Magnificat

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “He’s right,” said Cardinal Aquilino. “We have to answer to God.” He stood, very straight and impressive in spite of his age. “Whether we believe in Him or not.”

  “That will do,” said Cardinal Hetre bluntly. His headache was back, ravaging his skull. “As His deputies we must endeavor to…discern His wishes. But this—this is so unlikely.”

  “Electing her twice is sufficient for me, just because it is so unlikely,” said Cardinal Aquilino. “Until we know what she has decided, I think we had best stop anticipating trouble. We’re going to have to answer to someone for her election, and I, for one, would prefer it was only public opinion we have to deal with, and not the ire of God.” He started toward the door. “I have been hearing rumors that some of you conspired to keep this woman from ever reaching Rome. Most of my sources are unreliable and sensationalistic, but a few are circumspect and dependable. I am concerned, Eminences. I am prepared to believe the rumors are false, if you will assure me such is the case. Otherwise, I must be on the alert for those of you who have made themselves the foes of God.”

  Cardinal Jung said nothing; Cardinal Hetre made an unconvincing laugh. “Those are the mutterings of Protestants,” he told Cardinal Aquilino. “They are always prepared to think the worst of us.”

  “Protestants,” repeated Cardinal Aquilino. “Of course. When in doubt, say the Protestants are responsible, as they so often claim Catholics are.” He paused at the door. “This is a very difficult time. We must not let the turmoil overwhelm us.” With that, he opened the door. “We will have her answer by this time tomorrow, gentlemen. We can decide what is to be done then. I only pray God knows what He’s doing.”

  * * *

  Dmitri Karodin picked up his personal telephone, surprised to have a call at this very early hour. He said good-morning and waited to hear what his highly placed informant in Beijing had learned.

  “According to what Zhuang Renxin told the government investigators from Beijing, the Cardinal came to inform her that she has been elected Pope.”

  Karodin slammed down the phone.

  * * *

  Clancy McEllton looked at his uncle, thinking that poor old Neddy was getting much too thin. He had probably been fasting, thought Clancy with disgust. Punishment of the body was one of the many things about the Church that had caused Clancy to disbelieve at an early age. “I’ve been trying to visit you for a long time,” he said, doing his best to sound friendly and solicitous.

  Father McEllton, in his white habit, smiled a bit but remained silent.

  “When you left the Vatican, right after the election of Celestine, we were worried that you might have had…something unpleasant, something, perhaps, political happen to you? When you sent no word, my father thought you might have been pressured in some way.” It was as much of an opening as he dared to give. He pressed on. “I’ve been truly worried; the whole family’s been worried.”

  Father McEllton lowered his eyes and made a gesture of apology.

  “You can’t blame us for feeling the way we do, not with all the rumors flying, and the way the Cardinals have been carrying on,” Clancy insisted, warming to his task. “And now with all the hesitation about the new Pope, well, we can’t help but wonder if…you were pressured into leaving.”

  Father McEllton shook his head twice.

  “But you just…left. For no good reason. You were in an enviable position and then you’re here in this damned.… I don’t mean damned, really, but it’s.… You enter this monastery without telling anyone why. It doesn’t make any sense, unless someone ordered you here. Is someone working against you? I know how political things get with the Cardinals. And with two dead Popes so close together, it must be pretty scrambled with the Vatican right now. Did they force you into leaving? Were you ordered to come here?”

  Again Father McEllton shook his head twice.

  Clancy wanted to yell at his uncle in order to get him to speak. He had never been so frustrated. “You can tell me, Uncle Neddy. I won’t spread it around, but I want to be able to let the family know you’re all right. I can do that without betraying any confidence, really I can. I’ll put everyone’s mind at ease if you’ll just tell me something. Anything. There’s some of them who think you sought sanctuary here, so you wouldn’t be a target any more. That’s not true, is it?” He waited, growing angry.

  Father McEllton fingered the rosary depending from his belt.

