The Accidental Pope (11 page)

Bill looked up helplessly at Brian from the deck of his fishing trawler. “Then she disappeared, and it was dark in the cabin. The rest is so shrouded I can't understand it. I just know that I opened my tired eyes and looked at the clock. It said four fifty-five. Ryan would be calling me in another five minutes. My head fell back on the pillow. I was almost in tears. Then I noticed my rosary lying on the floor beside my bunk. I tried to reach for it but my body was like lead. Then, suddenly, there she was again. She just smiled at me and reached for the beads. I felt them drop into my hand. Then I heard her say, ‘Sleep, child.' That's all there was, Brian.

“The next thing I knew I heard Ryan saying, ‘Rise and shine, Dad.' Then he went on to exclaim something like I had a happy look on my face and must have been having a lovely dream. I flew out of the bunk, feeling like I could have wrestled with Moby Dick and won. ‘Get the crew moving, boy! I'll be in the wheelhouse in five minutes. Bring me coffee and a doughnut.'”

Bill shrugged. “If I were Portuguese I would say it was Our Lady of Fatima who came to me. The message was substantially the same, but I will always think of the apparition as Our Lady of the Georges Bank, with a new message for a new generation. End of the story, Cardinal. Am I crazy or what? Will I be fishing for the souls of people in Rome or cod and haddock back on the bank?”

The cardinal shook his head in absolute mystification. Finally he said, “Bill, you haven't even a vague clue as what you would be getting into. Your story only makes me more confused than ever. Who can say where the truth lies?”

A half smile came over the fisherman's face as he stared into the cardinal's eyes. He slowly reached into his pocket, then paused. “Brian … tell me, do you remember what gift we gave to each other the day we were ordained?”

The cardinal, a puzzled look on his face, thought a few moments. Then, “Yes, yes, of course.” He smiled reminiscently. “Almost like twins we gave the same gift. A pair of rosaries we made ourselves. But what's the point?”

“Can I see yours, Brian?”

“Well, not really, Bill. I used them so much and so hard they were pretty well worn by the time my mom died. So”—he grinned ruefully—“I traded mine for the nice new set the undertaker had put around her hands for the wake. I hope you'll forgive me.”

In one quick, fluid motion Bill withdrew his hand from his pocket, rosary beads in his fingers. “Catch these, Brian.” He tossed them at the surprised cardinal, who was skillful enough to snatch them in flight.

Brian looked closely at them. “Nice, Bill. They look brand-new. Did yours wear out too?”

“No, Brian … or maybe I should say yes. Those are the ones you gave me on graduation day. Like yours, mine saw a lot of use. I even had some string on them to hold them together.” He gave the cardinal an owlish look. “I think the Blessed Virgin repaired them—almost—when she handed them back to me.”

Brian searched the countenance of his oldest friend in the world. “Come on, Bill. These can't be.” He stared down at the string of shining, new silver beads in his hand. “They do look like the ones I made for you,” he allowed.

“Well, pal, feel the metal joiner that separates the five decades. Go ahead, rub it!”

Brian began to rub the heavy silver medallion with its two wings reaching up to join the string of silver beads into a necklace from which dangled a string of five beads suspending the cross. “My God. The thing is bent. A little sharp edge here. Glory be! I remember now. You stupidly used it to tighten the screw on my bedroom door handle as we were packing to leave the seminary.”

Bill Kelly raised his hands as though in supplication. “Right on! You got it, pal! Do you think this suddenly-like-new string of silver beads represents a little extra support from the Virgin for us weak souls who may be a little short on faith?”

Brian reached into his pocket and tossed his own beads to Bill. “I think I will need to borrow yours for a while, Billy. I'm going to need all the support I can get when I walk into that conclave again.”

“You may indeed, Brian. I started thinking I had been called back to serve again. It was an epiphany. You know—I was getting another chance to keep my vows and my children, too. This is what Our Lady of the Bank said to me!”

“Dear God, I can't believe this! My God!” His legs shaking, Brian sat on the boat's gunwale next to Bill. “I don't know how to say this.” He fumbled for the right words. “I left the conclave on a secret and delicate mission.”

