An American Pope

by Doug Walker

  “But you’re learning,” Piovanelli said.

  “Yes, I’m learning many things. My tutors are dedicated and diligent. But all work and no play makes Leo XIV a dull fellow. So get with it. I’ve made few demands. Maybe you can pluck a personal trainer from some place like Notre Dame.”

  “Paris?” Piovanelli asked in wonder.

  “South Bend,” Justin replied. “Indiana.”

  Piovanelli looked puzzled, but Black supplied that it was a Catholic university, fairly sports oriented. “They teach sports?” the cardinal questioned.

  “Not exactly, it’s more like living and breathing sports,” Black replied. “They also consume gallons of beer. And there is a minor academic program.”

  So it was done. Piovanelli, a Vatican insider, was charged with setting up the small athletic area not far from the Pope’s apartment. It was also explained to him that a side room with a semi-secret entrance might be equipped with a lounge so the Pope might rest. Justin looked forward to the day Sylvia would arrive in Rome.

  It was Black’s job to dig up a bevy of personal trainers, scouring Catholic schools for youthful coaching staff members, then weeding them down to one, first vetting resumes, then telephone contact and finally nose-to-nose interviews for the few candidates who survived. A high level of intelligence was not a requisite.

  At this point, Black was bursting with pride. He had managed to steer the church through dangerous reefs and shoals and had created not only a pope, but a rock star, virtually a symbol, well-guarded and briefed for each meeting with an outsider. His messages to the multitude were short and to the point. The masses seemed content just to know he was the crown jewel of the church, well protected by the famed Vatican corps of Swiss guards.

  It was at this point that Sylvia arrived at the Vatican.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sister Sylvia had been in the Vatican for two weeks before she was able to see the person she had been told to contact, Cardinal John Black. She had been given a cell upon arrival and found she was supposed to join something called The Apostles of the Sacred Heart, a group of nuns who wore the traditional habit and prayed seven times a day.

  She had been assailed by a mother superior and a bevy of older nuns who were puzzled by her attire and behavior. She was dressed like an ordinary person, maybe an office worker. She had been told she must “live authentically” in the Vatican and for added emphasis told she must “live in fidelity.”

  The entire situation puzzled her, particularly when told that she would never be permitted to approach a cardinal. She was about to leave the Vatican and the church when word of her coming drifted to the ears of Cardinal Black.

  She appeared in his office at 8 a.m. on a lovely Vatican morning. Rising from his chair, he greeted her warmly and said he hoped the appointment wasn’t too early.

  “Early,” she said with amazement. “I was awakened as usual at 4 a.m. for prayers, followed by a song fest. I kind of hummed along. The nuns in this place must be throwbacks to the second or third centuries.”

  “They are a traditional set. Would you like coffee?”

  “Coffee? I’d love it. We have water and a type of gruel for breakfast. Lunch is no better.” She had been standing and Black waved her to a seat, then rang for coffee.

  The two of them sat silently until coffee and croissants arrived. There was peach jam and orange marmalade. Sylvia’s eyes lit up as she dug in. Glancing up at Black, she asked, “Are you in the same Catholic church as me?”

  “I’m afraid so, Sister Sylvia. We express our devotion to the Savior in different ways. This has been going on for centuries. It’s like a monster ship on the ocean. Turning is difficult.”

  “Where do I apply to be a cardinal?”

  “That’s one reason you’re here, Sister Sylvia. Justin is the pope, an American pope. What a singular breakthrough it is. Not only American, but thirty-two-years-old. It boggles the mind.”

  “You can say that again, Cardinal. My mind has been boggled ever since that first phone call. I’ve learned about nuns and the church, but American nuns and the American church. Some of these people don’t speak English.”

  “Most of the world doesn’t speak English, Sister Sylvia. I hope you’re here for the long haul and will study a little Italian. Enough to get by in Italy. Let me say I have big plans for you. I’ve monitored your advancement in the convent and your mother superior tells me you’re no dummy.”