  “Uncle Neddy, for Crissake—I don’t mean that, but…you’ve got to tell me something.” He rose from the plain, straight-backed chair and crossed the small white-washed room to stand beside his father’s brother. “What’s going on? What have they done to you?” If only he could learn something to tell Mister Greene of International Vision, Ltd. His most recent conversation with Mister Greene had left him with the same feeling he had had in the field, when things were about to change for the worse. Clancy had detected an urgency in Mister Greene, and through him from the International Vision, Ltd. They had raised their offer again, promising him an additional sixty thousand dollars if he could discover what had been going on in the conclave.

  Father McEllton rose from his chair and started toward the inner door, his face averted.

  “You’re being coerced, aren’t you? Just tell me and I’ll get you some help. You won’t have to hide out here like the cops were after you. You don’t have to knuckle under to them. Someone must have ordered you to get out and shut up. You can tell me who, can’t you? You can tell me that much.” He was afraid to follow his uncle, afraid that the priest would not consent to see him again if he did.

  Father McEllton opened the door and sketched a blessing in Clancy’s direction.

  “Uncle Neddy!” Clancy protested, watching helplessly as Father McEllton left him alone in the small, white-washed room.

  * * *

  Shortly before sunset, Vitale, Cardinal Cadini met Charles, Cardinal Mendosa near the entrance to the Sistine Chapel; he was dressed in his tweed jacket and open-necked polo shirt and carried a large book on the history of China. “At least it’s a pleasant evening. Are you nervous?”

  Charles, Cardinal Mendosa wore his favorite dark suit, silk shirt and cowboy boots. “Petrified.”

  “But it’s in God’s hands now,” said Cardinal Cadini with a splendid smile. “You have done everything humanly possible—”

  “Short of kidnapping her,” Cardinal Mendosa interjected. “But I wouldn’t have known how to get her through customs,” he added, his joke not very successful.

  “Yes; but that would not have made our offer very attractive, would it.” He looked up at the sky. “I’ve been reading about China today, in case she accepts. I think it would be sensible if more of us did so.”

  “Very likely,” said Cardinal Mendosa, still distracted.

  “Jet lag?” Cardinal Cadini suggested.

  “Yeah, but that’s not what’s getting to me,” Cardinal Mendosa said, fidgeting with his tie-clasp. “We’ll know sometime tonight, I guess.”

  “Would you like to pray about it?” Cardinal Cadini asked. “God won’t mind if we ask Him for a little more help.”

  Cardinal Mendosa shrugged, his manner slightly brusque. “God’s heard more than enough from me in the past few days. I’ve been pestering Him half to death. He’s probably just as glad to have me shut up for a while. Besides, the others are doubtless putting their two cents worth in with Him. I’d get lost in the shuffle.” He rocked back on his heels. “Don’t be annoyed. It’s not you.” There was no way for him to explain the visions that had filled what little sleep he had been able to have since his plane landed. He was certain now that Zhuang Renxin would be elevated, that she had been chosen to reign as Pope since her birth. It was not her coronation that troubled Cardinal Mendosa—it was what would come after.

  “What did you think of her? Really?” asked Cardinal Cadini.

  He did not look at the short, rotund Italian; instead he narrowed his eyes and stared into the remote distance.
“I thought she was very responsible, very…very dutiful.” He pressed his hands together, then dropped them. “She’s not the kind to take any wheeling and dealing. It’s not her style. She won’t take flattery very well, either. She doesn’t trust sycophants. She…she’s very sensible and…and I think she’s compassionate.”

  “And what do you base that on?” Cardinal Cadini prompted, more to keep Cardinal Mendosa talking than to hear his explanation.

  “Faith.” The Texan looked at Cardinal Cadini, and took the greatest chance he dared. “I think God knew what He wanted when He nominated her.”

  “That’s quite a recommendation,” said Cardinal Cadini. He began to stroll down the side of the Vatican Museum. “My physician insists that I walk for twenty minutes every day. Nothing strenuous, but a gentle, steady pace.”

  “Fine with me,” said Cardinal Mendosa, who was relieved that Cardinal Cadini had not pressed him. “You set the pace, I’ll tag along.”

