by Ray Flynn
Ryan, summoned by Jan, ran next door to stop the fight. When the police came, the owner, Chris Doherty, who just happened to come in, told them it was only a misunderstanding. The police looked at the Swiss guard with blood coming from his nose and a cut above his eye. “He looks more like Swiss cheese than a Swiss guard,” said Officer Ed McGuillan. But the interruption took Ryan’s mind off the annulment issue, for which Ryan was grateful, especially so close to his wedding day.
* * *
Saturday, July 7, was a big day for the Kelly family. At the beginning of the wedding ceremony, Pope Peter stood next to his son at the altar, looking out over the rustic Church. In the front row on the groom’s side sat Roger and Meghan. Beside them were Senator Lane and his wife. The row directly behind them was filled with the Kirby family—Ed, Kathy, Maureen, and the rest of the children.
“I haven’t had a chance yet to personally thank the senator for his part in saving you, son,” Bill said quietly.
“You know he admires you, Dad,” Ryan replied.
“I know, son.”
“It was his clout that saved me and the crew,” Ryan said.
“The senator and both his wives are in quite a bind.”
“I know, Dad. It’s too bad, seeing what he’s done for you.”
Bill glanced up the aisle. “Look now. No bride was ever as beautiful as your Paula.”
Ryan looked up and smiled at Paula, on her father’s arm, sweeping majestically toward them. All was well. His mind was immediately cleared of Lane’s problem upon the vision of his bride.
The crowds of sightseers surrounding St. Margaret’s Church were backed up all the way to the Cape bridge. Police and traffic control guards had been sent in from Plymouth.
* * *
The crusty, outspoken society editor of the Boston Herald, Susan Downs, muttered comments on the wedding scene as she elbowed her way through the crowd. “A beautiful Saturday, July fourth weekend afternoon down here is crowded enough already, but now you have the biggest event on the Cape since JFK’s election or, for that matter, his wedding in Newport.” She fought her way forward and finally captured a close-up photograph of the pope, his son, and his new daughter-in-law.
The reception was held near the dock of the Kelly home in a big tent. The music was a combination of Polish, Irish, Swiss, Italian, and American songs. Noel Henry’s Band provided it, and Paddy Reilly made a special appearance, singing “Ave Maria” and “Our Lady of Knock,” in homage to the late Frank Patterson, a favorite of the Kellys. He later sang “My Son” and “Wind Beneath My Wings” at the reception while Bill Kelly danced with his daughters. Few guests could help inadvertently thinking to themselves that, given the way he looked, this might well be their last dance together.
Later Brian Comiskey and Bill relaxed on the porch in the same rocking chairs they had sat in the previous October 4. They looked out at the sea and listened to the laughter and music coming from the tent near the foot of the dock. Bill asked Meghan to collect Bishop Sean Patrick, Ed Kirby, Gus, and Tim to join them on the porch. They talked about the encyclical, the pope’s health, and his happy family. Bill did not want to upset anyone on this special and joyful day, but Brian had to leave that night for an important service in Glasgow. Bill wanted to talk more openly with this special group of trusted advisers and friends about the future.
* * *
The following day Bill and his family, along with Gus, Tim, Ed and Kathy Kirby, and Dr. Biaggio left by the same chartered commercial plane for Rome. They had great fun reminiscing about the wedding and the fireworks display over Cape Cod Canal, which they had witnessed from their front lawn. No serious palaver broke the spell.
The plane landed in Rome, and the pope was transported directly to Gemelli Hospital, where he stayed overnight for a complete checkup. At some point, he realized, he would have to be up front with the public about his health. The wedding is over. I should level with my friends and the Church, he resolved.
43
HOME IS THE CAPTAIN, HOME FROM THE SEA
It was a stiflingly hot morning on August 13 in Rome when Brian Cardinal Comiskey disembarked after his Aer Lingus flight from Dublin, Ireland. Rome in August is usually the last place in the world that clergy would go. Everyone at the Vatican leaves around July 10, and if they can help it, they are not seen again until early September.
