Intervention

23

6:30 P.M., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2008

NEW YORK CITY

James had Father Maloney bring James’s beloved Range Rover around from the garage and park it momentarily on the 51st Street side of the residence. A 1995 model, it was hardly a new car, but to James it represented freedom. In the fall and winter months, he used the car to drive to Morris County, New Jersey, to a small lake called Green Pond to spend random solitary weekends at his cottage. It was a heavenly sanctuary from the weekly blur of his endless official responsibilities.

James climbed up into the driver’s seat, heading west, then south along the Hudson River on the West Side Highway.

The drive was scenic, and he allowed himself to relax and think about the upcoming evening, which he hoped would not be quite as ghastly as he’d originally feared, especially with Jack present. His mind also drifted back to his major problem: how to talk Shawn out of publishing anything about the possibility the bones in the ossuary belonged to the Blessed Virgin. He shuddered anew at the thought of the consequences if he were unsuccessful. With the Church still reeling from loss of clerical authority due to the molestation crisis, the news would be devastating to the Church. It would be crushing to him personally as he believed the Holy See would be forced to sacrifice him as a scapegoat, thanks to Shawn’s machinations. With a profound sense of sadness, James found himself reminiscing over his journey of achieving his current position and his hopes for higher office.

James sighed as he wistfully recalled all the twists and turns of his career and now its possible end at the hands of a friend. It seemed the ultimate betrayal, a thought that suddenly gave him an idea. He realized it was the personal angle that would most likely affect Shawn’s decision to publish. James was well aware of Shawn’s negative attitude toward organized religion, such that any appeal in that arena would fall on deaf ears. James was also aware that Shawn was not particularly moral, but he was definitely a commited friend. With a modicum of new optimism, James decided that his approach with Shawn was going to emphasize that his actions would injure him, James, and more or less downplay what they might do for the Church in general and its laity.

James exited the highway into the West Village and made his way to Morton Street, taking the first parking place he found. As an admittedly poor parallel parker, it took him ten minutes to get the Range Rover into the spot, and even though it ended up two feet away from the curb, he considered it parked well enough.

Five minutes later James turned into the walkway that led to the Daughtrys’ wood-frame house and stopped. He’d visited before but had forgotten how charming it was. Nothing about it was square or plumb for its entire four floors. All the window frames and even the front-door casing were leaning slightly to the right, suggesting that if the door was inadvertently slammed shut, the entire building might fall to the right against its more solid-appearing brick neighbor. The clapboard siding was stained a light gray, while the trim was painted a pale yellow. The roof, although hard to see except for just the corners of the fourth-floor dormers, was a medium-gray slate. The front door with several bottle-bottom windows was dark green, almost the same color as James’s Range Rover. In the middle of the door was a brass door knocker in the shape of a human hand holding a ball. Just to the left of the door was a sign that said CAPTAIN HORATIO FROBER HOUSE, 1784.

James found himself inwardly smiling. He recognized it was just the kind of off-the-wall residence Shawn would choose. There was no doubt Shawn liked to stand out from the rest of the crowd, a thought that gave James another idea. Perhaps he could arrange to have Shawn given some kind of high award if he promised not to publish anything about the Blessed Virgin’s relics, something like being inducted as a modern Knight of Malta.

With the comforting sense of having come up with something of a plan, even if of dubious efficacy, James reached up and used the brass knocker to announce himself with a few healthy clangs against its brass base. After doing so he cringed, remembering the entire house’s precarious lean to the right.

Within seconds the door was yanked open by a euphoric Shawn with a scotch on the rocks in one hand and a smile to beat the band on his face. “The guest of honor has arrived!” he shouted over his shoulder back into the house from whence a most delightful aroma of grilled meat wafted. A Beethoven piano concerto was playing as background music. Both Sana and Jack materialized out of the smoky, candlelit background on either side of Shawn. There was a buzz of voices, hugs, and slaps on the back as James was welcomed into the living room. A small fire was comfortably crackling in the fieldstone fireplace behind an appropriate-size screen.

