An American Pope

by Doug Walker

  Black approached Justin’s room and nodded to the guard who opened the door to admit him. Justin was sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but he jumped up abruptly when the cardinal entered.

  Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Justin exclaimed, “Finally a visitor. Thank God. This room is driving me crackers.”

  Dressed in the grim attire of a parish priest, Black dropped into a chair and began. “I’m Cardinal John Black, and I’m sorry we have to keep you here like this. But you’re part of the incident. The woman fell, you picked her up. You’re a strong man.”

  Justin nodded. “I keep fit. Am I under arrest?”

  Black laughed. “Hardly. But you’re part of the equation. You know the woman said she was cured, that she could walk, or something like that, after you picked her up. Well, it would seem to be a religious miracle, but we’ve had such miracles before. Publicity stunts.” Black raised his hands to indicate a mystery. “Various reasons, hard to catalog. But the investigation is underway.”

  “You’re an American.” Justin said.

  “I am.”

  “Cardinals wear red and most of them are Italian.”

  “Also true. But we dress as we please in informal situations. Also, I should tell you this. The pope is dead, and we are in the midst of a chaotic situation, picking a new pope. I happen to be the man in charge. I am called Cardinal Camerlengo, the person who verifies the pope’s death and is more or less in charge until a new pope is seated.”

  “Wow. That’s some responsibility. I never thought I’d talk to such a person. You must be terribly busy. Why bother with me?”

  “You’re due an explanation.”

  “Must I stay in this room?”

  “It’s probably best until the investigation is concluded. As you might know, we have vast treasures and resources at our disposal. So the investigation should be done with some alacrity.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Black smiled. “Certainly not.”

  “But I am a prisoner.”

  “Not a prisoner, a guest of the Vatican, an honored guest.”

  “Aren’t there laws that prohibit certain practices? No offense meant.”

  “None taken. You see the Vatican is actually a country. We do have laws, some written, some unwritten. Now I see where you’re going with this. You have no TV, no reading material. I assume the meals are satisfactory, and I see you have a bottle of whisky and a couple of bottles of wine on the credenza.”

  Justin interrupted to say, “I haven’t drunk myself into a stupor, but I need something before bedtime or I lie awake and wonder what the hell’s going on.”

  “I should have come earlier,” Black acknowledged. “I’ll see that you get reading material and a TV set. But the investigation must go forward. Now what I must touch on next is a bit delicate, and I hope you won’t be offended. When something like this happens and there is a possibility that it is a contrived miracle, it is often the case that two people are involved.”

  Justin simply stared at the wall for a long moment, then cocked his head to one side and said, “I see. So I could be a co-conspirator.”

  “That could be in the cards, but I don’t think it is. That’s why I personally have undertaken to conduct this phase of the investigation. I need to know more about you and your recent activities. For one thing, are you Catholic?”

  It was Justin’s turn to crack a big smile. “Well, hell yes. I explored the Vatican, I was attending mass, what else would I be?”

  “Understandable,” the cardinal replied, “but the fact is we get all kinds here – Protestants, Jews, Hindus, Shinto, Muslims, pagans, agnostics, devil worshippers, practitioners of voodoo, warlocks, you name it we get it. But you are a practicing Catholic?

  Justin hesitated.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Off another hallway in the same Vatican hotel, Hilda Krieg, from Germany, was being interviewed by a pair of Jesuit priests. She did not speak Italian, but her English was only slightly accented. Neither priest spoke German. One was elderly, the other mid-twenties. Hilda, about five foot five and slightly overweight, had a sunny disposition. She seemed to be on cloud nine.

  The older priest was speaking. “So far three doctors have examined you, two men, one woman.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Hilda responded, “free medical care here in Italy. I never expected so much. We’ve heard things aren’t going so well in Italy. Now in Germany we pride ourselves on excellent medicine.”

  “I appreciate your praise,” the priest replied. “But you aren’t actually in Italy. This is the Vatican, its own country.”

