The Omega scroll

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jerusalem

G iovanni pushed open the now familiar rusty gate to the Sisters of Charity Convent in Jerusalem and climbed the steps. It had been over five years since he had first arrived in the Holy Land, although it seemed like only yesterday, and his little church in Mar’Oth had been completely rebuilt. Poor as they were, the villagers of his home town of Maratea had raised the money for two statues. One of Christ in thigh-length boots with a gnarled walking stick, and one of the Virgin Mary in blue. Very Italian and a little out of place in the Middle East but when Giovanni had unpacked the crates he had fought back tears. Patrick, who had educated him on Jerusalem and the Holy Land as no other guide ever could, had re-consecrated the church. He had seemed genuinely surprised, not only at the sight of the rejuvenated little church but at the lack of hostility and the beginnings of friendships between Muslims and Christians. When Ahmed and the whole of the Muslim community of the village turned up and stood outside the church to offer their support for its consecration, Patrick promptly moved proceedings to the front porch. Abraham would have been pleased.

There had been other highlights during Giovanni’s posting. Without any reference to the Vatican, Patrick had organised an invitation for them both to attend the Conference of Latin American Bishops in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. Giovanni’s paper on the Palestinians had earned him a standing ovation, and he had formed some very strong friendships in South America, including Cardinal Medici, the Head of the Church in Ecuador.

The lowlights usually came at night when he was alone, reading by the glow of a candle. There was no newspaper or television to keep him informed of things outside Mar’Oth. To the bemusement of the villagers he had rigged up an aerial, and on a good night he was able to pick up the shortwave service of the BBC, which allowed him to keep track of the world, but he longed for news of his home. When his spirits were at a low ebb, God seemed very distant, unhearing and unseeing, and Giovanni’s thoughts often turned to Allegra.

Although they had kept in touch – Allegra letting him know how her research was going, and him keeping her up to date with events in Mar’Oth and the Middle East – Giovanni missed their regular discussions. He was still concerned as to why she had suddenly left the Church but he knew he wasn’t going to hear her story until she was ready to tell it. He could only understand the pain and doubt she must have gone through to come to her decision. Giovanni often wondered what his life would have been like if he and Allegra had decided to stay together.

‘Father Giovanni, let me take your bag, Bishop O’Hara’s in the study. Come through, come through. How have you been?’ Neither Sister Katherine’s enthusiasm for life nor the warmth of her welcome ever waned.

‘Giovanni! It’s good to see you. Whiskey?’ Patrick asked, not waiting for a reply and already heading for the sideboard.

‘Good to see you too, Patrick, and thank you for the invitation to dinner. Sister Katherine’s cooking beats mine any time.’

‘And mine. It’s a strange vocation, isn’t it? They provide a welter of theological training and then expect you to live on your own without so much as an introduction to the kitchen. Shalom!’

Giovanni accepted the generous glass of Irish whiskey.

‘I’ve had a letter from Cardinal Medici. You left a very favourable impression.’

‘And they on me. They have some very impressive thinkers in that part of the world, speaking of which, I’m really looking forward to catching up with Yossi tonight.’

‘Yes, not only a great thinker but a man with a very strong Jewish faith.’

‘The more time I spend here, the more I come to realise that Islam and Judaism and the other faiths provide just as much guidance and support as our own.’

‘Then your time here has not been wasted, Giovanni,’ Patrick observed thoughtfully. ‘Although that time may be coming to an end. As you know, I came back through Rome on the way home from South America. Your name came up in some interesting company. Care to hazard a guess?’

Giovanni raised his eyebrows. He never tired of Patrick’s love of conspiracy.

‘The Secretary of State?’

‘Nice try but…’ Patrick raised a finger and pointed upwards.

‘His Holiness? You met with His Holiness?’

Patrick nodded. ‘Il Papa. I had a private audience. Someone had mentioned to him that you were here and he wanted to know why. I gather you’ve met?’

‘Only once. I wrote a paper on science and religion for a conference he addressed and he made a point of meeting me. He doesn’t miss much.’

‘Which is no doubt why he is intrigued at your posting to Mar’Oth. Don’t expect to be here much longer, I think Il Papa may want you back in the Vatican,’ Patrick said, only giving Giovanni half the news.

Before Giovanni could comment, Sister Katherine showed Yossi Kaufmann in to the study.

‘Yossi! Come in, come in. You’re looking taller, or perhaps I’m getting shorter.’ Patrick winked at Giovanni.

‘Dinner will be ready very shortly, Bishop,’ Sister Katherine announced from the doorway, ‘so no settling in here with the whiskey.’

‘Mothers me terribly. Sister Katherine would sign me up to a gym if she could.’ Patrick chuckled at the thought. ‘So how is the code-breaking going, Yossi?’