“My word,” James said, pressing a palm against his chest in a gesture of being overwhelmed. “I’d forgotten how very cozy you have it. My highest compliment is that it out-cozies, if that’s a word, my lakeside retreat in Jersey.”

“Well, sit down and enjoy, birthday boy!” Shawn said, guiding James gently by the elbow to a club chair and hassock situated just to the side of the fireplace. The light from both the fireplace and the candles made his chronically red cheeks look almost like bruises. “What is your preference? We have a terrific vintage Pétrus that’s been breathing for several hours or your usual favorite, single-malt scotch.”

“My word,” James repeated, taken aback. Such extravagance immediately caused him concern about a possible breakthrough with the ossuary. “Pétrus! This is a celebration!”

“You bet your life it is!” Shawn confirmed. “What will it be?”

“Pétrus is a rare pleasure, and provided I’m not taking it away from dinner, I would love a glass.”

“No problem, old friend,” Shawn said, scuttling off after Sana to the kitchen.

Suddenly becalmed after the tsunami of the welcome, James and Jack exchanged glances. “Thank you for coming,” James said pianissimo. “Although I really need to be here to start my campaign, I’m not sure I would have been able to force myself without your presence.”

“I’m actually pleased to be here,” Jack responded equally softly, even though with the music playing there would be little chance of being heard from the kitchen. “But I feel obligated to warn you that Shawn seems hell-bent on publishing this Virgin Mary story. I’ve tried to help as you asked me, but I’m feeling less and less optimistic that he’ll even consider not publishing, and for a kind of scary reason. Well, two scary reasons, one more so than the other.”

“What are they?” James demanded, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I think he’s beginning to believe that there is a religious component involved. Several times he’s alluded to the possibility that he has been singled out by the powers that be to bring what he considers this enlightenment to the world at large.”

James’s eyes opened wide. “Are you saying that he’s beginning to believe he is acting as a kind of messenger of the Lord?” James exhaled through partially open lips. To him, such thinking smacked of blasphemy, if not mental illness. He’d seen it before with certain zealots, but he hardly considered Shawn a zealot. Either way, James did not consider it a positive sign, or even healthy. “What’s the other reason?”

“Just the one we’ve already mentioned, that he sees this whole affair as his crowning contribution to archaeology and firmly believes it is going to make him famous. That’s always been his number-one goal, and until now, he’d resigned himself to the fact that as an archaeologist he’d been born a hundred years too late to achieve such a status.”

“Nectar of the gods,” Shawn announced loudly, as he came in from the kitchen with a crystal goblet nearly filled with ruby-red claret. “Your Eminence,” he said with a bow, handing James the stemware.

“How gallant,” James remarked, taking the wine. After holding up the glass in the form of a toast to his two friends, he swirled the goblet, took a whiff of the wine’s full aroma, and then tasted it. “Truly the nectar of the gods,” he agreed.

At that point the three men took seats at the points of an equilateral triangle, with James and Shawn on opposite sides of the fireplace and Jack on the sofa directly in front.

“Is Sana going to join us?” James asked.

“I believe she will after finishing the final preparations for dinner. Or maybe she’ll just give a yell when all is ready.”

“James,” Jack said. “It’s great to see you in mufti. In my mind you look better in jeans, shirt, and sweater than those Renaissance prince costumes. They are too intimidating.”

“Here, here!” Shawn said in agreement, motioning with his scotch as if making a toast.

“If it were up to me, this is how I’d dress most every day!” James said, settling back into his club chair and putting his feet up on the hassock, pretending to be relaxed instead of as tense as he was. “So bring me up to date about the contents of the ossuary!”

