For Italians it seemed to consist of merely a coffee, often a cappuccino, but some of their fellow customers seemed to prefer a cafe corretto, which looked like an espresso with a generous dash of brandy. To eat there were cornetti, varieties of excessively sweet-looking pastries that appealed to neither.
“I could murder a plate of scrambled eggs, some bacon and toast,” grumbled Conor. “But not at the hotel prices, even if we are not paying. That would make anyone feel guilty about eating.”
“I know the feeling. Same here about something cooked, though not your particular combination. I feel exhausted. I was up half the night as well as spending most of yesterday evening re-organising the data on those disks Father Federico sent over yesterday.” She paused. “I’m sorry about not joining you for dinner. After that big lunch yesterday. I just wanted to get stuck in. In the end I ordered some fruit and cheese from room service. Not exactly inspiring in its variety but good enough.”
“No problem. You did better than me. I tried a local pizza place, for something light. My mistake. Did you make any progress? How are we going to proceed? By the way, I spoke with Davide and he has booked us a biggish room with a large table in the place where he is staying. We can turn this into a temporary place to work. That seemed more sensible than either doing the same here in the shoe boxes they call rooms, or going to our Rome office where we would be too visible, or going to a short-term rented office. Do you think we should move over there as well?”
Caterina thought before saying, “We still have to go to the conference, at least for this morning and tomorrow morning. I think we should stay here until the conference ends and then perhaps think of moving over there. We should probably check with Davide but it is much closer to José Antonio and his connections if we need them. It is also a lot cheaper than this place, which looks as if only people on expenses can afford it.” She pulled a bittersweet smile. “It would be good to be in a part of Rome lived in by locals. What do you think?”
“What you say sounds reasonable. Okay; we stay here for the next two nights as booked and paid for and then we’ll move across, if Davide agrees. What else do we need?”
“Some equipment. I have my laptop and tablet. Do you have yours? Only your tablet? I think a brief shopping expedition for two more laptops, a router, a printer and a scanner plus some additional storage and some other items. I’ll look after that, if you agree to sign off the expenses. Yes? Good. I’ve already found a couple of personal computer discount places online. If you’ll give me the address we can have them shipped there for tomorrow morning, or that is what they promise.
“I guess, however, that we’ll have to go to the conference dinner tonight. Can’t we escape it?”
“I think not. The boss will be there and I suspect he’ll want to use the opportunity to talk with us informally. Also, you’re supposed to be experiencing how the old world does things. As you’ll see, it stars in its food, wine and surroundings and usually fails to achieve anything much other than generate hot air.”
“You make it sound so enticing,” she winced. “Actually, the Orient is not much different.”
“So what did you find last night? Anything?”
“Not
really. What I was trying to do was create one master copy and then a duplicate to index and organise. I started pulling out all documents from the duplicate disks and reshuffling and rearranging in a variety of different ways, like by name of contractor or supplier, by amounts paid, by technologies purchased, and so on. Doing this manually was too slow, so I started trying to automate the process using some software I have.
“As a result I didn’t look at any details. My machine went slow doing the categorising, which is cumbersome when processing so many images, so I went to bed. The latest analysis was still running when I came down to meet you. It looked as if it had some hours to go yet, which is why we need a beefier machine and lots of fast disk. Then we can begin the real work. Capisci?”
“Yes, or at least as much as I need to. But I do understand how lots of data takes time to organise before you can start searching for the interesting details. It’ll be the same when we hit the financial stuff.”
“Have you had enough for breakfast? If you have I’m going to order the machinery when we are in the conference sessions. I know I shouldn’t but the first few seem tedious from the list of subject matter they handed out.”
“Don’t share that aloud, please, Caterina. Remember our boss is one of those on stage and it wouldn’t look or sound good if you splash out such content compliments so generously. I must also check when we can see Davide.” He looked at his watch. “He should be with the Confessional Call Centre Operations people now. I wonder what he will find out.”
Conor paid the barman and they departed for their concrete nightmare, like many business hotels are these days.
Monday, Madrid
Inma felt exhausted after being woken by her smartphone’s alarm and by her tablet at two in the morning. She had dragged herself out of bed. Luckily, she had prepared the night before and after showering and dressing it was a matter of moments to pack before going downstairs to check-out.
The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis Page 20
