The Accidental Pope

by Ray Flynn

  The pope stared out over the magnificent Church for a few moments. He caught the eye of a group sitting on the side that stood up and with enthusiasm and visible pride in their new pope joined in the swelling applause.

  After Mass Bill walked over to the group he had noticed and met Father Joe Daley and his parishioners from the parish of St. Anthony in Cody, Wyoming. Cardinal Bellotti glanced at Cardinal Robitelli. “Well, did it come out all right? What is your opinion?”

  Cardinal Robitelli turned slightly and, still puzzled, replied, “I think … when a sermon, especially a short one, is delivered, we should pay attention and try to learn from it!” Christ was born again safely for yet another year!

  A subdued Kelly family exchanged pleasantries with the clergy surrounding them as they made their way with Al Cippolini and Tim Shanahan back to the apartment, where Pope Peter would join them. Bill Kelly, relieved, was suffused with holiday cheer now that his official Christmas functions were behind him.

  After the pope had been congratulated he called Ryan over to him. “Son, it’s been a busy time for me since you arrived, but with this morning’s little recitation behind me, for better or worse—”

  “It was great, Dad, really awesome. So short, so meaningful to us all.”

  “Why, thank you, Ryan. And now I want to devote as much time as possible to the family while you’re still here. I didn’t ask you, but how long can you stay?”

  “Well, I told the crew I wanted to go out again as soon after New Year’s as we can get the nets clear and the boats provisioned.”

  “Since you are over here, I hope you’ll stay as long as possible.”

  “We’re getting ready to explore new fishing grounds, further out.”

  “You have to keep in mind how fast the storms can spring up on you. And out there some monster waves have a way of towering in from nowhere. They sweep up from the Bermuda Triangle, do their damage, and disappear. Even though you were just in junior high, you must remember the ’91 storm, the one they just made a movie about, that took the lives of Gloucester fishermen.”

  “On another level, Dad, and I hate to bring it up at this time, but there’s one wave I know of churning out of our state and heading right at you, here at the Vatican.”

  “I guess I know what you mean. Young Senator Lane and his contested annulment.”

  Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Bad situation all around. It’s getting a lot of press, and you know the Boston Globe loves to beat up on the Church. Lane has been one of their own, but given an opportunity to attack Catholics—especially Irish Catholics—nobody is spared. His former wife has appealed to the Vatican to nullify the annulment because it leaves a marriage of ten years with three kids in limbo. The tabloids and talk shows at home are giving this issue a great deal of attention, and nobody is looking good.”

  The pope breathed heavily. “It will end up squarely in my lap. Young Lane and his family have supported the fishing association for years. He took on the Canadians when they claimed the banks for Canadians only. He stood up for us in Washington when those corporations tried to stick it to the small fisherman.”

  “That’s another reason why I have to get back, Dad. Business is pretty good except for the quotas, and Lane has been good to us.”

  “Did he ask you to talk to me about the annulment?”

  “No, Dad, he didn’t. Just convey his respects.”

  Bill Kelly reached out and placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “I should be sending you to college instead of out to sea.”

  “I’m no college kid, Dad. I like being the third-generation fishing captain in the family.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you, keeping the Kelly family business prospering while your dad goes back to preaching.”

  “Some preacher, Dad.” The admiration in Ryan’s tone was unmistakable.

  The pope then beckoned Monsignor Cippolini over. “Al, have you figured out those excursions for my kids?”

  “Yes, I have. Tomorrow, Saturday, you all fly to Palermo, Sicily, to attend an official post-Christmas service. The day after Christmas is also a special holy day throughout Italy.

  “You will celebrate Mass Saturday night at my old cattedrale, followed by a concert in honor of Festa di Santa Rosalia. It is usually held in July, but Palermo wanted to help shed its reputation as a high-crime and poverty center by inviting you now. Also you will reopen our recently renovated and magnificent Teatro Massimo. Following the concert, a procession in honor of Santa Lucia and a cookout, ‘Grande Festa,’ is set up at the city park for all the people. That is why our local bishop was so anxious to have your family join him there. Your delegation will stay overnight at Hotel Ariston, then fly Sunday morning by helicopter to Siracusa on the other side of our island to visit its historic British military cemetery.”

