The Accidental Pope (41 page)

Paula laughed helplessly. “There is a nun lurking in the women's section all night and there's always a guard on duty.”

“Look, somehow we've got to figure out a way to be alone together.”

“It will happen when it should, Ryan,” Paula whispered.

“Yes, it will,” he breathed and they kissed until the taxi stopped and Ryan escorted her to her front door. She opened it and slipped inside.

“Call me tomorrow?”

“I will,” he promised.

33

CHRISTMAS MORNING MASS

Pope Peter II was halfway through the Christmas morning Mass that had begun at ten. As his first obligatory Christmas homily approached, he could feel his stomach tightening. He walked over to the narrow podium and looked at the huge throng crowding St. Peter's Basilica. This was a solo delivery, although about forty cardinals, a hundred bishops, and several hundred priests escorted him.

The gathering sensed a certain uneasiness about the pope and tried to mitigate it, remaining quiet, expectant, and attentive. He placed his notes on the gold ledge of the podium and clasped the sides of the frame to steady his nerves. He strove again to remember the public-speaking tips that he had learned years ago in the seminary.

Then it came upon him. He felt the spasm creeping up through his chest, throat, and the back of his nose. His right hand scrambled vainly for the slit in his robe to reach his pocket handkerchief. Too late. The mighty sneeze hit the papers with a blast. His podium was strewn with flying pages. Acolytes, priests, and one or two cardinals joined in a scramble to gather up the fallen leaves. Embarrassed, muffled “oohs” and “ahs” echoed in the nave whilst the pope stood with head bowed, slightly shaking in mild dismay. Within thirty seconds—it felt like thirty minutes—his head of protocol, Monsignor Toug from Hanoi, handed the mixed sheaf back to the pope with an involuntary shrug.

Staring at his notes, the pope finally found breath enough to look out upon his bewildered audience. “So,” he murmured, smiling into the microphone, “we have ‘blown' our Christmas sermon. I wonder if that other fisherman, Peter, did this.”

Some laughter rang out, not a little hysterically, amid the pews. It was the release that both sides needed. Waiting for the noise to settle, he pondered what to do or say next. Nothing came. Then he looked out toward the front row where his family was sitting. His eyes met his younger daughter's. She winked and gave him a thumbs-up. Beside her a bright-eyed Ryan smiled up at him. Colleen and Roger were also attempting encouraging glances up from below.

Bill cleared his dry throat and felt he was back at the helm of his boat somewhere off the Cape.

“Dear friends, we are gathered here to rejoice at the birth of a child, a very special one … Our Savior, Jesus Christ.”

Several cardinals straightened up.
God is speaking to his people,
they thought.
Wrong! Maybe not wrong?

Bill pressed on. “I remember so well the day my wife, Mary, had our first child. So tiny, fragile, beautiful. Babies are a gift from God.”

Cardinal Robitelli covered his face with his hands, fearing worse to come.

“I was thinking about this just yesterday, rehearsing my sermon. I took our Bible from its shelf and read every account of Our Savior's birth. And do you know what pierced through to my consciousness? It was the sentence after Mary agreed to become the mother of Jesus. Do you know it?” He smiled.

Few among the cardinals responded. Cardinal Bellotti leaned toward the ear of Cardinal Robitelli. “He's playing school games! What must we do?”

“Let him hang himself,” Cardinal Robitelli countered behind a raised hand.

Peter II continued, “The sentence that caught my eye was, ‘And the angel left her.' Can you imagine what that sentence means, my dear friends? I tried to imagine how I would have felt … or no, how my Mary would have felt if she were suddenly pregnant and knew she had to come to me and tell me … before we were yet married! A terrible thing. No help or support from anyone. You're absolutely on your own now. And Mary back then? Fifteen or sixteen years old. Just engaged to Joseph. What a terrible burden God thrust upon that poor girl.”

He looked down and caught the sympathetic glow shining in Meghan's face and eyes. “My own Mary had that kind of purity and goodness. She could have told you what it felt like better than I.”

Bellotti winced again and whispered, “Next he'll be recommending his wife for canonization, and showing home movies. I can't believe this!”

