The Accidental Pope

by Ray Flynn

  “In that case, Brian, here are the keys to my car, a used but reliable wreck. If a policeman stops you on the way, tell him to call me!”

  “Oh, oddly enough, I do have a valid Massachusetts driver’s license. I’ve spent several summer vacations with the Kellys. I love to drive around the Cape and see the sights.”

  “It’s settled then, Brian. Let’s get you on your way so you can get to that lobster lunch.”

  Brian thanked everyone for their kindness, including Father Charlie, as the bishop led his guest into the garage and opened the car door. Bishop Sean Patrick handed Brian a small wallet-size picture of St. Francis with the prayer for peace on the reverse side. With a few directions and instructions, the cardinal understood the instrument panel, backed the car out of the garage onto the pavement, and headed to the Cape.

  As Brian left Main Street in Fall River, he turned on the CD player to listen to some of the music that Sean liked. The selection that came on was the chorus of the Hebrew Slaves, “Va Pensiero” from the opera Nabucco by Giuseppe Verdi, which Brian had once heard magnificently performed at the world-renowned La Scala opera house in Milan with Ed and Kathy Kirby and Carlo Maria Martini, the archbishop of Milan.

  9

  “OH MY GOD! SO IT’S TRUE!”

  As he drove toward Cape Cod on this clear October day, Brian mentally rehearsed his mission: namely, to obtain Bill Kelly’s unequivocal refusal to take advantage of a mistake, an insane joke gone awry. A grim smile crossed his face as he considered the field day the press would have with this. The stern visage of the camerlengo reminding him of the secrecy required burned in his brain. He must tell Bill Kelly how this accident had happened and persuade him to take the information with him to his grave! Was it realistic to think that anyone could keep such a secret?

  Brian thought back to an earlier visit to the warm and modest Cape Cod home years ago when he had been made a bishop. The Kellys had staged an elaborate clambake for him and his priest friends from the area, including the now Bishop Sean Patrick. Brian had stayed on a few extra days to catch up with the family news. He had delighted in how the children were growing up, how they were doing in school, all the things you talk about with close family. He truly felt he was “Uncle Brian” and that everyone accepted him that way.

  Most of all he recalled the belly laugh from Bill as he watched him hand Roger, then age three, back to his mother and look down at the wet spot on his neatly pressed clerical trousers. “Well, Your Excellency,” Bill had roared, “you have been officially baptized for your new position. How many bishops can say that?”

  As a cardinal he was grateful to God that he had enjoyed close friends like the Kellys. They kept him mindful of the ordinary man and the many problems with which he must contend. Yet at times he was painfully aware that as a celibate he would never know life fully, just as the common people—Bill excepted—could never understand the priestly vocation either. Still, he was happy to be serving God in his chosen manner and was at peace with himself. He knew beyond question he could trust Bill Kelly with the knowledge of what had happened at the conclave, and that this matter would never be revealed.

  Brian’s heartbeat quickened as he caught sight of the bay and the Kelly residence on a small knoll just above the inlet and docks. Soon he was swinging into the wide driveway and parked next to Bill’s Chevrolet pickup truck. He walked up the steps to the house, and the front door opened slowly.

  “Uncle Brian.” Colleen’s voice was friendly, yet there was an air of coolness about her he had never experienced in the Kelly family before. “Meghan said you called last night. You really did come. Dad landed a couple of hours ago.”

  “You didn’t tell him I might drop by, did you, Colleen?”

  “No, Uncle Brian.”

  “Does he know I’m in the country?”

  “I didn’t tell him, and they don’t listen to the news out there at sea. Dad reads poetry and books.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “By the boat inspecting the nets. Like I said, they just got in.”

  God’s timing, Brian thought. He gazed out the large bay window that gave him a clear view of the waterfront below. He saw Bill bending over his nets, busy as usual. “Where are the kids, Colleen?”

  “Still in school. Ryan is off to see his friends.”

  “Hey, Colleen, why don’t you fix up some of that lobster stew your mom used to make while I go down and surprise the old boy?”