“I don't get the news at sea. I hope it's straightened out.”

“Well, five minutes ago I thought…” He shrugged. “Now I don't know what to think.”

“Brian, you're losing me.”

“Well, old buddy, I seem to be experiencing the same confusion you are, so I may as well say it right out.” He paused as though for inner guidance. “I was sent here to tell you, Bill Kelly, that by some accident or mix-up, the conclave of the college of cardinals has elected you the next pope!”

“What? Brian, I would say stop mocking me, only…” He paused and looked helplessly at his old and dear friend.

“Only?” Brian prompted.

Bill stood up, agitated. “As I said, this fisherman, Bill Kelly, experienced a revelation so incredible as to make him feel that he had gone mad.” He stared into Brian's eyes. “So aberrant … such an epiphany … and at sea, too.”

“Bill,” Brian interrupted, also rising, “this has to be for your ears alone. You must never breathe a word of it … ever. In the conclave we got into … a ‘factional feud' is the best way I can describe it.” For a second Brian broke down and held his head. “I happened to mention your name in a stupid allegorical joke I made in an effort to make the point that everyone had to give more thought to what we were there to actually accomplish. By some foolish … mistake”—he cocked an eye at Bill—“the majority of the cardinals put your name on our last vote as a means of confirming what I was trying to say: ‘If we don't bail out our dinghy together, it's going to sink.' Like Ben Franklin said during the Revolution, ‘If we don't all hang together, we'll hang separately.'”

Brian and Bill looked at each other questioningly. Brian continued after hitting his temples with the palms of both hands, the rosary still in his right. “Now we had a problem. One of us needed to come to let you know that by the Vatican II rules you accidentally yet legally were elected pope. It wouldn't be so if you were an ordinary layman. But you are also an ordained priest. So it was official. We had to tell you that.” He paused and shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, and believe me, I wish to God it was all some strange joke, but it's not. You got elected pope! All we are asking now is that you quite simply tell me you decline. That you promise never to tell anyone. I'll go back to Rome and we will address the business of electing the real pope.” Brian abruptly stood up. “So let's try to forget the whole thing and I can go back to Rome.”

From his seat on the side of the boat, Bill looked up at his best friend in all the world. “I just don't know what to think, Brian. In one way it seems so simple. But on the other hand, maybe I have to consider my vision, what it means! Maybe God was sending me his tidings about how I have to serve. I hardly know!”

“Good God, Bill. Are you crazy? A dream? A vision? You said yourself you may have dreamed what you did because you saw me on TV going into the conclave and made some kind of connection in your subconscious mind. That's not a vision! You probably thought you saw Our Lady of Fatima because the revelation of her third prophecy was on the news not long ago.”

Bill Kelly stood up beside Brian. “See, you're not sure, are you? It's easy to say ‘God spoke' if someone has a vision of the Blessed Mother and then miracles happen to confirm it. Like Our Lady of Fatima and the sun dancing in the sky.”

Bill paused, as though reliving the sequence. “She spoke to me and told me of the challenges that the Church and society face. Now, when it comes to plain old dreams, the Church gets nervous, doesn't it? Yet think of all the dreams we claim were sent from God after the fact. I'm not saying I'm any kind of scriptural scholar, but remember, I went through seminary with you and learned something there. And I didn't stop reading when I came here. Heck, I read a book on every fishing trip, not to mention what I read at home. Learning about God's history with man has always been my favorite subject. I may be a bit odd in my own ideas about the Scriptures, but by God, they are my thoughts! No one else's.”

Brian realized he had touched some personal nerve deep within his friend he'd never encountered before. “Bill,” he began after a moment's contemplation, “I don't know how to reply. As you obviously noticed, I was somewhat taken aback hearing your first words to me. The notion of a direct communication from God hit me at that moment. So let's examine it all and see what we have. Tell me how you really, honestly, view all this.”

