The Accidental Pope (40 page)

Pope Peter was happy to learn that several cardinals would be concelebrating Mass with him, hoping the mere image of unity would lessen the tensions between them. At the following Christmas morning Mass he was expected to deliver a meaningful homily that would stay strictly within the bounds of orthodoxy passionately reaffirmed in the final days of the previous pope. He had been given models of sermons from over the years, all centering, of course, on the birth of Christ. He sifted through them and selected certain passages meant to catch attention. By Christmas Eve he felt things ought to proceed without a hitch. In Ryan's surprise appearance he rejoiced in that extra pleasure bonus for which he found himself profoundly thankful.

Thus on Christmas Eve morning Bill felt deceptively relaxed and confident. He had revised and studied his Christmas morning Mass notes, now in total conformity with Bellotti's suggestions. The midnight Mass by comparison was hardly a problem. With three cardinals assisting and Bellotti himself delivering the brief homily there was no foreseeable problem—no warning of the challenge he had made up his mind to launch in time against the stifling dogmas Robitelli and Bellotti represented in their persons and ideology. These reforms would have to come a little at a time, certainly. But he would nevertheless encourage change and spur future theologians to take more liberties against present Church doctrine. And he would face the problems confronting Motupu in Africa head on, to help address the devastating toll of human lives from HIV and AIDS all over the continent. It was time to seriously address the health crisis in Africa, perhaps even review the Church's position on birth control information and education. Pope Peter sighed at the difficult prospects he faced and then again resolved to enjoy Christmas with his family.

As expected, Ryan and Colleen slept late. But at nine o'clock his son was sipping coffee with him and explaining his plans for the future of the family fishing business. He then told his father about the Polish-American girl he had met the night before and wanted to bring to midnight Mass.

“Arrange it with Al,” the pope told his son. “I've got a pretty busy day ahead. When we get tomorrow's Mass behind us you and I will have the time we need to go over family matters.”

He glanced down at the sermon Sister Miriam had aptly typed up and which he had studied and restudied. “Take this, for instance. I went through years of past sermons delivered at Christmas morning Mass by previous popes, trying to discover a common thread to all of them.” He sighed deeply and held up the loose pile of typed pages. “I don't know whether all this is one Billy Kelly talking or a distillation of platitudes mouthed by others over the last fifty years.”

“I'd rather be out fishing than doing what you are.” Ryan stood up. “I'll see you tonight. And good luck!”

The pope smiled a little slyly. “I'll look forward to meeting this girl you seem to like so suddenly.”

Ryan's date with Paula was set for twelve noon. He'd consulted with Colleen, who had called Maureen Kirby for advice. Ryan and Paula would take the
treno
trolley to the beach half an hour to the east and sample the mild weather and the boardwalk and have lunch at an ocean-side restaurant. Paula had not yet gone there, nearby as it was, choosing to visit later with someone special. That finally happened to be Ryan.

They enjoyed lunch and the sunny afternoon, Ryan being well aware that the best place for him was well out of the way of his father and the Vatican staff. There was not only the Mass but also the pope's small reception afterwards.

“By the way,” Ryan said over a glass of wine after lunch, “I have passes for us to the Mass at St. Peter's tonight. Good seats, right up front.”

“How did you manage that?” Paula was impressed. “You've only been in Rome for one day and night! At Loyola only a few of the students were able to get tickets.”

“You'll see,” he replied with a mysterious smile on his face. “First, we are invited to a party at Maureen's house.”

“She has a house, a real home here?” Paula asked.

“Her father is with the American embassy,” Ryan explained.

“Oh, wow! I sure lucked out last night.” They were walking along the boardwalk above the beach. The breeze off the sea was mild. Paula put her arm through Ryan's, leaning her head on his shoulder. They sat down on a bench looking out over the glimmering Adriatic.

“This has been such a perfect afternoon,” Paula said softly. “I'm glad I saved the beach for something special.”

“So am I, Paula.”

“And we still have so much fun and excitement left. Maybe we ought to take
il treno
back so I can nap and get ready. I've been saving something especially nice to wear.”

