The Accidental Pope
Page 39
The pope reached for the bottle Shanahan was carrying for him and, taking it out of his hand, thrust it toward the village headman.
“Here, Andrew. Drink.”
Andrew gratefully reached out for the bottle, immediately swallowing from it.
“Keep it,” the pope said. “We will leave what water we brought with us for the children. We pray to God the affliction will soon be gone.” He was stung by the subtle reminder that there was something that might have been done, could still be done, to diminish the spread of the virus threatening an entire population.
Later Motupu wished Andrew well and assured him that Concern and its doctors, when called, would continue to care for Rakai. Then he led the pope away after a last blessing. The sisters had chosen half a dozen of the virus-infected children, those who might be saved with the advanced drugs available at Concern in Kigali, to return with Motupu and the pope.
The drive to the Entebbe airport was fraught with silent contemplation of what each had seen. And once aboard the plane there was little conversation on the flight.
By midafternoon they had landed once again in the capital of Rwanda and left the sick children with the sisters. After a blessing by the pope they picked up Cardinal Bellotti, Monsignor Shanahan, and the other Vatican group members who had started out that morning from Luanda.
Later that night in the hotel the pope met with Motupu and his delegation to discuss the next day’s itinerary. There was considerable disagreement between Bellotti and Motupu regarding the big event planned for the visit to Kinshasa, capital of the Congo Republic. It was here that the Russian Church was making its steadiest gains, picking up where Orthodoxy had left off in 1991 with the fall of Soviet Communism.
“We are committed to a meeting with the patriarch and Bishop Yussotov in Kinshasa before the pope leaves Africa,” Motupu reminded the Vatican group gathered in the Luanda hotel suite.
“Not necessarily,” Tim Shanahan reminded them. “It was left open to us to decide and notify them.”
“We are finding it difficult to operate in Congo,” Motupu complained, “ever since our bishop and the Europeans, including all Catholic Relief organizations, were forced to leave in late 1998. That was the third time the rebels attacked key cities in the Congo and put in a new ruler. We have been unable to reconsolidate our infrastructure in that state.”
“Why is it we can be the dominant influence everywhere else?” Bellotti asked.
“Eminenza,” Shanahan began to explain again, “when the third replacement in the power structure in the Congo started in late summer 1998, the foreign ministers of the African countries in the central region were invited in to help shape the new leadership. Almost every one of these ministers represented African countries that had been ‘liberated’ by Communist terrorists and were ruled by Communist-empowered dictatorships.
“The most powerful influences exerted on the third Congo government came from Zimbabwe, still ruled by Communist dictator Robert Mugabe. With Russian backing and a warped and emotional view in America of black democracy, Mugabe overthrew the moderate black African Rhodesian leadership, replacing it with a dictatorship which has lasted twenty-one years. The same, to a greater or lesser extent, is true of the other African states, which sent their representatives to the Congo. In short, a third new dictatorship is now established in Congo and the whites who fled will not be warmly accepted back. It was then that the patriarch and his Orthodox Church were made welcome. After all—bear this in mind—Alexis II had proved his loyalty to Communism by refusing to attend the funeral ceremonies in 1998, sponsored by Boris Yeltsin and his new government, for the czar and his family, executed by the Communists eighty years before.”
Motupu nodded agreement with Shanahan’s historical account. “So, with all these Communist-oriented ministers influencing the Congo of late 1998, the old Russian Bolsheviks turned crypto-capitalist themselves—brought their church in with them. Now we find it almost impossible to reestablish what had been the Roman Catholic Church of the old Belgian Congo. You will see for yourself. The Russians are gaining a new foothold in Africa, their church growing dominant. The areas of the diamond mines and the oil reserves are fast changing to a Russian Orthodox orientation.”
“Do we really have the resources and people willing to devote their lifetimes to the struggle for Africa?” Bellotti questioned. “From what I’ve seen in these two days, I have to ask if this continent is going to be worth it.” The Vatican cardinal shook his head in disgust. “It appears to be one big disease center, which gets worse because the people procreate out of wedlock and spread their deadly viruses. Why not leave it to the Russian Orthodox? Africa will keep them tied down for generations.”
“Unfortunately, your argument, on the surface, has merit. I’m sure Robitelli would agree,” Motupu replied. “However, this continent is too large and important to be written off by the world’s largest religious sector. I believe we should meet with the patriarch as proposed by both sides in Rome. We, after all, are the only force between him and eventual religious control south of the Sahara. And nothing short of a nuclear holy war will shake off the Islamic fundamentalism of the Arab world. Do you agree, Bill?”
All eyes turned to the pope, who was the authoritative figure that ultimately decided all questions one way or the other. “We must not allow the Orthodox Church to destroy our work here in Africa. John Paul II has warned that the Orthodox pose one of the greatest dangers to the future of the Roman Catholic Church. If we lay down in Africa, where will we not lay down? Let us meet with the patriarch and his bishop,” Bill Kelly answered decisively. Then to Motupu, “Confirm the arrangements, Gus.”