Thoughtfully, Bill put one foot in front of the other and walked along the deck toward the bow of the fishing trawler. He paused to look out at the waves gently rolling in on the tide. Then, startled, his eyes fell on the shrine, the “grotto” his dear friend and Portuguese first mate for many years, Rogerio Oliveri, had built on the side of the dock to honor Our Lady of Fatima. It was the ordinary statue displayed in most Portuguese-American homes. It had been there for years before Rogerio was lost at sea after he bought his own boat. The flowers, placed there by Portuguese fishermen, were wilted, but would soon be replaced. Until this moment Bill had ignored them. He thought now of the third prophecy for the beginning of the third millennium, recently revealed to the world outside the Vatican … something about the attempted assassination in 1981 of John Paul II and how it may symbolize an attack on the Church with drastic changes in the world. After a few thoughtful moments, he turned from the grotto and walked back to his friend.

“Look,” he began, “you've always been my closest friend in the world. You know that. You're the only one who ever accepted me, and Mary, as we were. I guess I'll never get over the fact that I am a priest who failed to measure up to my vows.”

Bill looked across the dock and up at the sturdy, cozy home he had built. “Certainly I know God loves and forgives me. But the loss of Mary changed me—and it changed the kids. It makes me wonder, is that all there is to it? I keep asking myself, is God finished with me because of some interpretation of Church law? Or will he show me a new way to minister unto others? I believe, you see, the Church was founded by Christ and we must obey His teachings and rules. It's just that … I guess I'm confused because I so want to serve Him.”

Bill took several deep breaths of fresh air to get hold of himself. “So much has changed in the Church. A great deal, as we both know, is not new. It's merely going back to the way it was in the early centuries.”

He remained quiet for several moments until Brian prompted him with a question. “What is your message for me to take back to Rome, Bill?”

Tears welled again in Bill's eyes and drifted down his weatherworn cheeks. “Cardinal Comiskey, you may tell your colleagues in the conclave that I accept your inspired vote. I feel that's what it all means. God help us and continue to guide us in all that happens from now on.”

The cardinal struggled to hold back tears himself. “Are you aware of what you are telling me? Do you have any idea what will happen to you if you accept? I can't even conceive of the cardinals accepting you. You have no idea of the explosive effect starting at the Vatican and spreading throughout the world were I to go back and tell them this. Are you sure you don't want to think about it? Discuss it more? I could give you some appalling stories about the inside workings of the Vatican and the back-stabbing that goes on among”—his voice wrung out sarcastically—“these men of God. John Paul I, for instance, died in 1978, just thirty-three days after his election. A lot of people don't believe it was from natural causes, but autopsies of deceased popes are forbidden. You haven't a clue what you'd be getting into. It's a huge institution and it has more than its share of enemies. You surely read about all this Vatican Bank stuff and Nazi gold! That's why Pope John Paul II's historic pilgrimage to the Holy Land was so important for us in building on the positive relations between Christians and Jews. A challenge and an opportunity. The chair of St. Peter must be filled by a person of hope and experience.”

“Wow!” Bill exclaimed. “This is certainly going to be an interesting venture!” His grin reappeared. He was in control again. “It's like that curve ball I taught you to hit, ol' buddy. Just step into the sucker and swing.” They both laughed, almost desperately, recalling carefree days at the seminary.

From above, shattering their mood, they heard Colleen's shrill voice calling. “Uncle Brian, a phone call for you.” Her voice was unemotional. “Someone is saying Bishop Sean Patrick needs to talk to you.”

“Ask him to hold on.” Then, “I guess, Bill, we need to talk … a lot … later.” He smiled benevolently. “Your Holiness.”

“Cut the holiness stuff. You better see what the bishop wants.”

Brian followed Bill up the steps to the house. Colleen was unimpressed. “The bishop is waiting on the line.”

Brian nodded, walked to the telephone, and picked it up. “Yes, Sean,” they heard him say. “Harborside Hyatt Hotel?” Brian listened. “I'll call him, and please don't go away from your phone until you hear back from me.”

He hung up and turned to Bill and Colleen. “A friend of mine called. He's in Boston.” A serious look came over the cardinal's face. “Have you got another telephone I can use?” He glanced at his watch. One-thirty in the afternoon. Ambassador Kirby was right on time, Brian thought, thankful for his earlier premonition that he might need Ed in Boston.