The Accidental Pope (63 page)

“The kids have been great,” Bill said to Brian. “Not much doing around here for them; mostly older tourists.” He grinned broadly. “Colleen is happy, of course, with her Swiss guard on duty at her side.” He was silent a moment, then, “Tomorrow I have an appointment at the Gemelli with the doctors, at eleven. If you want to go with me, Brian, on the helicopter, you are welcome. There's plenty of room.”

“Sure. I'd love to. Ed Kirby once told me how beautiful flying over Rome is in a helicopter, looking down at the ruins, the Appian Way, and the Colosseum.”

“I'm told that when you're on the chopper, if you look closely, you can even see Molly Malone's Pub in Trastevere, where you and other Irish lads used to sneak after study hours,” Colleen teased Brian.

“Who told you that? That's a big fib!” Brian mocked shock at the accusation. “Sure you'd never see Molly's from the sky. Our rector couldn't find us from the ground.”

Marveling at his friend's broad wit, Bill smiled with delight.

The helicopter landed on the grounds of the Gemelli Hospital, and Bill and Brian proceeded to the examination room, where two doctors from Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and two Italian medical specialists took blood tests and once again examined Bill. About two hours later Bill was wheeled into the doctors' conference room, where Brian and Tim were waiting.

“Not much to tell you. No change. Yes, the pope is still losing weight, so get as much chicken soup and bread in him as you can. That will give him strength,” one of the doctors told Tim and Brian. “I would advise you to stay the night at the Vatican. It's close and you don't have to take the helicopter. I'll drop by later. Are you sure you don't want to stay here with us at the hospital, Bill?”

“No, I'd much rather be in my own bed,” Bill replied. “Besides, tomorrow is a big day, the feast of Our Lady of the Assumption. I'd like to tape a little message to all the pilgrims who will attend Mass at St. Peter's and be at St. Peter's Square at noontime. Let me tape it tonight, Tim, and have it ready for tomorrow, OK?” Bill seemed to light up as he gave Monsignor Shanahan instructions.

After dinner that evening, at the apostolic apartment, Bill sat in his old comfortable reclining armchair, and Colleen, who with Jan had driven back to the Vatican, sat next to him holding his hand. Meghan and Roger were watching TV. Brian was in the next room reading his prayers, and Tim was on the phone telling the doctor what Bill had eaten for dinner. Brian had been in and out of the room, but decided Bill would rather rest now and talk to Colleen.

Around nine o'clock, as Bill sat thinking and staring at the bookcase in his bedroom, he asked Colleen to get Brian.

“What's up, Bill?” Brian asked as he entered the room.

“Please go over there to the bookcase and lift up the replica of Our Lady of Fatima with the three children. You'll find a key. Take the key and go into my office. In my big desk, open the bottom right-hand drawer. There is a wooden box. I want you to open it and take out a folder that is marked
‘Avviso.'
Please bring it to me.”

Brian did exactly as Bill said. Colleen gave her father his glasses and he began to read. “When I'm finished rereading this, I want you to give it to the next pope, but don't let anyone else see or read it.
Capito?
Understand?”

“Yes, Bill, I understand.” Brian walked over to the window and looked out over St. Peter's Square. He could see several TV trucks at Via della Conciliazione getting ready to do the eleven o'clock news live. Brian thought how his life had intertwined with Bill's. Bill and Brian had always been there for each other.

“When I first came to Boston, I didn't know anybody.” Brian had told the story often. “A greenhorn from Ireland with no money. Bill got me a part-time job cleaning fish at a Jewish market in Newton.”

“Did you see the son at the wedding?” Colleen asked.

“Yes, I hardly recognized him.” Brian continued his reprise. “His father got his work out of your dad and me, and then we would hitchhike to your grandparents' house down on the Cape and your grandmother would make fish chowder and crab cakes. I even had my own bed there. I remember the night we graduated from St. John's and I was flying back to Ireland that same night. I'll never forget the look on Bill's face as he said good-bye to me at the airport. I felt so empty, like I'd lost everything. Then I pulled the rosary your dad gave me from my pocket and pressed my hand around it. Here it was the happiest day of my life, just graduated from St. John's, and I'm on my way back home to see my family, get ordained, and celebrate my first Mass. Yet I couldn't get your father's face out of my mind. I remember not eating on the plane, just recalling all the days at school together. We were such close friends. I remember clearly the day your dad called to tell me he wanted to leave the priesthood and marry your mother.”