The pope himself travels to the mountains in northern Italy for a ten-day retreat, then goes to Castel Gandolfo, his villa in the hills some thirty miles outside Rome. Generally he would travel to the castle by helicopter, especially when so many tourists escape by car to the popular and beautiful Lake Albano region, which surrounds the papal summer home.
When Brian picked up his bags, the rector of the Pontifical Irish College, Monsignor John Fleming, met him. They went first to the college for a meeting to discuss future construction plans. Brian was obviously distracted. He was constantly thinking of his friend, the pope, Billy Kelly.
Brian did, however, present John with a beautiful leather-bound photo album of the pope’s recent visit to Ireland for the college library. Cardinal Comiskey, himself a graduate of the college, told John that the pope was going to give the city of Dublin a marble sculpture of Irish children to be permanently placed in Phoenix Park. Dublin was going to present a large color painting of the pope and his entire family at Knock, with Our Lady of Knock looking down at them and St. Patrick himself behind her. “It will be beautiful, and after I spoke with the Holy Father on the phone yesterday, he indicated that he would like to donate it to the Pontifical Irish College. Isn’t that great!”
“Oh, glory to God,” said John. “It will look wonderful in the main lobby right alongside Oliver Plunkett. How is the pope, by the way? We hear all kinds of rumors. You don’t know what to believe.”
“I am heading up to Castel Gandolfo for a couple of days to visit him. I guess we all hear the same things. No secrets anymore, God knows, with all the media attention his health is getting,” Brian sighed.
“Would you like me to drive you there?” John offered.
“No, no, thank you. I’ll take the train. It’s my favorite ride and I can grab a taxi when I get to the station. I’m told that there is a lot of press at Liberty Square, so nobody will recognize me if I duck in the side entrance rather than enter through the main door,” the cardinal replied.
“I can at least drive you to the Stazione Terminali, but call me if you need anything. It’s quiet around here, so I’m available, Eminence.”
Off Brian went with an overnight bag and another photo album that he had proudly carried with him all the way from Ireland. He was going to give the second one to the Kelly children. When he got to the town, the square was crowded with tourists and TV trucks and the traffic couldn’t have been worse. But it was cooler in the hills.
Thank God I went by train, Brian thought to himself. He avoided press recognition by walking around the main street leading up to the front door, then slipping into the side entrance. Inside the villa Brian knocked on the door of the study and found Bill sitting in a big leather chair looking out at the beautiful lake below. His son Roger was standing at the window watching something through a large telescope. As Brian gazed at Bill, countless memories of happy days raced through his head. He remembered Bill teaching him how to hit a curve ball when they were at the seminary. Fishing trips on the Cape and the day he married Bill and Mary came rushing back to him with memories of the rugged, handsome fisherman he once knew, now a tired and frail man half himself.
They looked at each other, realizing what they both were thinking, and before they could say anything, Roger cried out, “Hey, Uncle Brian, look at this! You can see everything going on with this telescope. Kids water-skiing and even the mountainside villas and villages.”
Brian walked over to Bill and held his two hands, smiling warmly, looking into his eyes. “Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing just great now that you’re here. How was your
trip? Is it as hot in Eire as it is in Rome?”
They chattered a few minutes, and then Colleen came in and gave Brian a big hug. “Oh, Brian, it’s so good to see you again. We’re so happy that you can spend some time with us. It’s really peaceful and beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I used to come up this way years ago when I was down at the Pontifical Irish College. The British College had a summer place on the other side of the lake, and they would invite us up for picnics on Sundays after Mass. It was the first time I ever had a gin and tonic with one small ice cube.”
“You’re always great for stories,” said Bill. “Pull over a chair or get into something more comfortable. Your room is just down the corridor. I told them to leave the air conditioner on for you, but it’s not very cool. Not much electric power up here, you know, what with the girls’ hair dryers going all the time and Roger’s computer games. We hardly get enough power to see the hand in front of you.”
“What do you hear from the married couple?”