  “What do you know!” the pope exclaimed. “Mary’s Uncle Tom was killed in North Africa while serving in the Royal Marines and is buried there. The kids always wanted to visit his grave.”

  “The archbishop of Canterbury will join you at a special wreath-laying ceremony for all the several thousand British and U.S. soldiers who were killed in the line of duty in North Africa and southern Italy. Then you will drive to Sciacca to visit the Chapel of the Madonna. It is a famous fishing village. The fishermen there claim a bond with you and are honored that you chose to join them. By the way, as you requested, the Jesuit Father Pittau, the president of our Gregorian University here in Rome and your old friend from Boston, will be traveling with us. You will recall that you first met the good father, whose first name is Joe, when he was at St. Augustine Church in South Boston while attending Harvard.”

  “A most knowledgeable man.” The pope nodded. “Especially about Japan and the Far East. He was president of the Catholic College in Japan after World War II. It will be great to see him again.”

  “You, the two younger children, Monsignor Shanahan, and Father Giuseppe Pittau will fly back to Rome that Sunday night. But Ryan, Paula Novak, Colleen, Jan, and another Swiss guard fly directly to Venice. From Venice they will visit Florence, returning here on December thirty.” Monsignor Cippolini, his travel presentation complete, bowed his head as the Kelly family applauded. “I hope it all meets with your approval,” he murmured.

  “Al, you have done an excellent job in planning such a busy schedule, especially for Ryan and Colleen. Thank you.”

  Ryan laughed. “For one moment you made me think I am a jet-setter or an independently wealthy man of leisure. I will cram everything I possibly can into the few days I have left in Italy. And when I’m back out hauling my nets and praying no tidal wave sideswipes my trawler, I’ll be filled with memories of happy times and romantic Italy to sweeten my dreams.”

  Bill sat in his chair sipping hot tea, pleased to know that Ryan thought his Christmas sermon had been good. He also contemplated how tough it was for Ryan, suddenly a responsible workingman, to be burdened with the family fishing business and not able to go to college.

  Ryan checked his watch. “Dad, I have a date about now. I am giving Paula a tour of the Vatican this afternoon after we have lunch. If you are free a few minutes, I’d like to have you meet her again now that things are quiet.”

  “Of course, Ryan. I’ll be here and free all afternoon and evening.”

  “I can arrange a lovely luncheon for you at Ponentino Restaurant in Trastevere,” Cippolini offered. “And international singer Antonio Furnari is giving a special outdoor concert there this afternoon. He is a friend of Ambassador Kirby and has a great voice.”

  “I appreciate that, Monsignor. Sounds like fun. You think of everything. If you ever want to become a fisherman I can help you get a job,” said Ryan. “It’s probably the best route to becoming pope.”

  Al glanced at Bill to gauge his reaction to Ryan’s joke.

  * * *

  With all this activity, Church and family, Bill’s head was swimming. Christmas was busy for any pope, but for the first pontiff in several centuries with a family it w
as proving doubly so. Bill jammed in a briefing meeting with Monsignor Cippolini and Cardinal Bellotti to get an evaluation of how things were going with his Vatican affairs so far. He also wanted feedback on his first papal audience earlier that week.

  Overall both Cippolini and Bellotti thought it had gone very well. They replayed the tape recordings that had been made and carefully critiqued them, especially the questions that were asked from the audience, and reached a conclusion for which Bellotti was quick to refer to Scripture for confirmation.

  “Something you Americans do too frequently is talk a long time and never directly answer a question. What you say may sound nice, but!”

  The pope’s eyes narrowed. “I was never one to obfuscate—dodge the truth that is, Eminenza. I am not a politician.”

  “Perhaps,” Bellotti replied. But I suggest—” He paused and gave the pope a meaningful look. “Let your answer be ‘yes, yes’ or ‘no, no.’ Anything else can be from the evil one. I think that is what you do without realizing it. You seldom hide anything, nor deny anything. I suspect if you make a real effort to say what you feel, not minding if your weaknesses show, you may be better able to win the audience. That, of course, can also present some other problems.”