  “High praise from the mother. Let’s hope coming to the Vatican doesn’t show you the flip side when I wig out.”

  “You won’t wig out, Sister Sylvia. You’re a strong woman, and the Pope needs you. He needs someone to lean on.”

  She had finished up the last crumb and most of the peach jam. Now she mopped her face with a napkin and asked: “This Pope you mentioned, this Justin, when do I get to meet His Holiness?”

  “Today.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cardinals Black and Piovanelli were both mentoring Justin, his closest allies, but neither trusted the other. Piovanelli had been certain of his election to the papal post, then Black intervened. Piovanelli had been quick to read the writing on the wall and quickly sided with Black for political reasons. Hold your friends close, but your enemies closer.

  Piovanelli formed a secret alliance with Cardinal Mario Pujalte and Fathers Pat and Konrad, all three ultra conservative. Their goal was to thwart the new pope in any liberal endeavor he might initiate. The smooth-talking Piovanelli had a much more ambitious long-term goal. If he could somehow rid the Vatican of Justin, he was certain he was next in line for the golden ring and seal.

  How to do this, he didn’t know. But the majority of bishops, cardinals and for that matter parish priests were a conservative lot. In the United States they had backed right-wing causes and had not shown themselves welcoming to the advancement of women in the church or in everyday life for that matter. They were dead set against any type of abortion or birth control.

  Piovanelli was much more flexible. He could bend with the wind, but never break. He had gotten wind of this girl, Sylvia, and had learned she and Justin had been lovers and that she had been fast-tracked as a nun and was destined for the Vatican. Certainly this was a chink in Justin’s armor, but by no means the only chink. His dearest hope was, given enough rope, Justin would hang himself.

  During late-night meetings of the secret cabal in his apartment, Piovanelli might drop a hint that the young American might favor admitting women to the priesthood.

  Father Pat’s eyes would flash. “Surely the clowns are running the circus. This man would overturn centuries of tradition!”

  “But we must be cautious,” Cardinal Pujalte would counsel. The young man is the Pope, and no true Catholic would turn against the Pope. And this one would seem to be placed by the will of God.”

  “But he must do God’s work,” Father Konrad tossed in. “If he were found straying from the path of the righteous, then there might be certain consequences.”

  “Truly,” Piovanelli counseled, “Let patience and constant vigilance be our watchwords. We have a multitude of allies both in the Vatican and worldwide. We need only to wait. One so young is certain to misstep as time goes by. Cardinal Black cannot screen him from harm forever.”

  “What if Cardinal Black was somewhere else, perhaps on a mission of some kind, the young man would be doubly vulnerable,” Pujalte reasoned.

  “Another string for our bow,” Piovanelli agreed. “The young man has much working against him. That he became pope is incredible. That he can serve the office with dignity would seem impossible. Let us crack another bottle of wine and drink to our good fortune and future good deeds. We have much to be thankful for, and the church will have much to thank us for, although our work may never be fully known.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was late night when Sylvia slipped through the secret entrance into the anteroom off Justin’s private workout facility. The Pope was waiting, dressed in sweat
pants and shoeless. They embraced briefly, then had a long sloppy kiss. Justin held her at arm’s length and exclaimed, “You look good enough to eat.”

  “Please, no kinky sex,” Sylvia beamed. “It’s been a long road, but here I am. Are you glad to see me?”

  “Am I ever! Are you OK? Rested? You look fine.”

  “I slept this afternoon.”

  “I had a brief nap. You’d be surprised how much work the pope does around here. I have an office staff, stuff to sign, decisions to make, people to greet. It’s topsy-turvy time.”

  Sylvia was puzzled. “How do you manage? I mean most popes have been in this game for a lifetime. In fact most are retirement age or beyond.”

  “Oh, yeah. I have two advisors, Black and Piovanelli, both cardinals. You’ve probably met Black. He engineered your coming over here.”

