Magnificat (7 page)

“A widow,” Leonie confirmed.

Chapter 5

Fourteen Cardinals sat together in a corner of the diplomats’ lounge adjoining Saint Peter’s. Each of them stared at Charles, Cardinal Mendosa. Nine of them could not believe they had heard right.

“A Chinese widow?” Cardinal Gemme asked. “There isn’t some mistake? Mightn’t that be her son’s name? Or another…relative?”

“No children, according to the report. And no living male relatives with a personal name like Renxin. It was male relatives you’re asking about, isn’t it?” said Cardinal Mendosa, reading the page he held though he had memorized the information there.

“But a widow,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “It is…difficult enough that this Zhuang is a woman, but a widow.…” His pale, magnified eyes were bleary. “It was bad before. This is very…awkward.”

Marc-Luc, Cardinal Gemme gazed at the enormous Bernini sculpture on the other side of the room. “Does Jung know? Do any of the other reactionaries? Or those who aren’t…affiliated?”

“Not yet; not that I know of,” Cardinal Mendosa said very carefully. “You’re the first. I haven’t said anything outside of the College. I used none of my Vatican staff on this, so they have no means to let the information out. But there’s no telling what they might have learned on their own.”

“Do you mean you do not trust your source?” asked Dominique, Cardinal Hetre. He sounded as if he had a cold; he was almost visibly trembling and his face was pasty. “A woman. A widow. Dear God! We can’t do it.”

Vitale, Cardinal Cadini leaned back. “The Church has said that often, about many things, and nearly as often eventually relented. We have already elected Zhuang Renxin twice. We can elect her again, if you like.” His little eyes brightened with ill-concealed delight. “I was beginning to fear that we would enter the Third Millennium bound in brass and tradition with nothing to capture the faith and imagination of the world. You see, my own faith was too weak. The only way the millennium would be uneventful is if God had forsaken us.”

“It may all be a moot point,” said Vincent, Cardinal Walgren of Los Angeles, who had a Master’s in Social Anthropology, a cult-like following of former youth gang members, and a drinking problem. “We still have the Chinese themselves to deal with, and they might not want her to be Pope any more than most of us do.”

“Speak for yourself, Vince,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

Cardinal Walgren paid no attention to Cardinal Mendosa. “What about our intelligence service? Why not leave it all to them?”

“We’re officially in conclave, you idiot,” snarled Cardinal Hetre. His aggravation was almost as infuriating as the headache that held him in an unrelenting grip. “We’re compromised enough as it is. We’ll do better to abandon the whole thing. If we bring intelligence into this, we’ll be completely without credibility, no matter what the Chinese government agrees to.”

“It’s not our concern,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “The Holy Spirit summons her, Eminences, not us. There will be a way.”

“Will there?” demanded Cardinal Hetre. “You’re a psychiatrist, van Hooven, and you know better than that. This is a Chinese widow we’re discussing, not an obscure Archbishop. Do you seriously believe the world will accept this woman as Pope?” His voice rose with each word.

“Not if you are any indication of the state of the world,” said Cardinal Cadini with a beatific smile. “But isn’t that the purpose of testing faith? And must not faith be tested to be genuine faith? Any man sitting with a full belly and a VCR can believe, and be easy in his belief. But take away the food and the amusement, and what then? What happened when Rome had no more bread and circuses? What did men do then? And what will they do now? Do we test the faith of our contented man with the VCR by letting him watch on his VCR all the wars and atrocities waged in the name of God: let him see the current events in Ecuador and Brazil, to see what human beings are capable of doing to one another. Then we might ask if anyone can still believe implicitly in the Infinite Mercy of God.” He slid back in his chair the better to look at the elaborate Baroque painting on the ceiling.

“This doesn’t help us, Eminence,” said Felipe, Cardinal Pingari; his attitude was respectful but the tone of his voice was critical.

“Probably not,” said Cardinal Cadini amiably. “But this is not the first difficulty the Church has faced, and it will not be the last.” He continued to look upward. “Our faith is being tested now. The Holy Spirit will let us repeat our ridiculous election of another Cardinal and we will have to bear the sin of that man’s death. It will all happen again, until we bend to the Will of God. Which is what we’re supposed to be doing in the first place.” He beamed. “Let us have this Chinese widow at once, and get it over with. Why prolong the agony, or add to our pride? Jump into the waves where they are breaking, not just amble along the shore where the ocean cannot touch us.”