  “Wonderful, Uncle Brian! You’ll cheer him up. His mind seems occupied with something he won’t explain. Very quiet he’s been since he landed. Not like Dad,” Colleen mused. “Of course it wasn’t a great trip; the fish are scarce out there. And always the bills coming in. But usually he goofs off and has a few beers with his crew at the Second Bristol Café or the Portuguese Club in New Bedford before coming back home.”

  “I’ll see you in a bit.” Brian stepped out the screen door and descended the steps. He smiled as he caught sight of his friend at the edge of the dock, half dreading Bill’s reaction to the bizarre tidings he was about to spill. The story could be met with boisterous laughter as, cardinal or not, he was pitched into the ocean. They were that close.

  I might as well get it over with.

  The day was gorgeous, a slight wind driving ripples in the water and the bright autumn sun at its zenith.

  As Brian approached the boat, Bill was kneeling, unraveling the fishing net. He became aware of footsteps and turned to see who was coming. His jaw fell open. He looked stunned. The net he’d been holding dropped to the deck. “Oh, my God! So it’s true!” he gasped, reeling backward.

  The words brought home Brian’s perception of his mission in a lightning flash. He realized intuitively that calling Ed Kirby before leaving Rome had been an act of divine guidance. Abruptly he was no longer Brian but Brian Cardinal Comiskey, standing there. “What do you mean, ‘so it’s true’?” he demanded, eyes locked into Bill’s, searching for the explanation.

  Bill turned away from the cardinal’s questioning stare, nervously recovering his net.

  “Bill.” The cardinal’s voice was compelling. “Look at me. What did you say?”

  Bill straightened up, forced a smile, and then threw his hand out to be shaken. “I don’t know. Nothing, Brian. It’s just so great, such a surprise to see you again.”

  “Bill.” The cardinal’s voice was sharp. “Of course, it’s great. But what did you mean by ‘so it’s true’?”

  Timidly and almost apologetically, Bill sat down on the boat’s gunwale and looked up into his friend’s anxious eyes. “Just some funny, stupid thoughts I had. Not important.”

  “I want to hear your funny, stupid thoughts, Bill.” Then, sternly, “Tell me. That’s why I’m here.”

  It was apparent the cardinal was not going to back off. Bill sighed. “Well, now, Brian, don’t laugh at me. I suppose it’s just because I know you and saw you on TV going into the conclave. I teased the kids that maybe, because you were my old buddy, you would cast one vote for me! We laughed about it. But the thought just wouldn’t leave my mind. Then out on the bank yesterday morning just before sunrise—dear God, it scares me just to think of it.”

  “Think out loud, Billy Boy. I want to hear it all … everything!”

  “Well, things are a bit tough out on the bank—less fish, more work, and less money. God knows Colleen is doing her best to keep the family together and still get her college education. She is doing well at both, but with Mary’s death she has lost faith in God, the Church—in everything but our little family.”

  Bill was silent a few moments until Brian shuffled impatiently toward him on the dock. “I was really wiped out after a hard day’s work. But I wanted to discuss something with my first mate, Manny, one of the great Portuguese fishermen. He’s always been there for me in the worst of times. I wanted to get his feelings about making Ryan the captain while I took the good-paying desk job offered me at the Southern New England Fishermen’s Associatio
n.”

  Bill rubbed his eyes as though clearing his vision or pushing weariness from them. “Ryan was all excited, of course, but I told him to get some sleep. He was pulling the late watch and he had to get me up at five A.M. sharp.” He sighed and looked up at the cardinal, dressed in his simple black suit with Roman collar like any other parish priest.

  “Keep on, Bill,” Brian said in a steadying tone.

  “I went down to my bunk and literally collapsed. Now comes the weird part, Brian. I’m not sure whether I slept or not, but somehow my tired old brain reminded me I hadn’t said my Rosary.” He paused and half smiled at his friend. “Is that just a pattern we get into by habit? I was thinking of Colleen at that moment, how to restore her faith in God.”