  “Yes, but you must admit we are in the heart of Rome.”

  “So we are,” the priest agreed, not wanting to debate the matter farther. “My point is you seem to be in perfect health. Nothing wrong with your legs, your spine, any other parts of your anatomy. You are in splendid health.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Good health is always a blessing, my daughter. But when you entered the Vatican you were using a walker.”

  “Yes, Father. I was quite the cripple. Now I am whole and ready to return to Germany. Why have you detained me?”

  The younger priest looked around. “This seems to be a pleasant enough room. You have meals, snacks, wine with dinner. Beer if you want it, just like Germany. Even a TV set and newspapers. Not a bad life, eh?”

  Hilda smiled. “Yes all we Germans love beer. Just as Jesuits love red wine and their studies. You are Jesuits are you not?”

  “We are. So, Hilda, you have experienced a religious miracle?”

  “I have experienced something. I was crippled when I made my pilgrimage to the Vatican. Now I am whole.” She faced both of them. “You are the learned fathers of the church. Please tell me what happened. And by the way, why am I held here as if in prison, a very pleasant prison, but still freedom is much cherished by bird, beast and the human form.”

  “We are merely investigating what happened, my daughter,” the older priest said. “There is something of a mystery here.”

  “A mystery, father. I think not. Why do supplicants come to the Vatican? Why do we seek out spas with miraculous healing waters? Do you not believe in prayer? Do you not believe in acts of God? Are you not holy men affiliated with the True Church?”

  “What you say, my daughter, is essential to the church. While the church has many mysteries, while the Good Lord may move in mysterious ways, the fact remains that we are all mortals here. We live and we shall die hoping for a glorious afterlife. Our job is to look into these miracles. We would be remiss if we failed to shoulder our task. You are a daughter of the church, and we ask you to remain here only until our routine investigation is complete. I can assure you we will continue with all deliberate speed.” As an afterthought, he tossed in, “The mill grinds slowly, but it grinds exceedingly fine.”

  Hilda nodded and seemed to agree. “It will not deprive me of income to remain here. I haven’t been able to work since my accident. Is this what you want? You want to know about the accident?”

  “That’s part of it,” the younger man said. “It might be necessary for you to sign a release for your medical records in Germany. We need to examine just how you were injured to determine what occurred in the Basilica.”

  “No problem, fathers. I’ll sign whatever you bring me. As you say, I am but a mortal woman faced with the majesty of the church. My health and body functions have been restored. My prayers answered. I am grateful. We are all sinners, is it not true? And we are all sojourners and penitents.”

  The older father nodded in agreement. “You are wise beyond your years.” Just how wise, he wondered.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Justin conceded it had been sometime since he had been to mass, or confession, but that in his heart he was a Catholic.

  With a full head of sandy hair, cropped fairly short, a frame of approximately six-one that carried around 190 pounds, gray-green eyes, Justin was a fairly handsome m
an. Cardinal Black needed to know details of his life, what he was doing in Europe and if he could have had contact with Hilda Krieg.

  “Did you attend Catholic school?” Black questioned.

  “I did. I grew up in Dayton, Ohio. You know, where the Wright brothers lived. Actually my family lived in Centerville, a nearby smaller town. I was also an altar boy for several years.”

  Black nodded his approval. “The University of Dayton I believe is a Catholic institution. Did you attend?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t, or no Father, or Cardinal, I don’t know what to call you.”

  “Father is fine.”

  “Wright State is also at Dayton, but you know how it is, wanting to get away from home, I attended Bowling Green, that’s another state school up toward Toledo and Michigan.”

  “Your major?”

  “Liberal arts. Doesn’t qualify you for much of anything, but I had my eye on foreign service. That’s why I’m in France, studying French and Italian, sopping up European culture.”

  “Good plan. But you must have leaned some way in your studies.”

  “I suppose history. World history, ancient history, U.S. history. I love history. That’s why I came to Rome.”