Cardinal Robitelli, white with shame and anger, stared straight ahead.

The pope, now in full command, continued. “I think we should all pause to reflect on this special moment and on the sorrow that the Blessed Virgin endured then. Having to face Joseph, who we know was cut to the heart when first he heard the news.” He paused and sighed. “God made those two people pay a very heavy price for the gift of His son in their lives. Perhaps we should think about that price this Christmas morning. If we want the Christ child to return again we'll no doubt have to pay a price. Love does not come cheaply. You mothers know far better than we men the pain of childbirth, and the crosses to bear, day after day, that go with raising children.”

Again the pope paused as he contemplated for a moment what no other priest could have experienced, some of his and Mary's trials bringing up their children. “I suggest this ‘spiritual birth' of Christ in our lives is the same thing. To raise Him to manhood, within us, has been and will be a long, hard struggle. Oftentimes we won't begin to understand why He seems to be treating us so badly! Let us have the patience in our young people so we'll begin to understand how to have Christ play a most important role in their lives.”

The pope stared out over the magnificent Church for a few moments. He caught the eye of a group sitting on the side that stood up and with enthusiasm and visible pride in their new pope joined in the swelling applause.

After Mass Bill walked over to the group he had noticed and met Father Joe Daley and his parishioners from the parish of St. Anthony in Cody, Wyoming. Cardinal Bellotti glanced at Cardinal Robitelli. “Well, did it come out all right? What is your opinion?”

Cardinal Robitelli turned slightly and, still puzzled, replied, “I think … when a sermon, especially a short one, is delivered, we should pay attention and try to learn from it!” Christ was born again safely for yet another year!

A subdued Kelly family exchanged pleasantries with the clergy surrounding them as they made their way with Al Cippolini and Tim Shanahan back to the apartment, where Pope Peter would join them. Bill Kelly, relieved, was suffused with holiday cheer now that his official Christmas functions were behind him.

After the pope had been congratulated he called Ryan over to him. “Son, it's been a busy time for me since you arrived, but with this morning's little recitation behind me, for better or worse—”

“It was great, Dad, really awesome. So short, so meaningful to us all.”

“Why, thank you, Ryan. And now I want to devote as much time as possible to the family while you're still here. I didn't ask you, but how long can you stay?”

“Well, I told the crew I wanted to go out again as soon after New Year's as we can get the nets clear and the boats provisioned.”

“Since you are over here, I hope you'll stay as long as possible.”

“We're getting ready to explore new fishing grounds, further out.”

“You have to keep in mind how fast the storms can spring up on you. And out there some monster waves have a way of towering in from nowhere. They sweep up from the Bermuda Triangle, do their damage, and disappear. Even though you were just in junior high, you must remember the '91 storm, the one they just made a movie about, that took the lives of Gloucester fishermen.”

“On another level, Dad, and I hate to bring it up at this time, but there's one wave I know of churning out of our state and heading right at you, here at the Vatican.”

“I guess I know what you mean. Young Senator Lane and his contested annulment.”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Bad situation all around. It's getting a lot of press, and you know the
Boston Globe
loves to beat up on the Church. Lane has been one of their own, but given an opportunity to attack Catholics—especially Irish Catholics—nobody is spared. His former wife has appealed to the Vatican to nullify the annulment because it leaves a marriage of ten years with three kids in limbo. The tabloids and talk shows at home are giving this issue a great deal of attention, and nobody is looking good.”

The pope breathed heavily. “It will end up squarely in my lap. Young Lane and his family have supported the fishing association for years. He took on the Canadians when they claimed the banks for Canadians only. He stood up for us in Washington when those corporations tried to stick it to the small fisherman.”

“That's another reason why I have to get back, Dad. Business is pretty good except for the quotas, and Lane has been good to us.”

“Did he ask you to talk to me about the annulment?”

“No, Dad, he didn't. Just convey his respects.”

Bill Kelly reached out and placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder. “I should be sending you to college instead of out to sea.”

“I'm no college kid, Dad. I like being the third-generation fishing captain in the family.”

“Well, I'm proud of you, keeping the Kelly family business prospering while your dad goes back to preaching.”

