Music welled, underlining Reverend Marcus’ fervid address.
“Now we hear that this travesty of a Pope has lifted the rule of celibacy from the clergy, permitting Catholic priests to marry. We know that the rule of celibacy is a lie that the Catholic Church has forced on its people to control them and to keep the clergy from being able to minister properly to families. Yet after insisting on celibacy, this Chinese woman has stopped it. One letter, three-hundred-and-twenty-eight words long, and it’s ended. But does this mean relief, or is it something else? This ruling cuts at the very heart of the Roman Catholic dogma. The strictures against marriage have always demanded that Catholic priests be very dedicated; their idolatrous Church has been determined that the quality of men who uphold its teaching be of strong character. Now, thanks to this Chinese Communist, there is nothing to stop the most depraved of Catholics from entering the priesthood. Marriage will be allowed, and men who have no business entering the priesthood will undertake it for the access it will give them to foolish women.”
The lighting was adjusted so that Reverend Marcus was caught in a halo of white and amber.
“How many times have I described to you the abuses of the confessional, where damned sinners are at the mercy of priests to be given some hope of salvation? Now there are more reasons to fear, for married men will not have the oath of celibacy to counter their animal desires, spurred on by the confessions of adulterous women. What will keep them from committing the very sin they hear confessed? They will know that the women are capable of such sins, and will use that knowledge to seduce them to further sin.” He opened the huge Bible on the desk before him. “How many times does the Good Book tell us that men are full of sin and that the flesh of women is a snare and a prison?”
His background music welled. “I say that those of true Christian faith know the signs that signal the return of Christ to Earth again. How can we watch the destruction of our ancient adversary, the Roman Catholic Church, and not see God’s Plan in every disastrous decision this woman makes?”
Cardinal Mendosa cocked his head to the side as he watched the telecast. “What a delightful ol’ boy he is,” he said to his visitor.
Sally Wentworth of the Dallas Courier shook her head. “He’s been after your Pope An for the last week, ever since she came out in favor of priests marrying and women being priests.”
“Oh, it’s more than ‘came out in favor’, Sally. You make it sound like a Sierra Club endorsement, and that doesn’t describe it at all. Pope An has issued a Papal Bull, and that’s a couple orders of magnitude heavier than coming out in favor.” He leaned back in his chair. “I wish I could’ve been there to hear what the Cardinals had to say when she told them.”
“For the record?” Sally asked, her little tape-recorder at the ready.
“Oh, sure,” said Cardinal Mendosa at once. “Spread it all over the wire services, for all I care. I want everyone in Texas to know I’m all for Pope An. I’ve said so all along.” He had spent the night caught up in glorious visions, and had enough euphoria left over to be expansive with the press.
On the screen, Reverend Marcus was beginning to enumerate the various dangers of women priests, including the danger of contaminating the Host during menstruation.
“That’s medieval,” said Sally.
Cardinal Mendosa sighed in exasperated agreement. “Now that’s what I don’t understand about that fella. He’s been after the Church for relegating her women to a subservient position, and now that Pope An’s done something about it, he’s screaming like a pig in a hornet’s nest.”
“Can I quote you?” Sally inquired sweetly.
Cardinal Mendosa swung around to look at her. “Much as I’d like it, you better not. You can say that first part, but leave out the pig.” He stretched out his long legs. “I’m going back to Rome next week. You knew that, didn’t you.”
“Yes,” she said. “How do you feel about it?”
“Invigorated,” said Cardinal Mendosa at once. He had been delaying his departure for almost a week in order to handle some of the reaction to Pope An’s first Bull; Americans were sure to have a very public, very mixed reaction. But his visions had grown stronger and he wanted to return to the Vatican. He saw that Sally was waiting for clarification. “This is a very exciting time in the Church. But I’m a little uncertain, not about Pope An, but about the Church because we don’t know what impact these changes are going to have. Sure, this is quite a novelty, but we can handle it. I’m sure it’ll benefit everyone in the long run. For all the questions and phone calls I’ve had, I think Houston is ready for the changes Pope An has mandated in her Bull.”
“Can you explain to me about a Papal Bull?” Sally put her recorder right on the Cardinal’s desk where he could see it.
“There’s been no end of material about it in the press and the evening news, but sure, I’ll do what I can to explain it. A Papal Bull is a kind of declaration, expressed as a letter. It is used for doctrinal matters, decrees of canonization—that means being made a saint, not fired out of a gun—and for ecclesiastical discipline. Papal Jubilees are announced in Papal Bulls. The Bull is sealed with the Fisherman’s Ring, making it official that the policy comes in direct line from Saint Peter. Something like changing the rules of the priesthood requires a Papal Bull to be official.” He looked at the screen again. “What Reverend Marcus and his ilk are trying to say is that the Church isn’t permitted to change policy at the Pope’s whim, even though that is precisely what a Papal Bull allows. Except that this Bull isn’t a whim, it’s the very base of Papal authority: it gives the Pope the power to act as God wills. Most Popes don’t settle for that inspiration alone, and this one is more careful than most. Pope An has consulted with the Curia and many of the College of Cardinals, including myself, and members of the laity, but her decisions are her own.”