  “So you’ve been sopping up Roman history just before this incident?”

  “Yes and no. Not as much as I thought. I’ve just had a bad experience with a girl. I mean it was a really good experience that turned sour. I thought she cared for me, and then when they put me in this room they let me have a phone, and I called her.” He paused a moment, then said, “She brushed me off.”

  “That’s life,” Black said. “It happens every day.”

  Justin smiled. “Not to you.”

  Black’s turn to grin. “Not to me. But I was a parish priest. I heard thousands of confessions. I know life at its seamiest. I think you do too.”

  “You’ve got something there. This wasn’t my first rodeo. And I do have a girlfriend in the States. Long distance romances are hard to sustain.”

  “We here in the Vatican,” Black said seriously, “feel we are close to God, yet we never see him. There are bishops in the States who spend their time fighting with politicians over abortion and birth control, among other things. Is that wise? Is that the direction the church should take?”

  “Not in my book.”

  “Tell me, Justin. What do you think of that incident in the Basilica? The woman’s name incidentally is Hilda Krieg, and she’s a German national.”

  “I’m confused, Father. She said she was crippled, she used a walker, then she fell and said she was healed.”

  “You lifted her from the aisle. Are you a miracle worker?”

  “Father, please. I had nothing to do with it. I had never seen that woman before in my life. She fell. I was sitting nearby. Naturally I wanted to help.”

  “But no one else came to her aid, Justin. Were you inspired in some way?”

  “I was inspired by a handicapped woman falling down a couple of feet away. I don’t know what you’re getting at. Tell me.”

  “I’m getting at the fact that Hilda is claiming a miracle and that you’re part of it. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  “But it’s the Vatican, the Basilica, the nearness of the Trinity, the setting. I had nothing to do with it. You’re certainly confusing me.”

  “It’s what I’ve told you, Justin. This is an investigation and I’m doing part of it. There are Jesuit priests and others handling the German end. There will be investigators making inquiries about your activities in Paris and probably in the States. The church doesn’t take miracles lightly. I’m sure you’re aware it can be a path to sainthood.”

  “Sure. For a priest or a cardinal or some church officer.”

  “I’m certain you know Joan of Arc was not an officer of the church. In your Catholic past did you ever do anything religious outside your altar boy service?”

  “You mean like join a social club, or the Sacred Name Society?”

  “Just anything.”

  “I was more religious in high school. It may have even crossed my mind once to become a priest, but I also thought of joining the Peace Corps, and still might if all else fails. Obviously, with liberal arts I have no particular goal. I enjoy history. So I could get a masters degree and teach. Just after high school, with no guidance from anyone, my parents never told me anything, I wrote a religious novella. It was based on the Bible and involved a young woman who had been raised from the dead. I may have plagiarized part of it.”

  “Writers borrow from other writers,” Black said. “The Bible was written by men, and folks have been plagiarizing it for centuries. I’d like to hear about your book.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The two Jesuit priests who had been carrying forward their part of the investigation had just entered Hilda Krieg’s room for the second time.

  “Would you like us to be accompanied by a nun?” Father Pat questioned. Hilda was seated in an overstuffed chair, the only comfortable one in the room. A small table beside her contained an open plastic sack of pretzels. She had been reading a popular news magazine. The TV set was off.

  Looking up at the two men, who had entered without knocking, she asked, “Why would that be?”

  “Well, ” Father Konrad replied. “It might be more discreet. We are two men and you are a woman.”

  “Of course you are celibate,” she said. “And you were here before.”

  “That comes with the territory,” Father Pat said. “But we make every attempt to cater to your wishes.”

  “May we sit down?” Father Konrad asked.

  “Please do.”

  Each man pulled up a straight chair, facing her at an angle in order to facilitate conversation. “Is there anything you need?” Konrad inquired.

  Hilda permitted herself a faint smile. “Perhaps freedom.”

  “A good point,” Konrad said. “You’re here as our guest because on the surface there seems to have been a religious miracle.”