  The pope looked quizzically at his cardinal. “What other problems?”

  The cardinal smiled, drawing his index finger across his throat. “I must be off now. Enjoy the holidays.”

  Cippolini and the pope looked after the cardinal as he was leaving, then at each other. “I keep feeling like Robitelli has put an adder in my fruit basket,” the pope murmured to himself. “The cardinal is good at helping me with Mass and homilies, and of course his beloved Scripture, but I do not feel he totally has my best interests at heart. I wonder if he’ll ever get over the conclave and how I was elected by his sacred college of cardinals.”

  The children made the most of their holidays together, flying to Sicily with Bill. With great exuberence the Kellys followed Cippolini’s Sicilian detailed planning for two and a half days. Then Ryan, Paula, Colleen, and Jan continued on to Venice and Florence before coming back to Rome on December 30 and spending New Year’s Eve in the Eternal City, a perfect place to ring in the third millennium. The constant monitoring by the Swiss Guard and Italian carabinieri put a damper on Ryan and Paula. They were together all the time, but it was a problem for them to find the privacy they sought during their whirlwind tour. Nevertheless they enjoyed every moment of each other’s company.

  After flying into Aeroporto Marco Polo from Sicily, the four went immediately to Hotel Minerva on Venice’s Grand Canal. The view with all the boat traffic was memorable and romantic. They sat out on their balcony and drank Campari and soda water before going on a tour of Venice, which didn’t get them back in their hotel until after two A.M. By this time they were all exhausted and ready for bed.

  The next evening they dined at an outdoor restaurant in San Marco Square and were serenaded by a five-piece band. After dinner it was the Rialto, famous for its markets and for shopping.

  Nobody recognized them in Venice. By the time they arrived at Harry’s Bar for late-night drinks, the line circled around the corner. Jan showed the maître d’ his identification and told him who was with him. The owner came to the door and said it was an honor to have them. He gave them a table in the private dining room, where several movie stars had just come from the International Film Festival. They had late-night drinks and were introduced to Robert De Niro and Sharon Stone, who assured them that, as Americans, they were proud of the job their father was doing. They couldn’t order a second drink because they were too exhausted, so they decided to retire for the evening and walked back to the hotel.

  It was a wonderful day in one of the world’s most fascinating cities. They promised each other that one day they would return. The word “honeymoon” escaped their lips. The next day, after visiting the ninth-century Basilica of San Marco, marveling at the breathtaking view of Venice from the top of the tower, the two couples took separate romantic two-hour gondola rides up and down the Grand Canal. Ryan and Paula enjoyed the complete privacy together, spending more time looking at each other, leaning back, and holding one another, enjoying the romantic setting. Finally, reluctantly, they stepped out of the gondola onto the quay. Even when Ryan was told by the boat’s skipper that it cost L240,000 for the ride, he murmured jokingly, “That’s about how much Dad pays me a week out at sea.”

  Late that afternoon, they drove by rented van to Florence. It was six o’clock when they checked in at Hotel La Scaletta, near Ponte Vecchio with its unique rooftop view of the town. Leaving their hotel, they went on a shopping tour of the historic market. Paula bought a leather coat for Ryan and leather bags for her mother at the open market near San Lorenzo. That evening they dined at the outdoor restaurant Acqua al Due and ordered the assaggio dinner. They listened to Italian music accompanied by a magnificent female vocalist from the conservatory. They walked away the evening through the winding streets, seeing many American students and tourists and stopping to talk with them. Then there was Gelateria Trianogolo delle Bermuda, famous for its gelato banana, and a street artist drew a sketch of the four of them together.

  Next morning, bright and early, they went to the Uffizi Museum, one of the most beautiful art museums in the world. Then they left Florence and drove to Rome, arriving around five P.M.

  At the apostolic apartments Colleen plaintively told her sister that they were surfeited with Italian food. “Do you think we could have cheeseburgers, fries, and onion rings? Like we did every Saturday night back home?” Meghan understood as her mouth watered.