“It is turning out to be better and better,” Shawn said, looking back and forth between the others. “I haven’t even told you yet, Jack, but I was able to unroll with great difficulty two pages of the first scroll of the Gospel of Simon, and it is terrific. Unfortunately, at that pace it might take more than a month to do all three.”

“In what possible way is it terrific?” James asked, studying his cuticles as if not particularly interested.

Shawn sat forward, and the firelight sparkled off the surface of his eyes. “It was like being transported mystically back to the first century as a witness to the struggles of the early Church.”

“You could more effectively do that with Henry Chadwick, The Early Church, and with a good bit more confidence in the accuracy of the material,” James said, taking a sip of his wine.

“Not the same by any stretch of the imagination,” Shawn said. “I was hearing directly from a man who was there and believed himself to be intimately involved.”

“How so? By trying to buy Peter’s powers from the Holy Ghost?” James laughed.

“James, I already know your opinion about the ossuary and its contents,” Shawn gently chided. “But I think you should hear more. You’re not going to change my mind by mocking what we have learned so far before you have even heard it.”

“I think my role is to keep your feet on the ground,” James retorted. “My sense is that you are the one who is apt to jump to conclusions.”

“Perhaps I might need a reality check at some point, but surely not before you understand what we have already learned and what we will learn from the scrolls and the bones.”

“You’re right,” James agreed. “Let’s hear what you have supposedly learned so far.”

“The gospel starts out with what I’d call a bang,” Shawn said. “Simon describes himself as Simon of Samaria, to be sure the reader differentiates him from another relatively contemporary figure, Jesus of Nazareth.”

Despite having just moments earlier resigned himself to be polite while Shawn talked, James burst out laughing. “You mean to tell me that Simon, in a sense, in his own gospel, is putting himself on equal or better footing than Jesus of Nazareth?”

“I am indeed,” Shawn said. “Simon, with obvious reverence, gives Jesus of Nazareth full credit for being the logos, or word, and for having been the redeemer in relation to sin, particularly original sin, but he also says of himself that he is gnosis, or knowledge, the great power, who has come to bring knowledge of truth and in that way supersedes Jesus just as he believed Jesus superseded the Temple and the Laws of Moses.”

“So Simon writes that he is divine?” James questioned, a wry, mocking smile of disbelief still on his face.

“Not in the same sense as Jesus of Nazareth,” Shawn continued. “I have to let you take a long look at the text and see for yourself when it is totally unrolled and fully protected under glass. Simon believed, like other Gnostics, that he had a divine spark because he’d been blessed with gnosis, or special knowledge.”

“This is early Christian Gnosticism,” James said for Jack’s benefit.

“Absolutely,” Shawn stated, now smiling himself. “It seems that Simon was perhaps the first Christian Gnostic, which is why Basilides was so eager to ask Saturninus about his master. Simon goes on to say that the violent Jewish god who created the world was not the same god as the Father of Jesus of Nazareth, who is the true God, the perfect God who has had nothing to do with the vastly imperfect and dangerous physical world.”

“So, Simon was then an early Platonist eschewing his Jewish roots.”

“Exactly,” Shawn said, still smiling. “Simon was more Paul than Peter; some thought he had more in common with Peter in his early life as far as we know, since he grew up in less-than-prosperous surroundings in Samaria, while Peter did the same in neighboring Galilee. Anyway, I find all this fascinating, and I’ve unrolled only two pages. What I find so fascinating is Simon’s idea of adding to Jesus of Nazareth’s mission, giving Jesus the credit for doing the redeeming about sin, while he, Simon, would take on the issue of knowledge. What I’m wondering is whether Simon in his gospel, when I get it completely unrolled and translated, might actually redeem himself from being the convenient whipping boy down through the ages.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” James said. The last thing James wanted at this point was for Simon Magus to redeem himself. “His perfidy is canonical and unchangeable, and certainly not by something he might have written himself.”

“Dinner, everybody,” Sana said, coming in from the kitchen and sipping a glass of wine.