“You can take the first press conference,” said Cardinal Gemme, for once not eager to claim that privilege for himself

“We’ve been over most of this already,” muttered Cardinal Mendosa, more to himself than to the others. He looked at the men in the room who were silent, wishing he could read their thoughts. He hesitated, annoyed at the obduracy of the rest, then said, “You’re being a tad previous, Eminence. We haven’t found the woman yet; we have no direct dealings with her. For all we know, she would not want to be head of the Church, supposing the government allowed it.”

“She’s probably a Communist,” whispered Cardinal Hetre, his eyes appearing more sunken than before. “Our intelligence must determine that, no matter what the outcome. We have to know where her commitment lies. A Communist at Saint Peter’s!”

“She’d fit right in with the early Christians,” said Cardinal Gemme. “To all intents, so were they.” He nodded toward Andreas, Cardinal Llanos of Managua. “So are many of your priests, aren’t they?”

“I don’t think the Holy Spirit is very concerned with our political disagreements,” said Cardinal van Hooven at his blandest, his eyes appearing huge. “I think the Holy Spirit is concerned for the salvation of our souls.” No one paid any attention.

“I don’t mean that kind of Communist, and you know it; I mean the kind who represents the antithesis of our society and religion,” Cardinal Hetre protested, and gained the support of Cardinals Pingari and Tsukamara. “We have to think of our position in the world, our effectiveness. What widow from China could possibly understand how to administer the Church?”

“Perhaps the Holy Spirit isn’t concerned with administration,” said Cardinal Cadini with a tactful cough for emphasis, and a nod toward Cardinal van Hooven. “Let the Curia see to the administration—it has done so right along.”

“And what of the Chinese?” asked Ectore, Cardinal Fiorivi. “We have no reason to hope that they will want to assist us in our work here. And we have already admitted—have we not?—it would be inappropriate to use our intelligence service in this instance: had we done that, the woman would have been identified and located within forty-eight hours. But we have chosen another way. Therefore we must resort to diplomacy in our approach to the Chinese; they might not want this woman to leave China and come to us. We will have to do this very delicately. Very delicately,” he repeated as he steepled his long white fingers and pressed the tallest to his thin red lips.

“We’ll have to discuss this more thoroughly,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Our preliminary assumptions are—”

“And think about the Protestants extremists, the conservatives and the radicals. They say we’re the unwitting servants of the Devil, or that we’re ludicrous in the modern world,” protested Cardinal Belleau. “I shudder at what they will make of this latest news. The Resurrectionist Baptists have been declaring that the deaths of Celestine and Urban were Acts of God, proof that we no longer heed the Holy Spirit. A popular television minister announced that God was picking us off one by one. The Unitarians said that we’re no longer a Church but a State, not guided by spiritual values but the demands of power and politics. If we let it be known now that we have elected a Pope who is not a Cardinal, is not even a priest, is not—in fact—a Catholic, is not Occidental, and is not male, they will mock us and turn against us, every one of them.”

Jaime, Cardinal O’Higgins held out his hand to quell the rising ire. “We have an obligation to God, no matter how upsetting it is to the public. We are His servants and the keepers of His Church. If we fail in that, we will truly be the servants of the Devil and the tools of politicians, and it will be right that we lose our faithful.” He saw wariness in some eyes. “In Mexico, the Church is often beleaguered, but we win through when we serve the truth. I have always admonished my priests to speak the truth, for truth is the Glory of God. The Church has reason to be ashamed of what she has done to Mexico: if we deny it, we fail; if we confess it and strive to make amends, then we succeed, just as we teach our congregations to do. This is much the same: if we compromise what is the Will of God, then it does not matter that we keep our flocks together, for we will then be wolves and the sheep will be lost.” He looked over at Hunfredo, Cardinal Montebranco. “Don’t you agree?”