“Brian, Brian,” he heard the pope's soft voice call.

“Oh, sorry, Bill, I was just reminiscing with Colleen. What is it?”

“Pull up that chair over there and sit down next to me. I'm a little tired, so if I doze off, I'll finish the story tomorrow, OK?” After a moment Bill continue. “Brian, think back to the day you left the conclave and came to Buzzards Bay to tell me what had happened. Do you remember what I said when I first looked at you?”

“I'll never forget it, and the look on your face.” The sense of awe Brian had felt at that moment last October was still pervasive. “You stared up at me while you were kneeling on the dock mending the nets and you said, ‘Oh, my God. So it's true.' You had this strange expression on your face. You were not very clear with me, Bill,” Brian went on. “But you made me understand that while you were out fishing, just before the sun came up, you had a vision. We thought it might have been something you ate. Fish not cooked enough, or whatever.”

“Well, Brian.” Bill reached out to take his hand while still holding on to Colleen's. “I'm sure Our Lady of Fatima appeared to me that early morning out at sea. I know it was she. I wasn't afraid at all. I almost knew what she wanted me to do. The world and the family are divided, she said. She said more, but that was the main point. Her eyes held me for maybe a couple of minutes, and then the vision disappeared and the rosary which I had dropped onto the floor below my bunk was in my hand and it was beautiful and shiny, like the day you gave it to me. The blanket had slipped off me and even though I was sleeping with the porthole open I felt so warm. That was early October and it gets real cool out on Georges Bank.”

Bill was silent for a moment. Then, “When I later walked into the conclave, I could feel her standing next to me. Giving me strength to carry on.

“Now, Brian, I never felt like a saint or anything, just an average guy who had loved his wife, was gladdened by his children, and wanted to serve his Christ with all his heart and soul. Every day I would pray to Our Lady of Fatima, asking her how I could help my Church. I would ask her to please give me the grace to best serve Jesus Christ.

“Brian, I will always thank the Lord for all he has done for me. I've tried to live and spread his message of faith.”

Both Brian's and Colleen's eyes filled with tears as Bill seemed to be passing on to them a fateful message. It was noticeable to both Colleen and Brian that an intense enthusiasm resounded in Bill's voice when he was talking about Our Lady. He would often look at the folder resting on his lap marked
Avviso.

“This is the letter Pope John Paul II gave me, but its contents have never been publicly released. I have read it carefully.”

Bill did not divulge the specific contents of the
avviso
as he continued. “John Paul II is expressing his concern to all of us that we must stop the abuse of the spirit and the body. Yes, you are your brother's keeper. You must not bypass the word of God in all that you do. At work, school, at home.”

Bill continued to talk openly without referring specifically to the
avviso,
but obviously with its words still very much on his mind. “The true meaning of justice must be practiced. The laborers in the field must be justly compensated. The father must be the pillar of the family as Christ is the pillar of the Church.”

Bill's eyes started to grow heavy, and then, as though mustering a final, resolute decision, he spoke categorically. “Pope John Paul II was sending a clear message to the world through this
avviso.
We are facing a crisis that is far more devastating than floods, fires, or even wars.

“Brian, please give this folder to the next pope. My encyclical is done. It's a specific follow-up to the pope's message and what he wanted me to do. I have tried to do all that he asked. I spoke about some of those things at the UN. The deterioration of the body, such as we have seen in Africa, and the decline of the spirit that we are seeing in so many young people in the U.S. today. They've no family foundation to fall back on. The breakup of the family is a far greater threat to young people than any military or nuclear power in the world.” As though pausing to catch his breath or muster the strength to proceed, Bill was quiet for perhaps as long as a minute. Neither Brian nor Colleen interrupted.