  “Yes, I was briefed by him. I’m on a mission just like you. It’s his fine hand that splashed us both in the soup. He has big plans for both of us.”

  Justin frowned slightly. This was unexpected. “I thought he brought you over to be my girl.”

  “If you mean girl-girl as in sex, remember, I’m a nun. I took a celibate vow. I’m married to Jesus.”

  Justin pondered that one for a moment, then said, “Yes, of course. Me too. Not married to Jesus, but betrothed to the church. First as an altar boy, then as the pope. Let’s try to work through that one.”

  Sylvia was all smiles. “Let’s give it some time and see what happens. They weren’t issuing birth control pills in the convent. But Cardinal Black seems skilled at bringing rabbits from hats. Do you want to hear about my mission?”

  “Please. Then I’ll unload on you. I really need someone I can tell my troubles to. The cares of the day around here are gigantic. I’m careful not to demand too much, but my demands will be met if pushed to the wall.”

  “So,” Sylvia responded, “It’s good to have the Pope on my side. I may have a demand or two down the road. In the meanwhile, my mission is to improve the lot of American nuns. There’s a push on by the conservative wing of the Vatican to stow them away in nunneries and cover them in black.”

  Justin agreed. “Those same people would like to push the church back to the third century. Apparently there’s a feeling that North American nuns have gotten out of hand – wearing street clothing, living where they like.”

  “But still doing God’s work,” Sylvia tossed in. “And in dwindling numbers I might add. I’ve done some homework. There are 340 qualified congregations of nuns in the United States. In 1965 there were 180,000 nuns, today only 60,000 give or take a few. What does that tell you?”

  “Nothing good where the church is concerned and my concern for now is the church.”

  “For now.” Sylvia laughed. “My understanding of the job description for pope, it’s a lifetime. And if things work out – on to sainthood, which is eternal.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m in this up to my eyeballs, aren’t I?”

  “For now, yes. If you ever decide to bail, think of your resume – ex-pope.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sylvia was given an office not far from the papal offices. Her job was to liaison with North American nuns. This included French-speaking Quebec plus Mexico and points south. She immediately began a brisk e-mail correspondence with her former mother superior, whom she addressed as “Dear Mom. ”

  There was at least one film star who had become a nun at a fairly early age, giving up the Hollywood glitz to the wonder of many. Sylvia hoped to tap into her celebrity. She also hoped to bring possibly, not glamor, but at least style to the habits of the various orders. The work was daunting. She anticipated glacial movement with an occasional breakthrough.

  Cardinal Black was a frequent visitor to her office, and on one occasion she suggested he provide her with birth control pills.

  “How un-Catholic,” he responded.

  “How would you like a pregnant nun on your hands? How un-Catholic would that be?”

  “Believe it or not, what you mentioned has happened and will likely happen again. At bottom, we are all human. But in your case something should be done. We don’t want a pope’s son in our midst. Perhaps I can score a few tablets as an example of the devil’s work.”

  “Of course, Satan challenges us on a daily basis and it’s good to know what he’s up to. Don’t get any back-alley stuff, Cardinal. I want top of the line.”

  Black nodded and smiled. Once again his conscience was on the line. First a trysting place, now the forbidden protection. What’s an every-day cardinal to do?

  Cardinal Giovanni Piovanelli was also a frequent visitor to Sylvia’s office, dropping by frequently to shoot the breeze, usually with a joke and some inside story about goings on in the Eternal City.

  Early on, he had told her, “In this setting, with just the two of us, please call me Giovanni.”

  Sylvia was quite taken with his wit and charm, but was reminded by Justin that good old Giovanni had been his chief rival for the papal office and very likely still had designs on that post.

  “His bubbling personality and sparkling wit are the very reasons for his popularity among the cardinals. His piety is an unknown quantity. Of course we are all servants of the Good Shepherd. So far this job seems more political than churchy,” Justin mused.