  “On the surface?” Hilda echoed, an inquisitive tone to her words.

  “Yes,” Pat put in. “These things are subject to church scrutiny. Sometimes there is a perfectly logical non-miraculous explanation to a given event.”

  “Tell me, what might that be?” she asked.

  Pat sighed and moved his hands as if to say who knows. “This investigation is serious business and we have been charged with it. We must take a strict and serious view of the event and come to a rational conclusion. It’s upon our heads.”

  “Are miracles rational?” Hilda questioned.

  “We are in the Vatican, this is the home of the Catholic Church,” Konrad tossed in. “Miracles through the centuries are perfectly acceptable. I suppose you could say rational. But we don’t want to make a mistake. As Father Pat said, it’s on our heads.”

  “Which means you two are responsible, and if you reach the wrong conclusion you’ll end up parish priests in some Amazon Indian village.”

  Pat grinned. “We are Lambs of God and we will serve wherever the church believes we will do the most good. Here, there or everywhere, we serve our Blessed Savior. But at the moment, we have been assigned to your case. And we have made an initial study of your medical records in Germany.”

  “Good start. I signed a paper that gave you full access. So what else do you need? Should I develop stigmata?”

  “Nothing so drastic,” Konrad said. “It’s good you’re interested in assisting us in authenticating a miracle.”

  “I could care less,” Hilda tossed off breezily. “I was crippled, now I’m whole. I’m interested in returning to my home. This Italian diet and no exercise is adding flesh to my bones. I’m not interested in looking like a snowman.”

  “We have a dietician,” Pat interjected. “You might guess that several cardinals are quite old and have special needs. We do need you, Hilda. And as a good Catholic you’ve been very cooperative.”

  “So what else do you need?”

&nbs
p; “We haven’t been able to have an agreeable conversation with your doctor. One or both of us will likely have to go to Germany. Of course that’s no big deal. A day or two and we’ll return and wrap things up. The old doctor seemed a bit, uh, confused.”

  “Disoriented.” Hilda supplied a word. “He’s still in practice and he does very well, but his nurse is generally backing him up. He’s suffering from a progressive dementia. Soon he must retire and very likely be confined to a locked-down home. He’s already wandered away once or twice.”

  Konrad raised his hands in frustration. “Then we might not be able to reach any conclusion. Is there another doctor?”

  “No. He’s the one. After the accident he treated me. I was hospitalized, followed by a siege of home care. He said I would never walk normally again. The records should bear this out. But if they don’t, drop your probe. I’ll return to Germany and the entire incident will be forgotten.”

  Pat smiled sheepishly. “The Vatican won’t permit such a non-ruling. It’s either a miracle, or it’s not a miracle. Of course we can say it’s not a miracle, but there’s evidence to the contrary. We’re really letting you in on the ground floor of this investigation, Hilda. We need your help.”

  “So, say it’s a miracle and I’ll return to Germany. The incident will be soon forgotten.”

  “The Church never forgets. Centuries may pass, but a miracle is not forgotten. I would be willing to say ‘no miracle,’ but we have Cardinal John Black here, who happens to be Cardinal Camerlengo, and he wants a speedy and accurate resolution.”

  “You have one man who is two cardinals?” Hilda asked.

  “No,” Konrad explained, “Camerlengo is the title of the cardinal who steps in when a pope dies. He takes over the helm until a new pope is elected.”

  “I’ve wondered about that,” Hilda said. “What’s the hang up in electing a new pope?”

  “Politics,” Konrad said. “The cardinals haven’t been able to agree. In the old days they were confined and had to stay in uncomfortable makeshift quarters, maybe sleep on cots in the Papal Palace until a new pope was named. No longer. Nowadays they stay in rooms very much like this one, in what we call the Domus Sanctae Marthae, which means they don’t mind wrangling and making endless remarks. But there is a rule of strict secrecy. So only the cardinals know how the procedure advances.”