* * *
Upon landing at the large modern airport in Kinshasa, it was difficult for the pope and his cardinals and advisers to visualize the strife that had plagued Congo’s last five years. Three dictators had been ousted by military alliances between the rebels and the leaders of neighboring and nearby countries, most notably Rwanda and Zimbabwe.
The pope and his advisers realized that United States influence had waned seriously. The diamond cartel, led by former smugglers now known as “New York financiers,” could no longer count on American or South African power to back up their regulating the flow of diamonds to world markets from the Congo.
The Russian diamond merchants, on the other hand, had the backing of their government and the newly empowered Russian Orthodox Church. In the Congo countryside this extended down to the level of actual mining and collection. A different brand of Communism was flourishing this time under a directorate of profit-minded leaders advancing behind their Church among the people. Had Soviet Communists followed this concept instead of atheism, their influence around the world might have prevailed.
* * *
There was the usual crowd of news media meeting the pope’s entourage, their cameras rolling and flashing. Bill was greeted in French by the minister of the interior.
“Your Holiness, welcome to the Democratic Republic of Congo. Anything we can do to make your visit a pleasant one, please call me. Cardinal Moputu knows how to reach me.” However, each member of the delegation was asked to produce a passport, which was closely scrutinized before being handed back.
“We understand that you wish to visit Kindu in the countryside, where there was once a large Catholic diocese and which is, incidentally, a center for diamond mining and export,” the minister murmured.
Motupu now took the lead. “We are not interested in commerce, Minister. But we would like to see what has happened at some of our larger parishes. During the last two revolutions most of our priests were forced to leave by the rebels. Many disappeared, maybe killed. His Holiness hopes we can restore the Church to its former preeminence here in Congo.”
“I understand you are going to visit with the patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church.” A mocking ivory smile cracked the minister’s dark face. “Perhaps he will offer some suggestions on how you can restore the Church here.”
“Ah, Timothy,” the Russian bishop greeted him pleasantly. “I have been looking forward to renewing our acquaintanceship. The patriarch has asked me to bring His Holiness and all of you to his residence here. Everybody can have a good discussion about the future.”
Cardinal Bellotti pushed forward. “We have not yet made up our minds that a meeting with the patriarch would be productive.” Then, looking at Motupu, “This excursion has been poorly planned.”
Still smiling and genial, Bishop Yussotov put forth a hand. “Cardinal Bellotti, we are particularly pleased to have you here representing Vatican traditions.”
In spite of himself, Bellotti was pleased. “Bishop Yussotov, I presume? You see we have not decided whether a meeting with the patriarch is in order just yet. We planned to see something of the Congo today, visit one of our remaining parishes…” He paused as a black cleric in the tropical attire of a monsignor came up to them.
Motupu took a step forward and embraced him. “I was worried for a moment there, Monsignor Nabila. I expected you to be out front with the minister when we deplaned.” To the others Motupu explained, “Monsignor Francois Nabila is protecting our faith here in Kinshasa.”
“And fine work he is doing,” Yussotov said heartily, “against great odds.”
At that point Bill Kelly moved forward to take charge. “Monsignor Nabila, may I call you Frank? It’s good to meet you.” Then, turning to the Russian, “Bishop, I am pleased to meet you also. I was unable to meet you in Rome, though Monsignor Shanahan gave me an account of what happened.”
“Your Holiness, now that we are all here in this foreign land—neutral territory, you might say—I hope you and the patriarch will come to some agreement on a religious plan for this huge continent which dwarfs even Mother Russia.”
Pope Peter looked about him, saw the array of power lined up, and made a fast decision on his own. “This appears to be the propitious time, Bishop Yussotov. Our agenda didn’t quite read this way, but there is no time like the present. I believe Monsignor Nabila has transportation available? If you will lead the way we will follow you to the patriarch.”
Kinshasa seemed calm and well ordered. There was new construction along almost every block as they entered the city from the airport. Motupu, the pope, and Monsignor Nabila sat in the back of an old but serviceable sedan. In the front Tim Shanahan was seated beside the driver; the rest of the Vatican group were in the following car.
“I’ll ask Francois to tell you more about our problems,” Motupu suggested.
“Yes. A former Belgian, French-speaking Catholic country. How did we lose it, Frank?” the pope asked.
“Corruption was always considerable, but over the past four or five years, with three dictators in a row, it became so pervasive that only Russians could adapt, and then thrive in the atmosphere.” Nabila laughed dryly. “Cardinal Monassari—‘Patsy,’ as he became known to us all—alone understood how to get along with the second and third dictator and with the Russians. He kept our foothold in place. He could, how do you say, ‘operate.’”
The pope turned to Motupu. “Maybe we can use Patsy to help us get reestablished.”
Tim Shanahan laughed. “Old Patsy met with the Mad Monk in Rome.”
“Well, let’s see what we can learn from the patriarch.”
“We’re almost at his rectory, or whatever they call their quarters,” Nabila said. “I know it only from the outside. Never been inside. I can tell you that there are a large number of people around here that have nothing to do with Church matters.”
