Papal decree

13

Conversations between friends are continuous. Even if they are years apart, they always resume them, as if they had just seen each other only the day before. And the day before in some friendships could have been three and a half years earlier. Hans Schmidt and Tarcisio enjoyed this kind of friendship.

An immediate embrace followed their handshake. Then two kisses. Tarcisio let his eyes fill with tears, but none dared to spill down his face. Schmidt was not so overcome, but that didn’t mean he had not missed his friend. He was simply less demonstrative. He had always been called ‘the Austrian iceman.’

‘How are you, my friend?’ Tarcisio examined his friend closely with a smile.

‘As God wishes,’ Schmidt replied, looking at his friend.

‘Sit down, sit down.’ Tarcisio pointed to an old brown leather sofa. ‘You must be tired. Did you have a good trip?’

‘Very pleasant,’ Schmidt said, accepting Tarcisio’s invitation to sit and letting his body rest on the sofa. He crossed his legs. ‘Without delays or problems.’

Tarcisio sat down next to him. They were in his office, which Schmidt had never been inside before. Very spacious, a large oak desk next to one of the wide closed windows that separated them from the Roman night outside.

A tense silence settled in. The small talk was almost exhausted.

‘Did you have dinner? Do you want something to eat?’ Tarcisio offered.

‘I’m fine, Tarcisio, thank you.’

Schmidt rarely felt hungry. Often during the time he was assigned to Rome, which seemed like ages past, he forgot to eat. He would faint from weakness. Schmidt was obstinate and dedicated himself completely to the tasks he was given, whether they were his studies or, later, his pastoral functions. For some years he was removed from these duties that gave him so much pleasure, helping Tarcisio with the more administrative and episcopal duties he knew were necessary, but didn’t fulfill him. Whether he liked them or not, he performed them proficiently. Tarcisio had enormous appreciation for him as a man, a cleric, and above all a friend.

‘Are we going to talk about your problem?’ Schmidt inquired. His approach to problems was simple and direct; he didn’t avoid them or turn his back to them. If they existed, they had to be solved at once, so that they did not return to defeat him. God protects the audacious.

Tarcisio looked at the floor to find the right words, but feared words were fleeing him like water through his fingers. He decided to be direct, like his friend. Schmidt would not permit any other way.

‘The Status Quo was broken.’ He got it off his chest, and lifted his gaze to an indefinite point on the wall where there was a large portrait of the Supreme Pontiff, his face with a neutral expression. He waited for Schmidt’s reaction.

‘Lay it all out’ was the only reply, with a German accent to his Italian, normally flawless.

Tarcisio needed his friend’s sharp, lucid mind. No solution presented itself unless all the facts were at hand. Tarcisio opted again for the concise, cold recounting of the elements, no matter the cost.

‘They killed Aragones and Zafer, and Sigfried has disappeared; so have Ben Isaac and his son.’ He threw out the names and facts point-blank, as if mentioning them freed him from them or transferred them to Schmidt. He felt selfish for a moment, but it passed.

‘When did they die?’ Schmidt questioned him without emotion. If he felt anything, he didn’t show it.

‘During the week. Aragones on Sunday, Zafer on Tuesday, and Sigfried disappeared on Wednesday. We don’t know when the Isaacs disappeared.’

‘Did the entire family disappear?’ Schmidt wanted to know.

‘Yes, the wife and the son also,’ Tarcisio concluded.

‘Who’s going to handle this?’

‘Our liaison officer with SISMI and a special agent.’

‘Who?’

‘Father Rafael. Do you remember him?’

‘Of course. Very competent. You don’t need me,’ Schmidt remarked. ‘The situation is in good hands.’

Tarcisio did not seem convinced, to the contrary. He was nervous and agitated, tapping his foot on the floor.

‘If this explodes in our face…’

‘The church always survives everything and everyone,’ Schmidt offered. ‘I don’t see any reason it shouldn’t survive now.’

‘You don’t see? They’re after documents that prove — ’

‘That don’t prove anything,’ Schmidt deliberated. ‘No one knows who wrote them or with what motives. They’re only words.’

‘An order in words wounds and kills,’ Tarcisio objected.

‘Words only have the power we give them,’ Schmidt disagreed without altering the tone of his voice.

‘Is this your defense now?’

‘Nothing needs my defense. Much less the church.’

‘Tarcisio got up, irritated, and began to pace back and forth with his hands behind him.

‘We’re at war, Hans.’

‘We’ve been at war for two thousand years. I’ve always heard this war talked about, and we don’t even have an army,’ Schmidt said ironically.

‘Can’t you see what will happen if these documents fall into the wrong hands?’

‘If I remember well, Pope Roncalli took steps to avoid that scenario. The agreement — ’

‘The agreement expired,’ Tarcisio interrupted, raising his hands in the air. ‘It ran for fifty years. It ended a few days ago.’

‘I know, Tarcisio. Personally I don’t believe that Ben Isaac would have appropriated the docu — ’

‘Why not? The contract had expired.’

For the first time Schmidt looked at him apprehensively. ‘Because I knew Isaac when he was renewing the agreement. Ben Isaac could be a victim, but not a villain.’

‘That was twenty-five years ago. You saw him two or three times. Let’s not forget that he is… Jewish.’ He said it as if it were a grave fault.

‘He’s not a Jew, he’s a banker. And we also pray to a Jew, Tarcisio.’

‘It’s not the same thing,’ the cardinal said, excusing himself.

‘I don’t see the difference. He never knew any other religion.’

‘Jesus founded the Catholic Church.’

‘Tarcisio, please. You are the most influential cardinal in the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church today. Jesus never knew the Catholic Church or any other inheritor of His name. He never founded it or, much less, asked that we construct it.’

The subject disturbed Tarcisio. It was a point of friction between the two men. This freethinking of Schmidt’s exasperated him and only gave trouble to his friend. He remembered just then that this was the principal reason that his friend found himself in Rome tonight. He sat down again and let the silence spread through the office. Hans remained immobile, his legs crossed, the Austrian iceman, imperturbable.

‘Are you prepared for tomorrow?’ Tarcisio finally asked.

‘I’ll see when tomorrow comes.’

‘I’m not going to be able to help you in front of the congregation, Hans. I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly. He was genuinely sorry.

‘I’m not asking for your help, Tarcisio, nor would I accept it. Don’t be sorry, don’t worry about it. The congregation will make their decision. If they think my opinions fit with the church, fine. If not, fine as well. Either way serves me, and none will affect me.’

The confidence with which Schmidt offered these words impressed Tarcisio. They came from deep within him; they were sincere, without any presumption or perfidy. Schmidt had changed much in the last years.

‘I hope it goes for the best. As Our Lord desires,’ he wished.

‘Our Lord doesn’t have anything to do with this,’ Schmidt concluded.

‘Do you also think Ben Isaac has nothing to do with this?’ Tarcisio returned to the previous subject.

‘I suggest you try to find him, if it’s not too late.’

‘How?’

‘Think a little, Tarcisio. They killed Zafer and Aragones. We can very well fear for the fate of Sigfried and the Isaac family.’

‘But who’s behind all this?’ Tarcisio asked. ‘What’s their intention?’

‘I don’t know, but whoever it is doesn’t stop at half measures.’ He stopped talking and thought about it. ‘Hm. Interesting.’

‘What?’

‘The participants in the Status Quo are all being eliminated,’ he said with a thoughtful expression.

‘And?’

‘Two are left.’