“They’re grand. So happy that everything turned out well at the wedding. You were great to come, Brian, all the way from Ireland, then back again and travel to Scotland.”
They talked for hours, Brian with gin and tonics, Bill sipping hot tea, stopping only when the nurse came in. She gave Bill a shot and left. The nurse made soup and sandwiches, but Bill only took a few sips of his soup. Colleen joined in the conversation and blushingly told them how fond she was of her Swiss guard, Jan. They ended the night with Brian leading them in the Rosary.
* * *
Next morning, after Mass in the chapel and breakfast, Brian said he was going to take Meghan and Roger water-skiing on the lake.
“Now, Roger, don’t go out very far,” Colleen entreated.
“You can see us if you look out the telescope over there by Dad’s window,” Roger suggested.
Colleen announced that she and Jan Christensen were going to drive around the lake and have lunch at a restaurant on the other side.
That evening there was a concert in the next town, so a couple of the nuns took the kids to it, but they were back in less than two hours.
“The kids have been great,” Bill said to Brian. “Not much doing around here for them; mostly older tourists.” He grinned broadly. “Colleen is happy, of course, with her Swiss guard on duty at her side.” He was silent a moment, then, “Tomorrow I have an appointment at the Gemelli with the doctors, at eleven. If you want to go with me, Brian, on the helicopter, you are welcome. There’s plenty of room.”
“Sure. I’d love to. Ed Kirby once told me how beautiful flying over Rome is in a helicopter, looking down at the ruins, the Appian Way, and the Colosseum.”
“I’m told that when you’re on the chopper, if you look closely, you can even see Molly Malone’s Pub in Trastevere, where you and other Irish lads used to sneak after study hours,” Colleen teased Brian.
“Who told you that? That’s a big fib!” Brian mocked shock at the accusation. “Sure you’d never see Molly’s from the sky. Our rector couldn’t find us from the ground.”
Marveling at his friend’s broad wit, Bill smiled with delight.
The helicopter landed on the grounds of the Gemelli Hospital, and Bill and Brian proceeded to the examination room, where two doctors from Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and two Italian medical specialists took blood tests and once again examined Bill. About two hours later Bill was wheeled into the doctors’ conference room, where Brian and Tim were waiting.
“Not much to tell you. No change. Yes, the pope is still losing weight, so get as much chicken soup and bread in him as you can. That will give him strength,” one of the doctors told Tim and Brian. “I would advise you to stay the night at the Vatican. It’s close and you don’t have to take the helicopter. I’ll drop by later. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here with us at the hospital, Bill?”
“No, I’d much rather be in my own bed,” Bill replied. “Besides, tomorrow is a big day, the feast of Our Lady of the Assumption. I’d like to tape a little message to all the pilgrims who will attend Mass at St. Peter’s and be at St. Peter’s Square at noontime. Let me tape it tonight, Tim, and have it ready for tomorrow, OK?” Bill seemed to light up as he gave Monsignor Shanahan instructions.
After dinner that evening, at the apostolic apartment, Bill sat in his old comfortable reclining armchair, and Colleen, who with Jan had driven back to the Vatican, sat next to him holding his hand. Meghan and Roger were watching TV. Brian was in the next room reading his prayers, and Tim was on the phone telling the doctor what Bill had eaten for dinner. Brian had been in and out of the room, but decided Bill would rather rest now and talk to Colleen.
Around nine o’clock, as Bill sat thinking and staring at the bookcase in his bedroom, he asked Colleen to get Brian.
“What’s up, Bill?” Brian asked as he entered the room.
“Please go over there to the bookcase and lift up the replica of Our Lady of Fatima with the three children. You’ll find a key. Take the key and go into my office. In my big desk, open the bottom right-hand drawer. There is a wooden box. I want you to open it and take out a folder that is marked ‘Avviso.’ Please bring it to me.”
Brian did exactly as Bill said. Colleen gave her father his glasses and he began to read. “When I’m finished rereading this, I want you to give it to the next pope, but don’t let anyone else see or read it. Capito? Understand?”