The men struggled to their feet, and while Shawn tossed a couple of logs on the fire to keep it going, James and Jack followed Sana to the very back of the house, where there was a dining table in an attached greenhouse-like structure. “This ossuary mess keeps getting worse,” James mumbled to Jack, when he and Jack were sitting and when he knew neither Shawn nor Sana could hear.

Jack nodded, but from his perspective it was the opposite, although he did not let on to James, whom he could tell was clearly more anxious now than when he’d arrived.

A few minutes later they were all seated, and Shawn asked James for a blessing, which he was happy to provide. It was a pleasant setting, and both James and Jack commented that one would never know they were in the middle of the West Village in New York City, as quiet as it was. There was not a single siren in the distance. Shawn had switched on a group of lights that illuminated their carefully planned and enchantingly serene Japanese garden bordered by a rough-hewn cedar fence. Nothing of the enormity of New York was even vaguely visible.

“A toast to our hostess!” Jack said, lifting his wine goblet and nodding toward Sana at the right end of the table. Shawn was at the left end and James directly across. In front of each person was a plate of grilled meat with a curiously orange-colored, pungent-smelling sauce, couscous with slivered almonds, and an artichoke with a vinaigrette dip.

“We’re eating lamb loin with Indian spices,” Sana announced. “Unfortunately, the lamb got to marinate for only slightly less than two hours, whereas the minimum is supposed to be a full two hours, but I did the best I could with the time I had after getting my samples into the incubator to dry overnight.”

“I assume you are trying to obtain DNA from the ossuary bones?” James asked. With the idea the bones might be those of the Blessed Virgin, albeit a very slim chance, James felt unease about trying to isolate DNA, without knowing why he felt that way. He imagined it was a privacy issue about someone he held inordinately dear.

“That’s correct,” Sana responded. “But our current attempt is from a tooth, not from bone.”

“Is that a lengthy process?” James inquired.

“Not if we’re lucky,” Sana answered. “It should take only a few days, although maybe as much as a week. I’d rather be careful than quick. There’s lots of opportunity for DNA contamination, which I’m intent to avoid.”

“What about the bones?” James asked. “What did you learn from the anthropologist? Are they human? Are they female? Is it more than one person?”

“Yes, yes, and no,” Shawn responded. “They are definitely human, without doubt female, and it is only one person.”

“And there is a suggestion the individual was multiparous,” Jack added. “In fact, significantly multiparous, like more than five, maybe even up to a dozen children.”

James felt his pulse hammer at his temples and for a moment he was overheated, thinking of removing his sweater. After taking a sip of wine to relieve his suddenly parched throat, he asked, “What about the age of the individual?”

“That’s difficult to ascertain, but the anthropologist was willing to guess over fifty, probably more like eighty-plus.”

“I see,” James said simply. Doing a quick calculation in his head, he realized with yet another start that such an age would have been entirely appropriate for the Blessed Mother, considering Jesus’ birth around 4 BC and her death in AD 62. She would have been in her eighties.

James felt his general anxiety rising. Although he knew everything he was hearing was only circumstantial, he feared that such evidence could not help but harden Shawn’s opinion, making James’s job that much more difficult. It also suggested to him that he could not wait any longer. He had to state his case; otherwise, he would have to resort to plan B. Of course, the big problem with plan B was that there was no plan B.

With a shaking hand that he tried to hide, James took a fairly large mouthful of wine, savoring the taste, which was absolutely heavenly. Slowly he swallowed, bit by bit. Then, sitting up straighter in his chair, he began, first by thanking his hostess.

“This has been the best dinner I’ve had since I can remember,” James said, looking to his left at Sana. “It has the most exquisite flavors and aromas, and strikingly tasty meat prepared perfectly. I salute you, young lady.” James raised his glass, and Shawn and Jack followed suit. Then, turning to Shawn, he again held up his glass. “Adding to this fine dinner has been this superb wine, which I pray did not require mortgaging the house.”

