Private Rome

Chapter 76

I ran toward the kindly priest. He stepped aside to allow me to pass before closing the door. He had simple but comfortable lodgings — a small living room overlooking the courtyard, a bedroom off to the right with its own bathroom, and a kitchen of sorts tucked behind a three-fold floral screen in one corner of the living room.

“Please sit,” he said, indicating an armchair away from the window.

It faced a couch across a low table covered in old newspapers. There was a stovetop coffee maker steaming on a burner in the kitchen area.

“I’ve just made coffee if you would like some,” Father Vito remarked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My heart was racing, I was trying to catch my breath and my attention was focused on the sound of Vatican police officers hammering on doors further down the corridor.

“Fate will decide what happens to you,” Father Vito said.

He wore black trousers and a white T-shirt, which robbed him of some of his gravitas. It was fascinating to see the difference the black robe made. He seemed less divine, more human somehow.

“Fate? Or God?” I asked.

“I used the word I knew you’d be more comfortable with,” he replied with a smile. “You look as though you already have enough on your mind without having to wrestle with questions of faith.”

There was a loud knock on the door, and whoever was on the other side tried the handle. Thankfully, Father Vito had locked it.

“Quick,” he whispered. “Into the bedroom.”

I nodded and hurried into the next room, shutting the door behind me. I took a moment to settle, pressed my ear against a panel and heard Father Vito working the locks. There was a creak as the sitting-room door swung open, followed by a voluble exchange of words. Father Vito sounded calm and considered; whoever he was talking to, angry and imperious. I held my breath and listened to the movements on the other side of the door.

I looked around the room for somewhere to hide, but it was little more than a cell with a small window, a low single bed and a wooden closet. There was a bathroom about half the size of the bedroom, and I edged into it now.

I steeled myself for inevitable discovery. With no means of escape I’d have to fight my way out, and these cops would be well equipped, possibly armed. I hated making enemies of the cops, but I couldn’t risk being taken into custody.

I heard movement beyond the bedroom door, and then the handle turned. I readied myself to charge at whoever came through. I took a step before registering it was Father Vito and that he was alone.

“Would you like that coffee now?” he asked, and I smiled at him and nodded.

“How did you get rid of them?” I asked, following him out.

“I told them about the sanctity of my chamber and said I would complain to their superiors if they doubted my word that I hadn’t seen you,” he said, pouring me a cup of coffee from the aluminum stove-top pot.

“You lied?” I asked.

“A small transgression to prevent a greater one,” he replied, handing me my coffee.

It was just the right temperature. I took a sip before sinking into an armchair. He sat on the couch opposite.

“This is good,” I said, over my cup.

“Thank the coffee growers of Colombia.”

“Why would you lie for me?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Because you’re a good man. I see it in you,” he replied. “I’ve also read about you on the Internet. We are not totally backward here.”

“If honesty doesn’t have to be absolute, how do you know when you can lie?” I asked.

“Sometimes it is hard to tell. Sometimes it is easy. Today was easy.”

“It seems so much of faith is subject to human interpretation,” I remarked. “It can be used for good or evil, depending on who wields it.”

“Like a gun,” Father Vito counted. “But unlike a gun, there is a book that gives us the key principles. Follow it and life becomes easier to decipher, because that’s what we’re all trying to do here: read the signs that allow us to find our way.”

“And the Bible is our map?” I suggested.

He nodded. “Exactly. It is a guide. The closer you stay to it, the better your life will be — here and in the hereafter. But of course you can stray. The good stray only when necessary, the bad whenever they feel like it.”

“And if you follow its tenets without being a believer?” I asked.

“That’s okay too,” he replied. “Substance is much better than form. Whatever path you find to God, the important thing is that you take it.”

I heard commotion in the yard outside and rose to see the Vatican police leaving. I drained my cup.

“Thank you for helping me,” I said. “And for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” Father Vito replied. “I hope you find peace, Mr. Morgan.”

“So do I,” I said, before I moved to the door. “So do I.”

“Mr. Morgan, there is a side exit through the kitchen,” Father Vito told me. “You might find it useful for a quiet departure.”

“Thank you again,” I said, before I opened the door to the deserted corridor and stepped out.