“Yes, Bill, I understand.” Brian walked over to the window and looked out over St. Peter’s Square. He could see several TV trucks at Via della Conciliazione getting ready to do the eleven o’clock news live. Brian thought how his life had intertwined with Bill’s. Bill and Brian had always been there for each other.
“When I first came to Boston, I didn’t know anybody.” Brian had told the story often. “A greenhorn from Ireland with no money. Bill got me a part-time job cleaning fish at a Jewish market in Newton.”
“Did you see the son at the wedding?” Colleen asked.
“Yes, I hardly recognized him.” Brian continued his reprise. “His father got his work out of your dad and me, and then we would hitchhike to your grandparents’ house down on the Cape and your grandmother would make fish chowder and crab cakes. I even had my own bed there. I remember the night we graduated from St. John’s and I was flying back to Ireland that same night. I’ll never forget the look on Bill’s face as he said good-bye to me at the airport. I felt so empty, like I’d lost everything. Then I pulled the rosary your dad gave me from my pocket and pressed my hand around it. Here it was the happiest day of my life, just graduated from St. John’s, and I’m on my way back home to see my family, get ordained, and celebrate my first Mass. Yet I couldn’t get your father’s face out of my mind. I remember not eating on the plane, just recalling all the days at school together. We were such close friends. I remember clearly the day your dad called to tell me he wanted to leave the priesthood and marry your mother.”
“Brian, Brian,” he heard the pope’s soft voice call.
“Oh, sorry, Bill, I was just reminiscing with Colleen. What is it?”
“Pull up that chair over there and sit down next to me. I’m a little tired, so if I doze off, I’ll finish the story tomorrow, OK?” After a moment Bill continue. “Brian, think back to the day you left the conclave and came to Buzzards Bay to tell me what had happened. Do you remember what I said when I first looked at you?”
“I’ll never forget it, and the look on your face.” The sense of awe Brian had felt at that moment last October was still pervasive. “You stared up at me while you were kneeling on the dock mending the nets and you said, ‘Oh, my God. So it’s true.’ You had this strange expression on your face. You were not very clear with me, Bill,” Brian went on. “But you made me understand that while you were out fishing, just before the sun came up, you had a vision. We thought it might have been something you ate. Fish not cooked enough, or whatever.”
“Well, Brian.” Bill reached out to take his hand whi
le still holding on to Colleen’s. “I’m sure Our Lady of Fatima appeared to me that early morning out at sea. I know it was she. I wasn’t afraid at all. I almost knew what she wanted me to do. The world and the family are divided, she said. She said more, but that was the main point. Her eyes held me for maybe a couple of minutes, and then the vision disappeared and the rosary which I had dropped onto the floor below my bunk was in my hand and it was beautiful and shiny, like the day you gave it to me. The blanket had slipped off me and even though I was sleeping with the porthole open I felt so warm. That was early October and it gets real cool out on Georges Bank.”
Bill was silent for a moment. Then, “When I later walked into the conclave, I could feel her standing next to me. Giving me strength to carry on.
“Now, Brian, I never felt like a saint or anything, just an average guy who had loved his wife, was gladdened by his children, and wanted to serve his Christ with all his heart and soul. Every day I would pray to Our Lady of Fatima, asking her how I could help my Church. I would ask her to please give me the grace to best serve Jesus Christ.
“Brian, I will always thank the Lord for all he has done for me. I’ve tried to live and spread his message of faith.”
Both Brian’s and Colleen’s eyes filled with tears as Bill seemed to be passing on to them a fateful message. It was noticeable to both Colleen and Brian that an intense enthusiasm resounded in Bill’s voice when he was talking about Our Lady. He would often look at the folder resting on his lap marked Avviso.
“This is the letter Pope John Paul II gave me, but its contents have never been publicly released. I have read it carefully.”
Bill did not divulge the specific contents of the avviso as he continued. “John Paul II is expressing his concern to all of us that we must stop the abuse of the spirit and the body. Yes, you are your brother’s keeper. You must not bypass the word of God in all that you do. At work, school, at home.”