  Bill, Paula, Ryan, Colleen, Jan, Roger, and Meghan had a lot to talk about that night at dinner, many funny stories—like Ryan getting his pocket picked, and not realizing it until he saw Jan chasing a young boy who dropped Ryan’s wallet on the ground, still containing all his credit cards and money. Paula told the Kellys how at first a certain shop owner wanted L150,000 lire for Ryan’s leather coat and when Paula said, “No, too much,” and started walking away, the shop owner chased after her and said, “OK, one hundred thousand.”

  Jan recalled how he had asked the pope if he could invite his daughter for a date. He said, “I don’t know how I got the courage to ask you, sir, but I’m surely glad I did.”

  “So am I,” Colleen seconded.

  At ten P.M. New Year’s Eve the foursome said good night, making their way into the city’s crowds to experience Rome’s way of introducing the year 2001 A.D. Meghan, like most busybodies, expressed concern that they be good and take it easy on the vino. After they’d gone, Bill reassured her that not only would two Swiss guards in civilian clothes follow them at a respectful distance, but Jan was also carrying his handgun. And so they walked throughout the centrum, enjoying the life and splendor of this special night of celebration. Making their way to Piazza del Popolo, they were startled by the traditional throwing of plates and fireworks at people’s feet while they walked down the street. The four had never experienced the likes of it and couldn’t remember seeing anything akin to it in America or Switzerland.

  Later they hooked up with Maureen Kirby and some of her friends at the Night & Day disco. When they got to the door, Colleen told the doorman, “I have a friend holding seats and a table for us.” The next thing they knew they were jam-packed together at a table.

  Colleen asked Maureen how she had gotten these seats right up front and Maureen said, “Lire talks in Roma.”

  Jan chimed in, “Like my Swiss guard badge.” They danced and welcomed in the New Year in typical Italian style, a Millennium Eve never to be forgetten.

  They left the disco while the city was still jumping and couldn’t flag a taxi. It was just as well, for they had a chance to walk and share the events of the evening a little longer, until they finally stopped a cab. Cold and exhausted, they nonetheless had a wonderful evening. They dropped Paula off at her college hostel, where Ryan and she kissed a passionate good night and resolved
that this was only the beginning. Then the cab drove on to the Vatican.

  Pope Peter was prepared to celebrate a solemn High Mass in St. Peter’s at ten-thirty New Year’s morning. He toasted in the New Year with an Irish Mist after two hours of playing Monopoly with Roger and Meghan, and then they went to bed. Bill slept soundly, not moving; even the riotous sound of fireworks at the nearby Piazza del Popolo failed to wake him. In the Vatican, Bill had learned, you rose early, you worked late, and you slept soundly, not unlike his routine as a fisherman on Cape Cod.

  34

  THE CHOSEN

  The annual New Year’s Day homily was behind him, and Bill Kelly settled down to focusing on the administrative details of the Church at home and worldwide. Despite the popularity and effectiveness of the previous pope, John Paul II, administration had not been his strong point. He was a “big picture” man, not a Jimmy Carter–type leader who, it was said, even tried to micromanage disputes within the White House down to who might use the tennis courts during this or that lunch break.

  A trip to Africa, at the urging of Cardinal Motupu, was now anticipated. Cardinal Robitelli was hard at work with Bill on Church matters like papal nuncio assignments to various countries, the Vatican Bank and its investments, or the many religious, political, and constituency groups requesting to meet the new pope since his election. And there was the matter of his first encyclical to be written and released.

  Then a day to which Pope Peter had looked forward arrived. A bright smile creased his weathered face as he reached into a desk drawer and took out the folder labeled PRIVATE NOTES. Withdrawing its contents, he reached for his phone and summoned Cardinal Robitelli for a hurried discussion.

  Robitelli arrived quickly. “Gino,” he was greeted, “today I am scheduled to meet with the World Council of Rabbis, it says here. Do you have any idea how many? What is their agenda?”

  The cardinal frowned, not sure of the number. “Head Rabbi Koburn from Jerusalem called me last week. It seems he needed to contact some rabbis from countries across the world. Laughingly, he also stated that like everyone else, they were startled by our election of a layman and wanted to wait to see what would be going on here. We estimate about sixty to seventy of them will be present.”