“No,” said Cardinal Montebranco. “I find the entire notion of this Pope repugnant, and if matters were different, if we had not elected her twice, I would oppose the whole notion to my last breath. I am convinced that our tragic loss of Urban and Celestine has worked completely to our disadvantage, and if we had more time, we might avoid this entire embarrassment. But in this instance we have now gone too far; our hands are tied. If we have another death—and I believe we cannot run the risk of that happening—it will be said that all the deaths have been assassinations, and no matter whom we elect, we will have ended our credibility.” He cleared his throat to gain more attention. “Have you all ignored those rumors? Do you pretend you have not heard them? Have you forgot what is being said about Urban and Celestine? Don’t you think that those questions can harm us—have harmed us already? Do you think the world does not pay them heed?”

“Tabloid nonsense,” said Cardinal Hetre. “From the same people who claim that Michael Jackson’s disappearance was due to extra-terrestrials, and that Chaney Groton didn’t kill all those women buried in his basement, that he was covering up for his crippled brother. It is the same mentality as that of those who are saying they will have to wear white robes and stand on the peaks of mountains on the First of January in the year two thousand because they don’t know that the Third Millennium begins the year later. We need not bother ourselves about what they say.”

“Let another Pope die and more than tabloids will claim murder,” Cardinal Montebranco warned.

“We have autopsy reports. We have made them public from the first,” protested Cardinal Bradeston. “We’ve bent over backwards to be open and fair and above-board.”

“Autopsies or no autopsies,” Cardinal Fiorivi added in his measured way, “it will be assumed that we have somehow ‘fixed’ the report, and that the results released to the media are not accurate. The Church is still powerful enough to do that, isn’t it? And sadly we have a history that supports suspicion. Undoubtedly there are those who see our very openness as a new form of treachery, a trap. We paid no notice to that book about Urban’s death, but I have been told that there are three to be published about Celestine’s death. We will be deluged by the press if another Pope dies.”

“You know, we’ve been going round and round about the next Pope for months. It really started when Urban died.” Cardinal Mendosa was on his feet and started to pace, his long rolling stride and black cowboy boots more suited to a rodeo than the Vatican. “We might as well face it: we got a Chinese woman out there and God wants her to be Pope. Remember, she’s been elected twice. We don’t know why God wants her, and we aren’t going to know why unless we let her do the job God’s given her. Let’s stop haggling about that, okay?”

The Bostonian Cardinal Bradeston made a gesture of resignation. “Are you planning to hog-tie us all until we accept that?”

“Don’t think I couldn’t,” Cardinal Mendosa said lightly. “What we’ve got to do now is find the woman and bring her back here. Hell, gentlemen, if the Tibetans can find the Dalai Lama in little kids, we ought to be able to find Zhuang Renxin and have a talk with her. My source has already located her, so it’s not impossible to get to her.” He came to a halt and rocked back on his heels. “If my source can do this, it’s only a matter of time before someone else will, too.”

“Are you volunteering to find her, Eminence?” Cardinal Cadini asked, his smile back on full.

“Sure,” said Cardinal Mendosa, so relieved that he wished he was sitting down. “Sure. I’ll do it.”

Cardinal Gemme shook his head. “How? She’s a peasant woman in central China. How will you reach her? What makes you think you’ll be allowed to talk with her at all?”

Images from his dream came back to him so intensely that he blinked. It never occurred to him that meeting Zhuang Renxin would be a problem; his vision had warned of no difficulty. “You mean, being a Cardinal and an American might work against me?” His manner was very serious though he favored Cardinal Gemme with a wide Texas grin. “We got this far, I figure we’ll get the rest of the way.”

* * *

Martin Bell had been expecting a scrambled call for most of the evening; now that it was approaching midnight, he decided that it was almost time to go home. The call from Moscow would come the next morning, he hoped. As he drew on his neat camel-hair blazer, he was startled to hear the telephone ring.

“Bell here,” he said as he lifted the receiver.

“Good evening, Martin, this is Dmitri,” said his caller, making no attempt to disguise his identity. His voice was silky and his manner impeccable. They spoke in English. “I hope you have some reasonable explanation for why you asked me to locate this Chinese peasant. Do you?”

Martin laughed, but not easily enough to conceal his nervousness. “A Chinese peasant—is that who the name is? I hope I do, too.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “Several days ago Cardinal Cadini came to me to ask me to help him locate this person. I tried my usual academic contacts and learned nothing, and then Cardinal Cadini said I need not bother. Which is why I contacted you. Whoever this person is, Cardinal Cadini wants to find him, and he does not want to use the Vatican intelligence service. That makes the Chinese peasant interesting, don’t you think?”