September's Pope

Chapter 4

 

The morning of September 3rd dawned bright and warm. It would be a nice evening for the Installation.

Luciani had risen at his usual time and gone about his daily routine. He was a creature of habit and liked it that way. He had no intention of giving up any of his personal morning rituals, from his "wake-up" cup of coffee as soon as he rose, to the English language tape he worked with while shaving. These few familiar things helped ease him into the day... days that now always held some Vatican mystery that needed unraveling, and the help he had been promised by Villot and the others was terribly slow in coming and not terribly helpful. Once the morning mass and breakfast were over and he had returned to his study, he never knew what to expect.

This morning, he had retreated to the study to review and revise his homily for the ceremony that evening. Martin had presented it to him the day before with veiled orders that this was what people would "be expecting" him to say.

Thinking it wise to placate the establishment, whom he had offended so badly with his first Angelus address, he had accepted the speech, but warned Martin that he would most likely make some changes in it, to make it more his own.

This was the task he was working on intently when a knock came on his door a little after 9:30.

"Come in?"

"Holy Father...," Lorenzi began in an apologetic tone, "...please forgive this intrusion, but Sister Vincenza has arrived and she insists on seeing you before going to her quarters. I informed her that you were extremely busy, but...

"No!" the Pope cried, jumping to his feet, "I'm never so busy that I don't have time for a friend...Of course...Please, Diego, show her in.'

Lorenzi's displeasure with this decision was obvious, but he bowed obediently. "Yes, Holy Father," he said flatly and turned to fetch the elderly nun who was sitting impatiently next to his desk in the outer office.

"He'll make time to see you, Sister," the secretary announced in his self-important manner,"...but please keep in mind that he's only able to give you..."

"As much time as possible," the Pope's voice announced gently but firmly from behind the now blushing priest.

"Dear, Vincenza, please come in." Luciani was in the doorway, his arms outstretched to embrace his old friend.

How good it was to finally have her with him again. Over his 12 years as Patriarch, Vincenza had supervised everything for him, from his medication schedule to how much starch went into his shirts. She knew his every mood and could tell what he was thinking even before he was aware of it. She had become his best friend and when he nearly lost her to a heart attack the year before, he feared he would die also from the loneliness her absence would cause.

 "Holy Father," Vincenza whispered approaching quickly and at first, taking his hand to kiss his ring.

"What? No hug for your old friend? I've not become that important, Sister."

The nun beamed at this statement and put her arms firmly around the Pontiff's neck, his closing around her in a warm, brotherly embrace.

Lorenzi watched this open display of affection with disapproval and a growing sense of discomfort.

"If someone were to come along right now...God! What a terribly wrong impression they would get!"

After what seemed a long embrace to the secretary finally broke up, the Pontiff and his friend moved into the office, their arms still linked, and closed the door.

Lorenzi made note of the time. He would give them five minutes and then knock. There was too much to be done, especially today, for the Pope to be wasting time on such nonsense.

Almost as the latch of the door clicked in place, Vincenza began to question the Pope on his health: "Have you been taking your medication on time, Holiness?"

"Yes, Sister."

"And you've been eating and sleeping well?"

"Uh..." He hadn't really, but not wishing to upset his friend he 'fudged' a little on the answer. "Fairly well...I have a great deal on my mind, Sister."

"Yes, yes...," she replied impatiently, as she allowed him to gently steer her into one of the wingback chairs. She took her seat and asked, "...and your exercise?" without missing a beat.

The Pontiff leaned against the edge of his desk, his arms folded in front of him, shaking his head and smiling. "You are relentless! You know that?"

Vincenza's lips pursed at this remark and she responded with even more vehemence. "Never mind how relentless I am, Don Albino...Are you exercising daily, as the doctor told you?'

"Yes, Sister," the Pope replied with a deep nod of his head, "I take a two hour walk, every day...though I spend so much time running around in circles trying to make sense out of this place, that I probably don't have to!"

"No, Holiness..." Vincenza said, raising from her seat and moving to his side. "You must walk...every day," she stressed by jabbing her right index finger into her left palm. "And you must be very strict about your medication. If you don't take it properly and on time..." She paused dramatically and dropped her voice slightly, "...well you know what could happen."

"Yes, yes..." Luciani responded wearily. "I'm well aware of 'what could happen'." he said, mimicking her dramatic delivery. "There's no need to remind me, Sister...Though I still detest being a slave to those silly pills! I'd like to take the whole bottle and just toss them out the window," he added with a nonchalant wave of his hand, "...and come what may!"

"Don Albino!" the nun screeched, her hand to her lips, "...Don't say such things!"