Shawn rocked forward and chortled appreciatively. “It’s been worth every penny to celebrate your birthday, which when we were in college always seemed to come at the most opportune time as an excuse to party rather than study, and to celebrate our favorite ossuary and the promise it has brought. Cheers!”

Everyone took a drink of their extraordinary wine.

“But now I must turn the conversation over to a more serious matter,” James said, looking to his right and engaging Shawn directly. “I can appreciate your excitement about the contents of the ossuary, but I must, I’m afraid, tamp your enthusiasm down a significant degree, as eventually you will come to realize as I mentioned back at the residence that this whole affair is all an elaborate fake, promulgated apparently by this mysterious Saturninus. After giving the affair considerable thought and prayer, I am even more certain this is the case. Why this individual did what he did I have no idea, nor do I care to know, for it is the work of Satan himself. Perhaps he had some personal grudge against the developing Church, most likely from the Church’s appropriate condemnation of the Gnostic heresy, which I understand his letter supports. At the same time, perhaps he was prescient about the future role of Mary as the single most important symbol of Catholic spirituality and faith, and the fact that a huge number of current-day Catholics consider praying to her as an extraordinary aid in the search for personal holiness. Popes have always highlighted the close connection between Mary and the total acquiescence of Jesus of Nazareth as the Son of God. The Church is the people of God, and she is the Body of Christ. And for women, in general, she is the redemptrist for the sins of Eve. As much as Eve turned away from God, Mary accepted His wishes without question and bore His Son in perpetual virginity.”

“How can you possibly declare this affair a fake at this early stage of investigation?” Shawn shouted, after pounding the table hard enough for the dishes and flatware to jump noisily.

“Faith, my son,” James said authoritatively, holding up one hand like a policeman stopping traffic. “By the Holy Spirit working both through the body of the Church as sensus fidelium and through the hierarchy, particularly the pope, through sacred magisterium.”

Shawn threw his hands above his head and glanced at Jack while mockingly rolling his eyes. “Can you believe this guy? Now he’s trying to add Latin to confuse and impress me as a way of having a debate. It’s college all over again. And do you know where he is going with this? He’s going to the infallibility argument, the same one we had in college. Certain things never change!”

Shawn redirected his attention back to James, who was still holding up his hand like a traffic cop. “Am I right, lardo? Isn’t this about to dissolve into our old argument about papal infallibility such that when he speaks ex cathedra, meaning from the his official position as Bishop of Rome and head of the Church, on matters of faith or morals he is infallible? Isn’t that what this discussion is coming down to?”

“Let me finish my major point before we get sidetracked,” James said, forcing himself to stay calm in the face of Shawn’s impertinence. “The fact of the matter is this: Any publication about the contents of the ossuary and the Blessed Virgin, the Mother of the Church, the Mother of God, according to the patriarch Cyril of Alexandria and the founder of the study of Mariology, and the Mediatrix Extraordinaire, according to Bernard of Clairvaux, will do irreparable harm to the Church in this regrettable era of low clerical authority stemming from the child-molestation crisis. Hundreds of thousands of people will have their faith challenged unreasonably. The celibacy issue, already being challenged, will be further challenged; priestly numbers will drop beyond their critical numbers today. I have over ten parishes under my authority of the Archdiocese of New York without a pastor. I don’t have enough priests as it is!”

“That’s not my problem,” Shawn snapped. “It’s the Church’s fault. They have to come out of the Dark Ages and stop painting themselves into the corner by relying on this infallibility issue rather than dealing with fact. It’s like the Galileo affair all over again.”

“That affair was not about papal infallibility.”

“Well, you could have fooled me. Galileo was tried for heresy because with his telescope he proved Copernicus’s heliocentric theory to be correct, whereas Church dogma said the Earth was the center.”