“…what souls will be lost because women are not ready to take on the burdens of being priests?” Reverend Marcus’ words were distinct in the silence that followed Cardinal Mendosa’s explanation.
“How do you feel about that? About women being priests?” asked Sally Wentworth, taking advantage of what the Reverend had said.
“I think it’s long since time. I know half a dozen women, all good and faithful Catholic women, who want to administer the sacraments, and would do so with more love and reverence than some of the men I’ve seen doing the job.” He waved one hand. “I better soften that a little for the paper. Just leave in the love and reverence part. Take out what I said about men. I don’t want half the priests in this Archdiocese accusing me of meaning them.”
Sally shut off the tape recorder. “What’s it like, really, having this great a change take place?”
Cardinal Mendosa shook his head. “I know you. You’ll write it down later. Go ahead. Turn the damned thing back on and I’ll tell you.” He waited while she did this. “We’ve been getting a couple thousand phone calls each day since the Bull was promulgated. They’re running about two to one in favor, and I’m not pulling those figures out of the air. If you go by the office, they’ll give you a print-out of all the calls logged. There are some people who are worried about it, and a few of them are scared by the likes of Reverend Marcus and others who are beating the same drum. But for the most part, even those callers who identify themselves as non-Catholics want to endorse what Pope An has said. I’m very encouraged by that. It’ll please me to tell the Pope about it when I’m back in Rome.”
On the screen three telephone numbers—one for the United States, one for Europe, one for Africa—flashed on the screen.
“Do you think the Pope has any other…developments in the works?” asked Sally.
This time Cardinal Mendosa shook his finger at her. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not the Pope, and I’m not at liberty to discuss what she and I may or may not have talked about in private.”
“But you do think there’ll be more changes,” Sally persisted.
“I think there’s a very goo
d chance,” he said carefully. “But what they are and when they’ll come, I don’t know. And you better put that in your article if there’s going to be any speculation included.” He pressed a button and the television screen went blank. “Off the record, I know I ought to keep up with what the various televangelists are saying, but I can only stomach so much of them and then I’ve got to quit for a while.”
“Are those broadcasts creating any problems for you?” She held up the recorder to indicate it was an official question.
“Directly, no; indirectly, yes. We’ve had some pretty unsavory letters and phone calls about the Pope, most of it from extreme Fundamentalists. And I am not one of those who thinks that extreme and Fundamentalist are the same thing. With the number of followers those preachers have, it would be odd if they weren’t having some impact.” He got up and strode down the fine oriental carpet to the windows overlooking the flank of the Four Evangelists Cathedral. “There’s a lot of four-square Fundamentalists in this part of the world, and they’re the ones who are supporting men like Reverend Marcus. They also listen to preachers like Robert Williamson, and Harold Patton. Those men have enormous audiences. Millions of people watch them. So when Marcus or Williamson takes off after the Pope, we hear about it.” He strode back toward her. “I’m not saying they haven’t a right to speak their minds—the Constitution guarantees them that, and that’s fine with me—but there are days when I question their reasons for taking out after the Church the way they do.”
“You’re not saying the Church is beyond criticism, are you, Your Eminence?” Sally asked with an impish smile.
“Not for a second. The Church is fallible, because everyone in it is human. Error is part of the game when you’re human. But the demonic conspiracy theory of the Roman Catholic Church strikes me as a little far-fetched. Maybe it’s because I’m on the inside looking out, but I hope that the demons are better organized than we are.” It was a good note for the end of the interview and both of them knew it. He opened his hands and closed them slowly.
“Thanks, Cardinal Mendosa,” said Sally for the record, then shut the recorder off. “Thanks. Really.”
“You’re welcome. Really,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Did you get what you want?”
“Enough to keep my editor happy for a couple days. He’s got Reverend Patton in his own backyard, up there in Dallas. Every day there’s something about the Antichrist and all the rest of it.” She picked up her recorder and stuffed it into her large leather bag. “Lately he’s been after the environmentalists, because they don’t trust God enough to leave the planet to Him.”
“Um,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Did he forget that along with being made masters of the Garden, Adam and Eve were made its custodians as well?” He shook his head. “Let’s not get started on that. I hope you have someone who can answer him chapter for verse. It’s sad, but that’s how you have to reach the people who follow him.” He indicated the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
As they reached the door, Sally turned back to him. “Off the record, does that end of celibacy for priests apply to all priests?”
Cardinal Mendosa regarded her with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Well, is every Catholic priest now permitted to marry if he wants to?” she asked.
“That’s what the Pope said,” Cardinal Mendosa reminded her.
“Okay then, what about Bishops?” Her eyes lit up. “Or—”
“Cardinals?” he finished for her. “Theoretically it would be possible, I suppose.” He shook his head as he saw her gear up for more questions. “Not yet, young lady. You have a deadline to meet, and I have a family dinner to attend. I give you my word that if the occasion ever arises, I will let you know at once. Will that do?” He was already anticipating far more relentless questions from his brothers and sisters, to say nothing of nephews and nieces. No journalist, not the most purple or yellow, could compare with the tenacity of his own family.