  “Churchy. That’s a great word for a pope to use. Maybe I should be the pope. At least I’ve managed to become a nun. And you just an altar boy.”

  “You’re welcome to the job. Some of the frilly robes that princes of the church wear around here would be more suitable for a bordello madam than a macho soldier of the cross.”

  “Those two cardinals have kept you under wraps so far, Justin. Are you going to come out of your cocoon at some point?”

  “Spread my wings like a lovely butterfly. I’ve a lot of ideas and so have you. There are people lying in wait for me to make some radical move. My becoming pope muddied the waters and I’m waiting for the water to clear. Your good buddy Giovanni might be the major backstabber, but there are many more. ”

  “They can’t just un-elect a pope,” Sylvia said.

  Justin was thoughtful. The office had matured him. He had never thought of himself as a deep person, but he was torn between many issues, few of them having anything to do with religion, but that did concern people, people around the globe, not only in the Americas.

  “Truly they can’t un-elect a pope, not without formidable reason, but a pope can die.”

  That such a turn of events could be around the corner caught Sylvia by surprise. “You fear for your life?”

  “Oddly enough, I don’t. With the office comes a pleasant feeling of serenity, if you can believe that. I know plots against me can be serious, even deadly, but I have no fear. I’m not saying I’m brave, I’m simply saying that I do not live in fear.”

  “Very likely you are exaggerating the danger. Who would kill the pope?” Sylvia asked.

  “The American bishops for one, once I attempt to rein them in on abortion and birth control. Giovanni for another who wants this office so bad he can taste it. And at least fifty percent of the cardinals after I come out in favor of women’s rights. Shall I go on?”

  “You didn’t mention a lone crazy.”

  “That is very likely how it will be done. A lone crazy who becomes a suicide either in or out of jail.”

  “You paint a rosy picture.”

  “Consider this, Sylvia. What if I can get some reforms rolling, then resign.”

  “A pope can resign?” she asked in wonder.

  “I don’t see why not. I think it’s been done before because of old age or disability, although I haven’t researched it.”

  “Then what? What would you do? What would we do?”

  “Retire to Liechtenstein, write a book entitled Pope for a Year.”

  “Definitely, a New York Times bestseller.”

  “What isn‘t?”

  “Oh, Justin, did I tell you, Black brought me
a passel of birth control pills.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Pope Leo XIV had finished his morning exercises, was still sweating, still clad in his sweat suit, and had assembled his secretary, Father George Poulis who served as his press spokesman, both Cardinals Black and Piovanelli, plus three other cardinals and Father Konrad.

  “I would like to get the word out to the public, the Catholic community, particularly the Jesuits, which explains Father Konrad’s presence, that abortion is approved by the church under certain circumstances.”

  A shocked silence, until Father Poulis questioned, “Under what circumstances, Your Holiness?”

  Justin sat at his massive desk fiddling with a pen, casting his eyes heavenward now and then. Finally, he said, “That is not entirely up to me. I’ve been praying over this knotty problem for some days now. I’ve concluded that incest, rape, the mother’s health, possibly discovery that the fetus has some damaged qualities. These among others might be reasons to move ahead with church-sanctioned abortion.”

  “This is against church policy, Your Holiness,” Father Konrad stated.

  “Good point, Father Konrad. Then since we are assembled here and seem to have eons of time, and the fact that you are a learned Jesuit, you might take center stage and explain church policy beginning in say the second and third century.”

  “I would be pleased to research that subject, Your Holiness.”

  “And you might bring us that research tomorrow morning, Father. We could reassemble at that time.”

  “No matter how much I would enjoy doing your bidding, a project of that magnitude might stretch into weeks or months.”

  Justin smiled and tried to look benevolent. “The church grinds on from century to century. Sometimes mistakes are made, but, no matter, in a hundred, two hundred years, they can be corrected. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake near the river Seine, later consecrated as a saint.” He studied the faces around him, then said, “What say you, Giovanni?”