They stood up and walked back to the trolley. “Where is Maureen's house?” she asked.

“I don't know, but we'll have Jan driving us and my sister. They know the way.”

“Where are you and your sister staying?” Paula asked.

“We'll go there after midnight Mass. I'd love for you to meet my dad.”

“Is he connected to the government? Our government?”

“No. He's sort of independent. You'll see.”

“And you have to go back to the States after the holiday?” she asked bleakly.

“I guess. I run the business on Cape Cod so Dad can do his thing here in Rome.”

Paula laughed. “Usually it's the other way around. The parents stay home and work so the kids can study.”

“Well, you'll understand when you meet my dad. And there is no reason why I can't jump on a plane every so often to visit here with you. This is my first trip to Europe. Already I am beginning to see how my education has been neglected, blighted even.”

“I've always wanted to see New England.” Paula squeezed his hand.

“I have a hunch you will. Here we are.
Il treno,
next stop Rome.”

They boarded and were back in forty minutes. Ryan hailed a cab and delivered Paula to the door of her hostel. He consulted his watch. “See you in three hours, at eight-thirty. Have a good nap. It will be another late night.”

At eight-thirty Jan Christensen drove Colleen and Ryan to the Loyola College hostel, where Paula was waiting, and then took them to Villa Richardson on the hill overlooking Rome. As they stepped out of the car Paula gasped. “The American flag. This is the ambassador's residence.”

“Right,” Ryan agreed. “Maureen Kirby is the ambassador's daughter.”

“Oh, I hope I am dressed all right for this occasion.”

“You look gorgeous,” Colleen exclaimed. “They'll think you're in Rome for the opening of your new film.”

Any Christmas cheer lacking in Rome was made up for by the outpouring of seasonal celebration at the Kirbys' residence. Maureen and her sisters had college mates and Chicago friends staying for the holidays. Decorations and balloons hung from the walls and ceilings. Paula, with Ryan and Colleen and Jan, fit in perfectly.

A sumptuous buffet provided all the feasting they could desire, with wine and soft drinks readily available. Paula and Ryan enjoyed meeting the Kirbys' friends and indulging in the festivities until Ed Kirby announced that the midnight Mass would be under way in an hour. Everyone with passes to the basilica should now be on their way.

At Paula's questioning look Ryan produced their tickets and they left with Jan and Colleen to drive down the hill. Paula was speechless when Jan drove them through the Vatican City gates and let them out at the diplomatic entrance of St. Peter's. Chauffeur-driven cars carrying flags of all the nations of the world surrounded the entrance. “I feel like I'm at the UN in New York,” Paula said.

Holding Ryan's hand, Paula was swept through the entrance, where their tickets were examined. Inside the famed basilica, Ryan and his new friend were escorted to the front section where guests of the diplomatic corps were seated. Paula stared in disbelief as Ryan escorted her down to the front row, where a priest seated them next to Colleen and two teenagers.

The organ swelled, the choir sang, the Swiss guards appeared approximately ten minutes before the Holy father entered the magnificent St. Peter's, and the Mass was under way. Pope Peter II was seated between two cardinals. One stood up and pronounced a brief welcome in Italian. The familiar lessons were read, and then the pope stood up to read salutations, first in Italian, then in English. He greeted the diplomatic corps and all the other groups of guests who had been invited. Cardinal Bellotti read a homily, and the pope then shortened the proceedings by half an hour, saying Mass.

Seventy-five priests gave Holy Communion simultaneously. It had been Pope Peter's aim to cut down the interminable length it took to get through the Christmas Mass, and he succeeded, much to the relief and gratitude of the nearly three thousand communicants in the basilica who had been invited to attend.

As the basilica crowd dispersed, Ryan and Paula, standing in the aisle, waited for the teenagers and Colleen to leave their seats. Escorted by Monsignor Cippolini, Meghan walked up to them and Ryan introduced Paula to his sister, who greeted her warmly. “Ryan, please bring Paula up to meet Dad and enjoy a little Christmas cheer with us. The Kirbys will be along and a few of the bishops have their mothers and fathers for Christmas.”