  This suited Cardinal Cadini, who ambled his way, ignoring those moving faster than he. “I suppose you’re aware that Cardinal Jung is trying to mount a real opposition to the Chinese woman,” he said conversationally. “While you were gone he stepped up his efforts tremendously.”

  “I thought he might,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

  “Strange company he’s been keeping, too, because of it. He’s made a strong play for the third world Cardinals: Africa and Latin America, for political reasons. It’s not his usual clique. He’s trying to get Cardinal Hetre to side with him, because he wants someone who runs with the liberals to—”

  “Cardinal Hetre isn’t a liberal,” Cardinal Mendosa protested.

  “He’s often perceived that way, and you know it,” said Cardinal Cadini, nodding as a group of red-cassocked seminarians hurried past them. “Do you remember what it was like, being one of them?”

  “Not really; I never was like them. I didn’t study in Rome,” he reminded Cardinal Cadini, who was already aware of it.

  “I did, for a year,” said Cardinal Cadini. “I got into a terrible argument with another of the seminarians, and I was the one asked to go elsewhere to study. It was the most sensible thing I ever did.” He beamed at Cardinal Mendosa. “Tell me some more about our future Pope.”

  “You’re so certain?” Cardinal Mendosa asked.

  “Well, you are, so I am taking a page from your book.” He smiled merrily, his eyes showing a return of the twinkle they usually held. “How will she cope with the College of Cardinals and the Curia?”

  “She won’t like them very much,” said Cardinal Mendosa bluntly. “She doesn’t suffer foolishness well.”

  “What about fools?” asked Cardinal Cadini.

  “She was very patient with me and the two men with me. That says something in her favor, doesn’t it? She asked sensible questions.” He studied the backs of his hands. “She thinks the religion is confusing and the bureaucracy is cumbersome. If she agrees, she has asked me to return to China to teach her more. Willie Foot says he will go with me.”

  “He’d be an idiot if he didn’t. He’ll do a book about this and make a fortune.” Cardinal Cadini beamed. “Other people will do the same thing, no matter how this turns out, but at least Willie will get it right. That’s something to be pleased about.”

  “You’re sounding downright optimistic,” said Cardinal Mendosa, unable to stave off the nervousness that possessed him. “I’ve been wondering if she’ll be able to call, and how the call will be arranged. Dame Leonie said she would take care of everything, but.…” He looked east, toward the river and away from the bulk of the Vatican.

  “Dame Leonie must know what she’s doing,” said Cardinal Cadini, paying little attention to Cardinal Mendosa’s edginess. “Yes. I am optimistic. I think that the Church needs this crisis, don’t you?”

  Cardinal Mendosa stopped walking and stared at Cardinal Cadini. “What do you mean?”

  His expression remained as affable as ever, but there was an unaccustomed somberness in his voice. “Oh, that the Church has been coasting since John XXIII. We’ve been burrowing for the seventeenth century, as if we could regress. We’ve learned to use computers but we do it with medieval minds. We’re approaching another millennium, and the world is constantly in upheaval. Look how much Europe has changed in the last decade, and how much more change is coming. If we do not share that upheaval, we will be buried in the rubble. And we will deserve it.”

  “Magistrate Zhuang might be more than anyone bargained for,” Cardinal Mendosa warned, with a faint smile.

  “So much the better,” said Cardinal Cadini.

  * * *

  The phone call came while Dame Leonie was having breakfast. She set her coffee aside and answered the summons from her butler.

  “Yes, thank you, Harding,” she said as she took the receiver. “Leonie Purcell here,” and she wished her caller a pleasant good morning in Chinese.

  “To you as well, Madame Ambassadress,” said Zhuang Renxin. “Have you a recording device, as you informed me yesterday you would?”

  “Yes, Worthy Magistrate,” said Dame Leonie. “I have and it is working.”

  “Very good,” said Magistrate Zhuang. “I must ask you to relay this recording to Cardinal Mendosa in Rome. I want you to tell him that I have considered everything he has told me very carefully.”

  “And you have reached a decision?” Dame Leonie said, doing her best not to hold her breath.