Yussotov was waiting outside the large, heavy wooden door of a residence that could have come directly out of nineteenth-century Brussels or Paris. It swung open, and two young men in white suits and clerical collars were standing inside. Yussotov led the pope, Shanahan, Motupu, and Bellotti into the cool, dark wooden interior and to the back of the structure and then paused outside another heavy door. “I will introduce you first, Your Holiness, and then the others.”
They were led into what Bill Kelly characterized as the throne room. When the patriarch stood up from the ornate seat to greet his callers, he looked somehow frail beside the towering Pope Peter II. Beside the patriarch stood a handsome young blond woman dressed in a dark business suit with a thin black cravat circling a lace collar. The patriarch said a few words in Russian, which the young woman translated into a welcome speech in flawless English.
The patriarch did not hold out his hand but rather bowed to the pope, who returned the gesture. The patriarch was well known for his anti-Semitic, anti-Catholic, and anti-American rhetoric from his days as bishop of Leningrad in the old USSR. Even the Russian Synod of Bishops deferred to him for fear of reprisal. The fact that the pope was an American caused the patriarch to be doubly suspicious. The other visitors from Rome were introduced and bowed to the Russian primate, then took seats offered to them by Yussotov. They formed a semicircle around Alexis, who sat down, his comely interpreter standing by his side.
“I am glad we could meet here, in a place foreign to all of us. It is strange that this once Roman Catholic stronghold has passed over to our faith,” Alexis began, pausing for the translation. “Constant civil wars over the past five years leave this country in political strife even now,” he continued. “As it happened, we found a religious void which we have been trying to fill with some help from our Russian government.”
“You have been lucky in that respect,” the pope replied.
“Yes, the old hard-line Communists in our government took too long to realize what we could do to advance our national influence. They thought in terms of revolutionary terror tactics. But atheism cannot win in the long run.” The patriarch sighed as his words were translated.
“We are aware how you established your stronghold after the last Congo revolution,” the pope interjected. “All governments in the area which owe their existence, in part at least, to Communist terror helped the newest regime in Congo. Do you think, as happened in Russia itself five years ago, that all other religions but the Orthodox will be banned?” He paused and fixed the patriarch with a steady stare directly into the eyes. “While it may well be that throwing Protestantism out was a healthy move, you should never have banned Catholicism. After all, you allow Islam its place in Russia.”
“We couldn’t afford a holy war in Russia. There are too many Muslims in our country. And when you count the Muslim countries in Africa, well, we would be overrun right here by Islamic fundamentalist fanatics if we banished Islam from Russia.”
“But you have no such fear—here that is—of Christians, Catholic or Protestant, overrunning your establishment?”
After listening to the translation the patriarch smiled smugly and nodded toward his bishop. “As Yussotov negotiated with your people in Rome, why don’t we simply agree on territorial imperatives. Leave the Congo to us. Keep your missionaries and clergy from proselytizing the people here. They have already forgotten all their catechisms in the past five years. We will see to the souls of the Congo people as we are doing now. We will keep any creeping Islamic culture out. You fight it in your own way elsewhere in Africa. I understand you want to visit the Congo diamond-producing areas. Why? Why not leave the Congo to us, and we will leave the rest to you? There is no point in a three-way religious war here between Islam, you, and us. Africa is big enough for the three of us if we leave each other alone.”
As the serious young woman made the translation, the pope smiled indulgently at his staff.
“What do you think, Gus?” the pope asked when the translation was complete. “I think we should leave the Congo for the time being. Further exploration of reestablishing ourselves at this moment is useless and may be dangerous.” Pope Peter II was fond of playing the political game after his talk with Ed Kirby.
The interpr
eter whispered the words in the patriarch’s ear. He nodded and his smile broadened. “Good advice, Your Holiness.”
“So we leave Congo’s diamonds and oil to the Russian sphere of influence?” Pope Peter half stated, half asked.
“Their state is behind their religion, and at last the state has learned how to fuse both advantages together,” Tim Shanahan declared. “I do not believe that there are many practical Russians who are avowed atheists today.”
“I see you are also practical men.” The patriarch nodded approvingly on hearing the translation. “Tempting though it might be, I would advise our state to go no further than this in Africa. At least not without careful planning. I hope you will do likewise.”
As the interpreter completed her translation, the patriarch’s body language signaled that the conference was over except for one more matter. “We have members of our Church who are medical practitioners, doctors even, who work throughout Africa when there are medical emergencies. I understand you met one of our doctors yesterday. Dr. Marija Mainovic?”
Bill Kelly nodded warily, sensing that this was more than a casual question.
“She informed us of your slight accident,” Bishop Yussotov murmured. “We keep in touch several times a day with our people in the field. If you decide to cooperate, you can ask our good doctor not to practice in your areas.”
“We need all the medical help we can get,” the pope replied, glancing down at the red splotch on the back of his right hand where the boy in Rakai had bitten him the day before.
“I can assure you that there will be no more hostility on the part of any of our medical people when they may be working in your areas. I am deeply sorry if in any way our loyal Serbian doctor contributed to your possible exposure to the virus.”
Even before the translation the pope could not fail to notice the irony in the patriarch’s tone of voice.