“Some preacher, Dad.” The admiration in Ryan's tone was unmistakable.

The pope then beckoned Monsignor Cippolini over. “Al, have you figured out those excursions for my kids?”

“Yes, I have. Tomorrow, Saturday, you all fly to Palermo, Sicily, to attend an official post-Christmas service. The day after Christmas is also a special holy day throughout Italy.

“You will celebrate Mass Saturday night at my old
cattedrale,
followed by a concert in honor of Festa di Santa Rosalia. It is usually held in July, but Palermo wanted to help shed its reputation as a high-crime and poverty center by inviting you now. Also you will reopen our recently renovated and magnificent Teatro Massimo. Following the concert, a procession in honor of Santa Lucia and a cookout, ‘Grande Festa,' is set up at the city park for all the people. That is why our local bishop was so anxious to have your family join him there. Your delegation will stay overnight at Hotel Ariston, then fly Sunday morning by helicopter to Siracusa on the other side of our island to visit its historic British military cemetery.”

“What do you know!” the pope exclaimed. “Mary's Uncle Tom was killed in North Africa while serving in the Royal Marines and is buried there. The kids always wanted to visit his grave.”

“The archbishop of Canterbury will join you at a special wreath-laying ceremony for all the several thousand British and U.S. soldiers who were killed in the line of duty in North Africa and southern Italy. Then you will drive to Sciacca to visit the Chapel of the Madonna. It is a famous fishing village. The fishermen there claim a bond with you and are honored that you chose to join them. By the way, as you requested, the Jesuit Father Pittau, the president of our Gregorian University here in Rome and your old friend from Boston, will be traveling with us. You will recall that you first met the good father, whose first name is Joe, when he was at St. Augustine Church in South Boston while attending Harvard.”

“A most knowledgeable man.” The pope nodded. “Especially about Japan and the Far East. He was president of the Catholic College in Japan after World War II. It will be great to see him again.”

“You, the two younger children, Monsignor Shanahan, and Father Giuseppe Pittau will fly back to Rome that Sunday night. But Ryan, Paula Novak, Colleen, Jan, and another Swiss guard fly directly to Venice. From Venice they will visit Florence, returning here on December thirty.” Monsignor Cippolini, his travel presentation complete, bowed his head as the Kelly family applauded. “I hope it all meets with your approval,” he murmured.

“Al, you have done an excellent job in planning such a busy schedule, especially for Ryan and Colleen. Thank you.”

Ryan laughed. “For one moment you made me think I am a jet-setter or an independently wealthy man of leisure. I will cram everything I possibly can into the few days I have left in Italy. And when I'm back out hauling my nets and praying no tidal wave sideswipes my trawler, I'll be filled with memories of happy times and romantic Italy to sweeten my dreams.”

Bill sat in his chair sipping hot tea, pleased to know that Ryan thought his Christmas sermon had been good. He also contemplated how tough it was for Ryan, suddenly a responsible workingman, to be burdened with the family fishing business and not able to go to college.

Ryan checked his watch. “Dad, I have a date about now. I am giving Paula a tour of the Vatican this afternoon after we have lunch. If you are free a few minutes, I'd like to have you meet her again now that things are quiet.”

“Of course, Ryan. I'll be here and free all afternoon and evening.”

“I can arrange a lovely luncheon for you at Ponentino Restaurant in Trastevere,” Cippolini offered. “And international singer Antonio Furnari is giving a special outdoor concert there this afternoon. He is a friend of Ambassador Kirby and has a great voice.”

“I appreciate that, Monsignor. Sounds like fun. You think of everything. If you ever want to become a fisherman I can help you get a job,” said Ryan. “It's probably the best route to becoming pope.”

Al glanced at Bill to gauge his reaction to Ryan's joke.

*   *   *

With all this activity, Church and family, Bill's head was swimming. Christmas was busy for any pope, but for the first pontiff in several centuries with a family it was proving doubly so. Bill jammed in a briefing meeting with Monsignor Cippolini and Cardinal Bellotti to get an evaluation of how things were going with his Vatican affairs so far. He also wanted feedback on his first papal audience earlier that week.