“That sealed envelope”—Bill pointed to an envelope lying on the folder marked
Avviso
—“contains my encyclical with a final few notes. Please release that letter on the day I die. I will date it August 15, feast day of Our Lady of the Assumption, because much of what is in the encyclical pertains to Our Lady and, specifically, her prophecies at Fatima.”

After a few moments' silence Bill went on. “I think I've covered everything. The problem of thousands of Catholics who seek annulments. The Church will deny no one Communion who has lived within the law of the land, even if until now we in Rome pronounced the curia the final arbiter. But no longer.”

Cardinal Comiskey's face showed his shock, but he only said, “Yours is the last word, Bill.”

“Christ has given me the personal gift of his love and compassion. I am grateful for his friendship. You know, allowing me to serve the poor, the needy, the weak. I thank God for his giving me my Mary and our four wonderful children. Always there for me, good times and bad.”

Just then the private phone rang. Colleen answered, her voice rising in excitement. “Ryan, it's so good to hear from you. And how is Paula, that lovely sister-in-law of mine? Oh, that's nice. Here's Dad.” Colleen handed the telephone to Bill.

“Ryan, I'm so proud and thankful for you being so strong in keeping the business together and never causing us any pain. We were so happy at your wedding. I love you son, always will. You have made me happy. God bless. Yeah, I'm okay. I just wanted to say hello and tell you how much I love you, my boy. And that thing we talked about at the altar a moment before Paula came down the aisle to you? I fixed it. You'll see. Tell our friend no one need worry. We'll be together again soon. Maybe at Christmas, all of us. That would be great. Maybe some Christmas soon we'll see some toys under the pope's Christmas tree for his grandchildren.”

Colleen and Brian were fighting back the tears as Bill said “So long” to his oldest son on the phone.

“I'm a little tired,” Bill murmured. “Think I'll catch some shut-eye.”

Climbing into his bed, Bill asked Brian and Colleen to say a decade of the Rosary with him. Then he took his rosary back from Brian. He rubbed the shiny beads a moment and then handed the rosary to his daughter. “This will remind you never to lose faith again. Look at them glow. Brian will tell you about them.” Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

*   *   *

The next morning, Cardinal Comiskey walked down the long marble corridor of the apostolic apartment, looking straight ahead, not saying a word. He took the elevator down to the main level of St. Peter's Basilica, led the procession of cardinals and bishops, and celebrated Mass on the feast of Our Lady of the Assumption.

It was a beautiful, warm, August 15 morning, and pilgrims from all over the world came to honor the Virgin Mother of God on her feast day, an event celebrated by Catholics everywhere. Cardinal Comiskey had been chosen by Pope Peter II himself to lead the procession down the center aisle and celebrate the Mass. The great Church was filled to capacity. Before Mass started, Brian briefly said to the assembled, “Welcome to St. Peter's Basilica, the center of the worldwide Roman Catholic Church. Today we honor Our Lady. We thank her for the love she has for all of us and for the devotion we all have for her.”

At the end of Mass and before the procession out of the basilica, Brian walked over to the podium. He stopped, cleared his throat, swallowed as if he was trying to catch his breath, and said, “Nobody loved and honored Our Lady more than Pope Peter II. Last night the Holy Father taped a message for all of you.” Cardinal Comiskey gave the signal for the tape to play.

The pope, in his recorded message, spoke movingly about Our Lady and what she had meant to the world. He thanked God for sharing his mother with everybody. “She has been our own mother who loves us, as she does her own son,” Pope Peter avowed. “She saw him born and she saw him die.”

When the brief recorded message ended, Brian looked out at the vast audience. “And now I have some sad news. Our beloved Pope Peter II, or ‘Billy Kelly, the fisherman from the Cape,' as he often referred to himself, has passed on.”

The audience gasped and was stunned.

“As a fellow priest said, he taught us how to live and he wasn't afraid to die. On this feast of Our Lady of the Assumption, there is one more good fisherman with Our Lord in Heaven.”

The people broke into tears, but it quickly turned to song as the large organ played “Ave Maria.” Cardinal Comiskey walked down the main aisle of St. Peter's, singing as the tears flowed down his cheeks.