“It was an issue of sacred magisterium and sensus fidelium but not papal infallibility,” James snapped back.

“Whatever,” Shawn flaunted. “It was an inexcusable disregard of fact and truth.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“Of course it’s my opinion!”

“Episodes like the Galileo affair have to be viewed in the context of the time at which they occurred.”

“I don’t think fact and truth are contingent on time,” Shawn stated, interrupting James. His words were becoming progressively slurred from the scotch and wine, as he had started drinking before Jack and then James had arrived. “Does anyone else here besides James believe such a thing?”

Shawn glanced at both Sana and Jack and swayed slightly in the process, but neither responded. Neither wanted to take sides in an argument that clearly was not yet over, and by participating, someone’s feelings would get hurt.

“Would you please let me finish?” James demanded of Shawn.

Shawn made a spectacle of spreading his hands widely, giving James free rein to say what he wanted.

“Publishing an article about the ossuary bones being those of the Virgin Mary, therefore directly contradicting Munificentissimus Deus, Pope Pius the Twelfth’s 1950 infallible declaration regarding the Assumption of Mary, not only would have a devastating effect on the Church by undermining both the reputation of the Virgin Mary and clerical authority, but I fully believe it will have an equivalent effect on my career. As the issue is investigated, as it undoubtedly will be, it will soon come to light that it was my intervention with the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology that provided you, Shawn, access to the necropolis, which made it possible for you to steal the ossuary, which is what you have done.”

“I prefer to think of it as borrow,” Shawn said with a snide smile.

“For someone who purportedly likes to deal with truth and fact, steal is a much better term than borrow. Quite quickly, the truth and the facts of the matter will be that the archbishop of New York made it possible for the thief to take the ossuary without the knowledge of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology, nor any of its archaeologists, and then compound the theft by illegally removing the important artifact from the Vatican and Italy and having it transported to New York, where it was violated without its rightful owner’s knowledge. With such an involvement coming to light, I would give the Holy Father about one week to recall me to Rome and then post me to some monastery, perhaps in the jungles of Peru or the deserts of Outer Mongolia.”

Once James had finished, a silence settled over the cozy dinner party such that the only sound came from the Daughtrys’ cat scratching in its litterbox down the hall. No one spoke. No one even looked at one another. The uncomfortable sense of betrayal hung in the air like a miasma.

Suddenly, Sana pushed back her chair and stood. “Why don’t all of you head back into the living room, where I’ll bring dessert. Shawn, you see to the brandy.” Sana took her plate and James’s back into the kitchen proper as the others got to their feet. Still, none of the men spoke. Instead, everyone carried either their plates or other objects from the table back to where Sana had retreated.

“It’s actually easier if you all head into the living room as I suggested,” Sana said, as the men divested themselves of their loads, trying vainly to put them directly into the dishwasher but bumping into one another in the process.

“Who’s for brandy, and who’s to stick with their wine?” Shawn gaily questioned. He grabbed the nearly full second bottle of Pétrus and started for the living room, weaving precariously. “If you want wine, bring your goblet,” he added, as he snatched his own from the countertop.

In the living room, each took his original spot. Prior to sitting down, Shawn put the wine bottle and his glass on the coffee table, then got several more logs to lay on the glowing coals, which the original fire had been reduced to. He then got James the brandy he’d requested and then filled Jack’s wineglass and finally his own.

“Such contentment,” Shawn voiced, after finally sitting down. He stared into the now softly crackling fire. He was content, except he knew the ball was in his court to respond to James’s comments. Thanks to Jack’s warning him the night before in his office, Shawn had thought about the issue and had decided the ossuary affair too important to be put off, even if there was the slight possibility the Church might be foolish enough to shoot itself in the foot by punishing one of its best and brightest for something that was clearly not his fault. Shawn had decided not to allow himself to be goaded by any of James’s entreaties.