“I guess it’ll have to,” said Sally, accepting this gracefully, and permitting the subject to change to Quarterhorses and rodeos as they went toward the side entrance.
Once the reporter was gone, Cardinal Mendosa made his way back to his office to complete his promised, despised report to Dmitri Karodin.
* * *
Commander Alphonse Bouleau of Interpol faced Captains Christopher Hafen and Enrique Sigura of the European Economic Community Police Agency across the expanse of his cluttered desk. “We’ve had those letters, too,” he admitted as the two Eurocops held out a folder to him.
“The writer seems fairly certain of his facts,” said Hafen in a neutral tone.
“Enough of them have been leaked into the press,” said Bouleau, staring up at the ceiling as if for inspiration. “The first ones we had were not so specific. I’ll show you the file if you like.”
“That would be appreciated,” said Sigura. He was doing his best to appear at ease, but the nervous way he flicked his fingers gave him away. “Is there any report from Vatican security?”
“We’ve talked to them,” said Bouleau vaguely. “We keep in contact. They haven’t had any letters like these. Or if they have,” he amended conscientiously, “they haven’t mentioned them to us.”
“I doubt they would, all things considered,” said Hafen. “To accuse the new Pope of poisoning Cardinal Tayibha…well, it’s a dangerous thing to do.”
“Yes,” said Bouleau. It was warm in Milan and the office air conditioning was not working very well. Bouleau wiped his brow with his wilted linen handkerchief. “Yes, it is. According to the letters we have, that’s why the writer refuses to sign the letters.” He folded his hands. “We have asked Vatican security to get us samples of the handwriting of everyone there it can. Dionigi Stelo is cooperating with us, but reluctantly. He doesn’t like the idea that someone there could be making such claims.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you,” said Hafen, tucking his file back in his leather case. There was a shine of sweat on his brow but he appeared unfazed by the stuffy warmth of the office. “It’s a delicate business, working with the Church. We are not part of the Vatican staff, and we don’t like it, either.” He was able to keep his face expressionless but there was a distaste in his eyes that gave him away.
Bouleau got up from his chair and indicated the door. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you what we have, including the handwriting samples we have obtained to date.” He went ahead of them down the narrow hall. “We’ve been told to handle this very discreetly. It’s bad enough that we haven’t been able to make an arrest, but under the circumstances, our authority—” He flung up his right hand. “The Vatican is its own country. Interpol can operate there, but only on tolerance.”
“Which isn’t easily given,” said Sigura. He nodded to a young Inspector going down the hall in the opposite direction. “Nevertheless, it can be embarrassing to have the Indian government demanding the murderer be caught.”
“They’re doing their job,” said Bouleau with resignation. He stopped at a large, metal-banded door. “The records are in here.” He punched in his code for access. “Computer terminals have passwords; some of them have several passwords. If you want to use one, ask me before you try.” With that he went through into the enormous room where the Milan division of Interpol’s files were kept.
“Quite an installation,” said Sigura with the first sign of real approval. “We’re trying to get a larger capacity computer for our Rome offices. Something on this scale would be very good.” He and Hafen followed Bouleau down the ranks of computer terminals toward the serried ranks of file cabinets.
“We’ve been asking for more links to other agency computers,” said Bouleau, pleased that they could indulge in a little shop talk.
“That sounds sensible,” said Hafen. “We’ve been expanding our links. The Scandinavian Security Agency has agreed to go on-line with us. So has the FBI.”
“And the CIA?” asked Bouleau with a bitter smile.
“Of course not,” said Hafen. “But we expected that when we asked.” He stood when Bouleau held up his hand.
“This is what we’ve got,” he said as he unlocked one of the long file cabinet drawers. “If you need copies, we’ll obtain the necessary clearances.”
Sigura shook his head. “If the handwriting is the same, we shouldn’t need copies unless we go to court.”
“That’s not something I’m looking forward to,” said Bouleau. “A court appearance in a case like this.…”
“Would the appearance be at the Vatican?” asked Sigura. “Or would it be in Rome?”
Bouleau shook his head. “I don’t think about it. We’ll have to determine that if we ever have a trial.” He pulled out three folders and put them on the nearest table. “Here. These were the first.”
The two Eurocops bent over the table and drew out the first letter.
“Same sort of paper,” said Hafen as he drew his file out of his case again. He laid one of the letters from his file next to the first letter in the Interpol files.
To the Interpol investigators assigned to the murder of Jivin, Cardinal Tayibha:
I have been part of the Vatican staff for a period of years and I must inform you that in the capacity of my office I have been able to observe many factors involved in the death of the Cardinal. For the peace of my soul, I must tell you of what I have seen.
Prior to serving the tea that poisoned the Cardinal, I noticed the Chinese woman handling the pot and cups. It is my conviction that she was putting the poison into the pot herself, and that the death of the Cardinal was deliberate murder intended to make it appear that she was the target of the crime.
Magnificat Page 44