‘Progress is slow, Patrick,’ Yossi replied with a smile. ‘I need a bigger computer. Eliyahu Rips found a fascinating code on DNA in the Torah, so I ran one as well and it turned up in a Dead Sea Scroll, The Rule of the Congregation. I’ve sent my findings off to Antonio Rosselli. He’s giving a lecture on it tonight.’

Giovanni immediately thought of Allegra. She had written to tell him she was giving her first public lecture as part of a double act with Rosselli. It seemed that the reminders of her were constant.

‘I’ve made some progress with the warning though. It seems to be connected with Mount Hira.’

‘Islam,’ Giovanni responded.

‘How do you get Islam from Mount Hira?’ Patrick asked.

‘Every year Muhammad used to climb Mount Hira to a cave near the summit and meditate,’ Yossi explained. ‘It is there that he received God’s revelations in his native language of Arabic. Other than the fact that there appears to be a clear countdown for civilisation, I haven’t got to the precise nature of it yet, although it is somehow connected with the Christians, Jews and Muslims.’

‘It’s ironic, isn’t it,’ Patrick said, ‘that one of the greatest threats faced by humankind is religion. The Islamic fundamentalists want nothing less than the entire human population to show obedience to Allah, while many in our own Church claim that salvation can only be found within the confines of the Catholic community. God is entitled to be a bit confused,’ Patrick chuckled.

As if to emphasise Patrick’s observations, everything in Patrick’s house started shaking. It continued for about twenty seconds and the bottles and glasses in his well-stocked sideboard rattled alarmingly.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ Patrick said. ‘Just a tremor. We get them from time to time over here but the whiskey’s still intact, so it won’t have damaged much.’

Patrick was only half right. The damage in Jerusalem was negligible, but out amongst the marl and salt cliffs of Qumran a rock that had not moved for nearly two thousand years shifted ever so slightly. It was a movement that ultimately would have a far greater impact than any earthquake.

‘What do you think the chances for peace are here, Yossi?’ Giovanni asked.

Yossi shook his head. ‘With the present regime? Very slim. Neither the present Israeli Government nor Yasser Arafat’s Palestinian Authority is capable of bringing peace to this country. Neither is prepared to compromise. It will take two totally new governments and a much greater involvement of the international community before the killing stops.’

‘Have you ever thought of running for prime minister?’

Yossi smiled. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve been thinking about starting a new party, based on nothing more revolutionary than a just peace. It will probably take years to build the support but I think it’s worth a try. Why do you ask?’

‘Because there is someone I would like you to meet. Someone on the Palestinian side who shares your views. He knows how hard it will be to sell a compromise but, like you, he believes that the average person wants nothing more than to be able to live their lives normally.’

‘Your opposite number?’

‘Yes, Ahmed Sartawi, the Imam in my village. I’m sure you would enjoy talking with him.’

‘Marian and I still have our little holiday house in Acre. Perhaps you and Ahmed could join us for a weekend?’

‘There may not be time for that,’ Patrick said. ‘I was telling Giovanni before you arrived that Il Papa has discovered he is here and wants his talents put to work in the Vatican.’

‘I doubt they’ll want him back before next weekend,’ Yossi said. ‘Let’s see if we can organise it.’

As if on cue the telephone on Patrick’s desk started ringing.

‘Patrick O’Hara. Guilio.’ Patrick covered the mouthpiece and whispered, ‘Guilio Leone, Il Papa’s private secretary.’

‘What crisis of state in the Vatican has you ringing me at this hour?’ he asked. ‘Am I at last to be made a cardinal then? Papal Nuncio in Paris perhaps?’ A wicked smile spread across Patrick’s face. ‘But the tailors here are so reasonable, Guilio. I had my robes made up ages ago and still I wait for the call.’ He winked at his guests.

‘So few bishops who speak Arabic? That’s what you always say, but you can be telling him yourself, he’s right here.’ Patrick handed Giovanni the phone.

‘They hate it when I rib them,’ he said to Yossi. ‘No sense of humour in the Vatican.’

‘Do you want to be a cardinal?’

‘Good grief no! Unless it was somewhere I could do some good. Too much powerbroking in the Vatican. I might as well become a politician.’

Giovanni replaced the receiver, a slightly stunned look on his face.

‘Well?’ Patrick asked, feigning ignorance.

‘Il Papa wants me back in Rome. He wants to make me a bishop,’ was all Giovanni could say.

‘First name terms at last, and about time. Congratulations, my boy. This calls for a drink.’

‘Congratulations, Giovanni, well done.’ Yossi stretched out his hand.

Giovanni was too surprised to resist Patrick’s renewed assault with the whiskey bottle. He realised now that the Spirit did indeed move in mysterious ways.

Mysterious things were also happening in a cave above Qumran, not far from the Dead Sea, as another few grains of sand trickled through a crack in a rock wall.