  Again Bill was silent for a few seconds. Then he continued more forcefully. “I pushed my old bones out of the bunk and on my knees started to say my Rosary. I was so tired I could hardly concentrate on what I was saying. Then I was suddenly aware of a soft light in back of me towards the cabin door.”

  Bill was silent in his recollection of the moment. Then, slowly, he continued. “I turned and … oh God, Brian! I saw the Blessed Virgin standing there. She was so beautiful … so radiant. The image of her appearance at Fatima. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as she communicated with me. I don’t know just how, but I understood her perfectly.

  “‘Be at peace, my child,’ she made me understand. ‘My son has sent me to tell you how deeply he is saddened over the divisions in his Church. He is also heavyhearted at the mistreatment of his Father’s chosen people, Israel. These things must cease! Like the first Peter who denied Jesus and suffered with sorrow until his death, you also will have to suffer. But in your weakness God will be able to show forth his strength. The chastisements I spoke of before will be upon the people, and the assault against clergy, Christians, and all people must end. Just trust him, my child. His messenger will come for you tomorrow.’”

  Bill looked up helplessly at Brian from the deck of his fishing trawler. “Then she disappeared, and it was dark in the cabin. The rest is so shrouded I can’t understand it. I just know that I opened my tired eyes and looked at the clock. It said four fifty-five. Ryan would be calling me in another five minutes. My head fell back on the pillow. I was almost in tears. Then I noticed my rosary lying on the floor beside my bunk. I tried to reach for it but my body was like lead. Then, suddenly, there she was again. She just smiled at me and reached for the beads. I felt them drop into my hand. Then I heard her say, ‘Sleep, child.’ That’s all there was, Brian.

  “The next thing I knew I heard Ryan saying, ‘Rise and shine, Dad.’ Then he went on to exclaim something like I had a happy look on my face and must have been having a lovely dream. I flew out of the bunk, feeling like I could have wrestled with Moby Dick and won. ‘Get the crew moving, boy! I’ll be in the wheelhouse in five minutes. Bring me coffee and a doughnut.’”

  Bill shrugged. “If I were Portuguese I would say it was Our Lady of Fatima who came to me. The message was substantially the same, but I will always think of the apparition as Our Lady of the Georges Bank, with a new message for a new generation. End of the story, Cardinal. Am I crazy or what? Will I be fishing for the souls of people in Rome or cod and haddock back on the bank?”

  The cardinal shook his head in absolute mystification. Finally he said, “Bill, you haven’t even a vague clue as what you would be getting into. Your story only makes me more confused than ever. Who can say where the truth lies?”

  A half smile came over the fisherman’s face as he stared into the cardinal’s eyes. He slowly reached into his pocket, then paused. “Brian … tell me, do you remember what gift we gave to each other the day we were ordained?”

  The cardinal, a puzzled look on his face, thought a few moments. Then, “Yes, yes, of course.” He smiled reminiscently. “Almost like twins we gave the same gift. A pair of rosaries we made ourselves. But what’s the point?”

  “Can I see yours, Brian?”

  “Well, not really, Bill. I used them so much and so hard they were pretty well worn by the time my mom died. So”—he grinned ruefully—“I traded mine for the nice new set the undertaker had put around her hands for the wake. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  In one quick, fluid motion Bill withdrew his hand from his pocket, rosary beads in his fingers. “Catch these, Brian.” He tossed them at the surprised cardinal, who was skillful enough to snatch them in flight.

  Brian looked closely at them. “Nice, Bill. They look brand-new. Did yours wear out too?”

  “No, Brian … or maybe I should say yes. Those are the ones you gave me on graduation day. Like yours, mine saw a lot of use. I even had some string on them to hold them together.” He gave the cardinal an owlish look. “I think the Blessed Virgin repaired them—almost—when she handed them back to me.”

  Brian searched the countenance of his oldest friend in the world. “Come on, Bill. These can’t be.” He stared down at the string of shining, new silver beads in his hand. “They do look like the ones I made for you,” he allowed.

  “Well, pal, feel the metal joiner that separates the five decades. Go ahead, rub it!”

