Papal decree

11

His slow steps showed the heavy weight of years. He considered himself well preserved for his age, but he couldn’t fool himself about his own unsteady strength, which he tried hard to hide. His steps had brought him a long way so far, to places he never longed for in his youth, when distances seem shorter than they are.

The small chapel was for his use alone, only for him or whomever he wanted to invite. A statue of Christ at the back on the altar defined the space. Six feet of Carrara granite from which the sculptor, believed to be Michelangelo, removed the excess stone to reveal this immense Christ. His head hung toward His right side with an expression of suffering set there four hundred years ago. Human cruelty. Certainly this was not just any statue by any sculptor. It was Christ in person, in His divine aspect, whom he saw and to whom he prayed whenever he entered the chapel and knelt at His gleaming feet. He did it every morning and night, but today required a special prayer, and he dragged himself along the corridor. He was bending under the effort and worry. This was not an ordinary end of the day. They were never the same, but this one brought an additional weight.

‘Your Eminence,’ Trevor, one of his younger assistants, in a black cassock, called out at the door of the study.

His Eminence raised his hand in an abrupt, rude gesture that called for silence and entered the door of the chapel in front of him. He knelt at the feet of the angelic Christ, made the sign of the cross, and bowed his head more in mercy than in reverence. He whispered an unintelligible litany for a few moments until he realized he was not alone. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

‘Can’t I pray in peace?’ he protested without looking behind him.

‘It’s not time to pray, Tarcisio,’ the other person replied, dressed identically in the scarlet uniform of a prince of the church.

‘Maybe not, but, certainly it’s something we do less and less,’ Tarcisio argued.

‘Do as I say, not as I do,’ the other replied.

Tarcisio repeated the sign of the cross and got up. He turned around to the one who had disturbed his prayer to at once drop his gaze.

‘This is going to have consequences, William,’ he said.

‘We have to minimize them.’

‘At what price, William?’ he said, raising his voice in irritation.

‘Whatever price necessary,’ he replied strongly. ‘We have to be prepared for everything, whatever it costs.’

‘I don’t know if I have the strength,’ Tarcisio confessed.

‘God gives you the burden and the strength to bear it. You’ve come far. Look where your strength has brought you. Look what God wants you to do.’ William’s voice was sincerely encouraging. He believed in Tarcisio’s ability. He laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder. ‘And your road is far from the end. He wants much more of you. More still. You know this very well.’

Tarcisio coughed uncomfortably. ‘We don’t know what He wants later.’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘We don’t even know what He wants now.’ Tarcisio looked perturbed, a sheep lost among the others.

William set both hands on Tarcisio’s shoulders and looked at him intensely. ‘Look at me.’

Tarcisio took his time complying with the request, not an order, since Tarcisio was William’s superior.

‘Look at me,’ he repeated with the same firm posture. Tarcisio finally looked at him with a beaten, lost expression. ‘You’re concentrating on the problem when you should be thinking of the solution. Things are in play. We can’t stop them now. But I need your approval. I myself will try personally to guarantee that everything will work out in our favor.’ He looked intensely at Tarcisio again. ‘We’ve got to do what’s right.’

Tarcisio freed himself from William and turned his back. He had to think about what he’d said. The moment required lucidity, he recognized this, but it was hard to find it. Help me, Father. Show me the way. Guide me in the calm sea of Your arms, he prayed mentally. William was right. Crossed arms and burying one’s head in the sand resolved nothing. A firm hand and a very short rein were necessary. He grabbed William’s hand.

‘Thank you, my good friend. You brought me back.’

William smiled. ‘Not me.’ He looked at the suffering statue. ‘Him.’

‘Your Eminence,’ Trevor called again fearfully from the door of the chapel. He didn’t dare enter.

Tarcisio looked at his assistant without showing his excitement. ‘What is it, Trevor?’

‘Ah… you asked to be told when Father Schmidt arrived,’ he said, awaiting a reaction.

‘I’ll be right there,’ Tarcisio only said. ‘You can go back to work.’

The assistant disappeared almost instantly from the entrance to the chapel, as if the devil were watching him from the corner.

William looked embarrassed. ‘What are you going to say?’

‘Nothing. He’s here as my friend from the church. I’m not going to intercede, nor do I want to,’ he deliberated. Now he was the Tarcisio he always was when he assumed control and responsibility. An imposing secretary.

‘That seems wise to me.’ William returned to the matter at hand. ‘You’re giving me your official approval, then?’

‘You can count on it,’ he said, going to the chapel door. He longed to see Schmidt again. He was playing on both sides at the moment. He wanted to do what was right. Christ would help him.

‘We already have people in the field,’ William informed him as they walked out. ‘I want to give the final orders and go over to Via Cavour.’

‘Be careful. Are you sure we can trust them?’

‘We don’t have another choice.’

‘Another innocent thrown to the beasts,’ Tarcisio argued pensively. Traces of conscience.

‘Others have done it. Don’t worry. We’re at war.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s a holy war, but there are damages we have to sustain. Everything will be resolved quickly.’

‘May God hear you,’ Tarcisio replied.

‘He’ll hear,’ William said with a smile.

‘Were you able to analyze the DVD? Any indication?’ he questioned shyly.

‘Nothing. Clean. I’m going now.’

Tarcisio left for his office in front, not without flexing his right leg and making the sign of the cross out of respect to the figure on the altar. William did the same, and both left to pursue their own affairs. Only Christ remained, nailed to the cross, His head hanging at His right side with an expression of suffering that foresaw the times to come.