“James,” Shawn said, taking a small gulp of wine. “Do you really, truly believe the pope would punish you for something clearly not your fault? I mean, I take full responsibility for what I’ve done and will do.”

“I think there is a distinct chance I will be punished.”

“Ah,” sighed Shawn, content to hear that James’s supposed banishment had gone from a closed deal to a chance in five minutes, which is quite a rapid change of probability. “I believe the Church makes some strange decisions, like not allowing condom use in sub-Saharan Africa to prevent massive death and suffering from AIDS, but I don’t think they’d be stupid enough to terminate your career because of my transgressions.”

“I believe I know the inner workings of the Church better than you.”

“That might be, but it’s my opinion. Most significantly, you are not going to goad me into abandoning a project that I see as inordinately important. From my perspective, presenting a challenge to papal infallibility is a positive, not negative, thing, particularly since his infallibility supposedly extends to the arena of morals. The mystical workings of the Holy Spirit aside, it strikes me as nuts to let a supposedly avowed celibate dictate morals in relation to sex and marriage, and declare him to be infallible. It’s contrary to human intuition and cognition, and besides, when you consider sensus fidelium, which you brought up, the Church via the pope and the Catholic laity have been at odds about sex for years, even probably several generations.”

“And I suppose you would be a better arbiter of sexual mores?” James questioned superciliously. He knew his old friend was in his cups.

“I’d be more popular than the current arbiters,” Shawn said. “Why is it that the Catholic Church, particularly the American Catholic Church, has had such a hang-up about sex?”

“The Christian Church from its early days has always felt that marriage and sex have been an impediment to a true union with Jesus Christ, which is certainly the origin of celibacy being required of priests. It is certainly the reason I have been celibate all these years. The sacrifice has made me feel decidedly closer to God, without an ounce of doubt.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, but it doesn’t surprise me because you’re crazy. After all, you had Virginia Sorenson in the palm of your hand and then let her go. Was she a piece of ass, Jack, or what?”

“She was definitely a looker,” said Jack, who was equally aware of Shawn’s mental state. “And a smart, lovely person as well.”

“You’ve never come clean about Virginia,” Shawn continued, his slurring increasing. “Did you nail her homecoming weekend, James? Here’s your chance finally to let your buddies know. After all, we were rooting for you and purposefully cleared out to give you space and privacy.”

“I refuse to be drawn into a conversation that might be disrespectful of Virginia,” James said with definite resolve. “Let’s get back to our discussion. How did we start out talking about papal infallibility and get bogged down about sex?”

“Because it is related,” Shawn said, glancing at Jack, whose silence he felt was out of character.

“How can it be related?” James questioned. “In modern times, the power of papal infallibility has been used only twice, and neither time did it in any way involve morals or sex. In fact, ironically enough, both times it has been used, first in 1854 and second in 1950, it has involved dogmas associated with the Blessed Virgin. In 1854 Pope Pius the Ninth proclaimed the Immaculate Conception an ex cathedra dogma, which, contrary to many people’s belief, is not about the conception of Jesus Christ, Mary’s son, but rather about Mary herself, so like her son, she too would be free of original sin. Of course, the second time was the Munificentissimus Deus of Pius the Twelfth, as I’ve already mentioned, concerning Mary’s Assumption to heaven body and soul. How on earth do you get sex out of that?”

“It’s not those two episodes of infallibility that has caused the current problem. From most of the popes down through the ages, there has been this evolving papal dialogue that sex is evil. I suppose Pope Gregory the Great was the worst offender, as he’s the one who said all sexual desire was sinful in and of itself. Now, because of the modern declaration of papal infallibility, these old beliefs have been given a new legitimacy, at least from the pope’s perspective. A modern pope cannot overrule an older pope without undermining his own legitimacy. And in the arena of attitudes toward sex, this is a particular problem, because a good portion of the laity has a new, much more modern view of sex not as sin but as evidence of divinity itself. The sacrament of marriage, providing a loving sexual union, is now more sacred in many people’s eyes. And far from being evil, it is both an affirmation of and gift from God. I believe the Church must abjure its old knee-jerk reaction against sex as sin and rather affirm that pleasure is divine and that sensual mutuality is something to strive for. It only makes sense. Why would an all-powerful God create the pleasure of sex and then insist his children don’t use it?”