  Brian began to rub the heavy silver medallion with its two wings reaching up to join the string of silver beads into a necklace from which dangled a string of five beads suspending the cross. “My God. The thing is bent. A little sharp edge here. Glory be! I remember now. You stupidly used it to tighten the screw on my bedroom door handle as we were packing to leave the seminary.”

  Bill Kelly raised his hands as though in supplication. “Right on! You got it, pal! Do you think this suddenly-like-new string of silver beads represents a little extra support from the Virgin for us weak souls who may be a little short on faith?”

  Brian reached into his pocket and tossed his own beads to Bill. “I think I will need to borrow yours for a while, Billy. I’m going to need all the support I can get when I walk into that conclave again.”

  “You may indeed, Brian. I started thinking I had been called back to serve again. It was an epiphany. You know—I was getting another chance to keep my vows and my children, too. This is what Our Lady of the Bank said to me!”

  “Dear God, I can’t believe this! My God!” His legs shaking, Brian sat on the boat’s gunwale next to Bill. “I don’t know how to say this.” He fumbled for the right words. “I left the conclave on a secret and delicate mission.”

  “I don’t get the news at sea. I hope it’s straightened out.”

  “Well, five minutes ago I thought…” He shrugged. “Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “Brian, you’re losing me.”

  “Well, old buddy, I seem to be experiencing the same confusion you are, so I may as well say it right out.” He paused as though for inner guidance. “I was sent here to tell you, Bill Kelly, that by some accident or mix-up, the conclave of the college of cardinals has elected you the next pope!”

  “What? Brian, I would say stop mocking me, only…” He paused and looked helplessly at his old and dear friend.

  “Only?” Brian prompted.

  Bill stood up, agitated. “As I said, this fisherman, Bill Kelly, experienced a revelation so incredible as to make him feel that he had gone mad.” He stared into Brian’s eyes. “So aberrant … such an epiphany … and at sea, too.”

  “Bill,” Brian interrupted, also rising, “this has to be for your ears alone. You must never breathe a word of it … ever. In the conclave we got into … a ‘factional feud’ is the best way I can describe it.” For a second Brian broke down and held his head. “I happened to mention your name in a stupid allegorical joke I made in an effort to make the point that everyone had to give more thought to what we were there to actually accomplish. By some foolish … mistake”—he cocked an eye at Bill—“the majority of the cardinals put your name on our last vote as a means of confirming what I was trying to say: ‘If we don’t bail out our dinghy together, it’s going to sink.’ Like Ben
Franklin said during the Revolution, ‘If we don’t all hang together, we’ll hang separately.’”

  Brian and Bill looked at each other questioningly. Brian continued after hitting his temples with the palms of both hands, the rosary still in his right. “Now we had a problem. One of us needed to come to let you know that by the Vatican II rules you accidentally yet legally were elected pope. It wouldn’t be so if you were an ordinary layman. But you are also an ordained priest. So it was official. We had to tell you that.” He paused and shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, and believe me, I wish to God it was all some strange joke, but it’s not. You got elected pope! All we are asking now is that you quite simply tell me you decline. That you promise never to tell anyone. I’ll go back to Rome and we will address the business of electing the real pope.” Brian abruptly stood up. “So let’s try to forget the whole thing and I can go back to Rome.”

  From his seat on the side of the boat, Bill looked up at his best friend in all the world. “I just don’t know what to think, Brian. In one way it seems so simple. But on the other hand, maybe I have to consider my vision, what it means! Maybe God was sending me his tidings about how I have to serve. I hardly know!”

  “Good God, Bill. Are you crazy? A dream? A vision? You said yourself you may have dreamed what you did because you saw me on TV going into the conclave and made some kind of connection in your subconscious mind. That’s not a vision! You probably thought you saw Our Lady of Fatima because the revelation of her third prophecy was on the news not long ago.”

  Bill Kelly stood up beside Brian. “See, you’re not sure, are you? It’s easy to say ‘God spoke’ if someone has a vision of the Blessed Mother and then miracles happen to confirm it. Like Our Lady of Fatima and the sun dancing in the sky.”