Jan and Colleen led the way through the quickly receding crowd to an elevator at the rear of the basilica which lifted them to the upper level and the long hallway leading through the offices to the apostolic apartments.

“Ryan, where are we going?” Paula asked.

“You'll soon see.”

Swiss guards saluted with their halberds out as Meghan led the way. Doors swung open for them as they walked inside to the expanded quarters. Stewards stood behind the tables of champagne and juice. The room was abuzz with activity. A few members of the diplomatic corps arrived. A smiling Ed Kirby, his family, and their close friends were first among them.

“How did you get us into this party?” Paula asked, now sensing a further surprise. “The ambassador?”

Before he could answer, there was a stir at the door as the halberd carriers came to full salute and Peter II walked in.

“Your Holiness.” Monsignor Cippolini greeted him and turned to quickly announce to the teeming reception room, “His Holiness, Pope Peter II!”

Ed Kirby strode over to him, the first to shake the pope's hand American style. Several cardinals had to check their common instinct to kiss the “fisherman's ring” the pope wore in honor of the Christmas midnight Mass.

“A splendid occasion, Pope Bill.” Kirby congratulated his friend informally now.

“I was getting thirsty for an Irish Mist. I'm only sorry Brian isn't here, but he has a big affair going for the Irish, Catholics and Protestants. I hope they all behave!” The pope looked around the room and spotted his son Ryan with an especially pretty, light-haired girl. He walked over to them.

“Merry Christmas, Ryan. This must be Paula.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad. You did it all just perfectly.” The two embraced and Ryan reached for Paula's arm, gently pulling her toward the pope. “Paula, meet my dad.”

“Your Holiness.” Paula bowed before him, transfixed, not knowing whether to genuflect, kiss the ring, or whatever else.

“You're as attractive as Ryan said.” Bill put a hand on each shoulder and pulled her upright. “I look forward to talking to you after I have seen to our guests.”

Maureen Kirby walked up to them, took the pope's hand in both of hers, and said softly, “Merry Christmas.” She hesitated, then, “Pope Bill.”

“Right. Exactly. I'm still looking forward to that Italian pasta you promised to make.”

“Anytime.”

Cardinal Robitelli had appeared between the Swiss guardsman at the door, and the pope went purposefully across the room. “Gino, Merry Christmas.
Buon Natale.
” Then likewise to Cardinal Bellotti. In deference to his always studied demeanor he said, “
Eminenza,
I'm happy you came to this small family reception. Of course you know everyone here.”

Bellotti bent slightly as though to kiss the ring and then straightened up. “Your Holiness, a graceful reception. It is little wonder that you shortened the Mass.”

The pope chuckled and went about greeting the few gathered members of the diplomatic corps who were present.

Paula put both arms through Ryan's. “My knees are going all wobbly, Ryan. I can't believe this night is happening to a Polish-American girl from Milwaukee.”

“Hey, you think you are shocked, what about me? My father, the fishing captain, is Pope Peter II. Impossible—but there it is.”

“They'll never believe me back at Loyola.”

“Well, don't tell them. How about another small glass of champagne?”

She nodded, still leaning on him, and together they went to the beverage table. “I'm literally weak, Ryan. I can hardly stand up.”

“A glass of the French champagne, and it will all be a lark for us to enjoy together.” Maureen and Colleen were in animated conversation as they relished being the centerpieces of the party, one the daughter of the U.S. ambassador, the other the daughter of the pope.

“But look, I do have to get up in time for Dad's morning Mass. He's been working on the homily all week with those squares Bellotti and Robitelli,” Colleen said.

“Where else are there two embassies and residences, all guarded by local cops, for most of the nations on earth? One for Italy, one for the Holy See?”

Ryan and Paula left the short reception, and Ryan took Paula home by taxi, promising to call her after the Christmas morning Mass.

In the backseat, careening through Rome at almost two-thirty in the morning, Ryan drew Paula to him, kissed her on the lips, and thrilled at the warmth of her return. As they came near the hostel he said huskily, “I wish there was some place where we could be alone. How about your room?”