  “Yes. I said I would inform him this morning, and with your assistance, I will.” She paused. “Please inform Cardinal Mendosa that providing he can arrange for me to come to Rome, I will accept the office I have been offered.”

  Dame Leonie wanted to shriek happily and bounce into the air, but she merely said, “This is excellent news, Worthy Magistrate. I am honored to be able to relay it for you.”

  “I will inform my government what has taken place, and then put the problem of leaving China in the hands of others.” She sounded resigned but not despondent. “You have been very kind to help me, Dame Leonie.”

  “It is my pleasure, Worthy Magistrate,” said Dame Leonie as she heard Zhuang Renxin hang up. Then she put down her receiver, took the tape from the recorder next to the phone and hurried to her office. Before she placed her call to Cardinal Mendosa at the Vatican, she faxed a short message to Willie Foot: the widow says yes.

  Chapter 11

  An argument camouflaged as a discussion was taking place in the Cardinal’s private reading room in the Vatican library; it had begun shortly before midnight, and now, nearly two hours later, showed no sign of abating. Cardinal Gemme and Cardinal Jung had squared off early and were still throwing dogma and precedents at each other, seconded or decried by about thirty of their fellows. None of them admitted they were waiting for word from China.

  Charles, Cardinal Mendosa did not find this bickering amusing, and, after an hour of it, had left for his own quarters. He admitted being restless, though he was utterly convinced that Zhuang Renxin would agree to reign as Pope. He knelt at his prie-dieu, making no effort to block the visions that had crowded his mind all day. It was a relief to experience them, for denying their existence was a greater strain than perceiving them. Even the one vision that troubled him the most, that ended in confusion and tremendous light, did not upset him this evening. He whispered, “‘Lord, now let Thy servant depart in peace,” taking great comfort in the familiar plea. The tranquil Asian face surmounted by the Papal tiara filled his thoughts. Catholics, he observed as he prayed, were about to meet their Confucius—or Buddha.

  Father Andreas Viernes knocked on the door to Cardinal Mendosa’s apartments a short while later. “Eminence,” he said very quietly, still too awed by his superior to be a very effective secretary. “There is a phone call for you.”

  Cardinal Mendosa crossed himself, smiling as he did it. He rose. “Coming,” he called out, and headed toward the door in long strides that looked out of place in his dark cassock. He opened the door and beamed at F
ather Viernes. “Where?”

  “Your office.” Father Viernes moved awkwardly, as if he did not want to get too close to the Cardinal. “It’s long distance.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Cardinal Mendosa, surging past his new secretary and hastening to his office. As he entered the door he reached across the desk and picked up the receiver. “This is Cardinal Mendosa.”

  “Good morning, Cardinal,” said Dame Leonie Purcell. “I have a tape recording to play for you.” Without further ado, she replayed the call she had received less than ten minutes before.

  “Brief and to the point,” said Cardinal Mendosa when Dame Leonie had translated the short conversation. “Thank you, thank you, Dame Leonie. I’ll need copies of that, with translation. You and my secretary can work out the details of shipping. In the meantime I will have to inform my…colleagues that the question is out of our hands at last.” He paused. “I am very grateful to you, Madame Ambassadress.”

  “Nonsense, Your Eminence,” she replied with as much sincerity as good manners. “It is part of my function, as finding this woman is part of yours.” She chuckled suddenly. “Besides, it’s been very exciting. Most of the time my duties are nowhere near as interesting.”

  “If you insist,” said Cardinal Mendosa with a welling of affection for the British Ambassadress to the People’s Republic of China Hong Kong District.

  “I’m afraid I do, Your Eminence,” she said as demurely as she was able. “There may be other times when it will no longer be the case.”

  “Those times may come sooner than you think,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “We will still have to arrange for her to come here.” He sighed as he considered what would have to be done to start the process, “I suppose I’ll have to make formal application to visit Magistrate Zhuang officially. That promises to be tricky. And Premiere Zuo must be properly notified. Although how we’re to manage that, I don’t know.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start rattling on. Let me say a formal thank you, assure you of proper acknowledgement of your services in this quest, and go break the news to the others.”