“It seems to me you are justifying a very self-serving theology,” James said.

“Maybe so,” Shawn agreed. “But I’ll tell you, it makes more sense to me as an individual than the Church’s position, and the Church better recognize that most of its laity agrees with me.”

“That is a leap I’m afraid I cannot accept.”

“At your and the Church’s peril. As a good example is the celibacy issue. By making celibacy an individual’s decision rather than the Church’s, you’d solve the molestation problem and the priestly recruiting problem both. Just make it a personal decision so there can be crazy priests like you and normal priests who will be in a much better position to advise their flocks on marriage and parenting, the center issues of most people’s lives.”

“Shawn!” James said. “You are drunk or close to it, so I refuse to take offense, no matter what you call me or what you say. But let me be clear. If you publish anything about the Blessed Virgin’s bones being in the ossuary that you have stolen from the Vatican, you will not only hurt me, your friend, but hundreds of thousands of other people, particularly poor, poverty-stricken people, like those of the interior of South America, whose most cherished possession is their faith, which often is centered on the Virgin Mary, whom they look to as the absolute model of faith and spirituality. Shawn, don’t do this, especially when it is mostly based on personal vainglorious goals.”

“ ‘Vainglorious goals’!” Shawn shouted. “So you believe you are the only one on a mission here! Well, screw you. This ossuary fell out of the blue into my hands. How do I know it isn’t the Lord himself involved, knowing I was someone who would instantly see the power of its truth and be able to use it constructively?”

“You don’t know it is the truth,” James countered. “That’s the point!”

“And that’s why I’m investigating,” Shawn said. “When I finish with the scrolls—”

“What language are they written in?”

“Aramaic,” Shawn blurted.

James’s heart fell. He’d had a sudden hope that Simon’s scrolls would be in an inappropriate language, to help him discredit them, but Aramaic would have been Simon’s native tongue.

“When I finish with the scrolls and Sana finishes with her work—”

“How is Sana’s work going to help or deny the authenticity of the bones?” James interjected irritably.

“I have no idea,” Shawn said. “I don’t totally understand what she does, but it’s indicative of our wish to properly investigate the contents of the ossuary to the limits of our abilities.”

“In spite of whom you may injure in the process?”

“I see it more in terms of whom we might help, and I include in that the Church itself.”

“Do you honestly believe that you may have been selected by Jesus Christ to help guide his Church? Is that what I’m hearing?”

Shawn spread his hands as if exposing himself. “It’s possible,” he said, but it came out as “ossible,” as he was unable to pronounce the p.

James let his head fall forward until his chin hit his chest. “This is worse than I imagined.”

“How so?” Shawn asked. He wasn’t so drunk not to notice a true change in his friend’s demeanor.

“I’m beginning to fear for your eternal soul,” James said. “Either that or your mental health.”

“Hey, you’re going overboard,” Shawn said. “I feel fine. Perfectly fine. I’ve never felt better. This ossuary and its contents are the most fascinating subject of my career.”

Sana suddenly reappeared from the kitchen bearing a candle-covered chocolate cake and singing “Happy Birthday.” Shawn and Jack joined in the singing as Sana placed the cake on the side table next to James’s chair. As they finished the birthday ditty, they all clapped.

Self-consciously James slipped forward in his chair, causing the bruise-like discolorations on his cheeks to darken. Taking in a big lungful of air, he blew out all the candles in one large sustained puff amid further applause.

As per usual, he didn’t let on what he’d wished, if he’d wished; but if he did, Jack had a good idea what it had been.