"Why not? You know I wouldn't really do it."

"Thank God," the nun responded blessing herself. "You know those pills keep you alive...," she pressed on; "...they keep you alive to serve God and his people."

Luciani turned his eyes away from her. He hated when she went off on one of her tirades. Especially this one.

"Yes, Sister," he mumbled in a bored voice.

"But isn't that a good reason to, as you say, 'be a slave to those pills'? Eh?'

"Yes, Sister," he answered with the same drone.

Vincenza decided she had pushed him too far and it was time for a new topic of conversation.

"Well...anyway...," she said in a more cheerful tone and moved to the window behind the desk to admire the view.

Luciani followed her with his eyes as far as possible and then prompted, "Yes? Anyway...?"

"Everyone in Venice sends you a greeting and a wish of congratulations, Holiness."

A melancholy smile came to the Pope's lips as he whispered softly, "I miss them."

"And they you," the nun responded softly, moving beside him again.

"The night of your election...oh the celebrating!" She went on cheerfully, "Everyone was so excited and happy...Their Cardinal had become Pope! Oh...and the bells! The bells rang so loud and so long, I thought for sure they would shatter into little pieces." She held up her hand, with a tiny space between the thumb and index finger and squinted at it as though looking at one of her imaginary bell shards.

Luciani chuckled at this little demonstration and nodded. "Really? That hard they rang them, eh?"

"Oh yes! It was wonderful. But now...," she continued in a more subdued voice,"...now they worry about what kind of man you will send in your place."

"They needn't worry," the Pontiff replied, shifting his weight to his other foot,"...I'll send them someone who's worthy of them."

Straightening up and smiling, he took his friend's hands in his own. "Now I have taken you away too...You will be homesick...just as I am...Not only for Venice and her people, but for the life we had there...the freedom.'

Releasing her hands, he moved towards the window and pointed to the ornate gardens in the distance.

"Do you realize, Sister...that I can not walk in those gardens without an entourage of guards?"

Vincenza blinked sadly. She could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice.

"And if I manage to get them to fall back a bit, so I may walk and meditate a while, it's almost certain that some Cardinal will spot me and come running out to discuss some highly serious matter with me, making the whole expedition absolutely pointless!"

He gazed longingly out the window and then, with a deep sigh, he turned back and approached Vincenza.

"About the only place I can walk in peace is up on the roof," he said directing the nun's gaze skyward with his raised finger.

"The roof?"

"Yes. There's a 'roof garden', its really just a flat roof with some plants here and there and a fountain that doesn't work, but they call it a garden...that's where I take my daily exercise, walking in circles...," he drew a small circle in the air with his finger, "...like a prisoner," he ended with an unconvincing smile.

Vincenza grimaced at this depressing image, but the Pope laughed softly.

"You know...I had always wondered why they refer to the Pope, sometimes, as the 'prisoner of the Vatican’; he said cheerfully, "Now I'm finding out!"

He laughed again and the nun smiled hesitantly.

"Honestly, Sister...If I poke my nose out the window...It's a media event!"

That made her giggle.

Coming back to her side, Luciani took her arm and the pair began to walk to the door.

"Diego will be knocking any moment now to remind me how important I am and that I have no time for such silliness as a friend's company...He's wrong...but there's no convincing him of it.

"I'll have him show you to your quarters and introduce you to the other Sisters. You have a staff of six to help take care of one old priest."

They came to the door and the Pope put his hand on the knob to open it, but hesitated and turned to Vincenza, a far more serious expression on his face, as if something very important had suddenly popped into his mind.

"Sister...," he began, looking into her eyes with such concern that it startled her.

"Yes, Holy Father...What is it?"

"Sister, if ever you wish to return to Venice, or to be transferred anywhere else for that matter...you must tell me. As much of a comfort as your presence is to me, I don't want you to feel you must stay, just because I'm stuck here."

Vincenza stared at him blankly, so he continued.

"I may be the Vatican's prisoner, but you are not...understand?'

She nodded, not exactly sure of how to react.

"Promise me that you will do that, if you feel the need...Please?"

"I will, Holiness," she replied, "But I doubt that need will ever arise."

"I hope not," the Pope answered softly, just as a firm knock jolted both of them out of their mutual state of melancholia.

"Ah," Luciani said with a laugh, “I guarantee, it's Diego come to tell us we've visited too long."

He pulled the door open just as the secretary was raising his hand to knock again.

"There! You see, Sister...What did I tell you...eh?"

Vincenza smiled and tried to hide a soft giggle.

Lorenzi's eyes shifted between the two of them, and he forced a smile, wondering just what the Pope had told the nun in reference to him.

"Diego, would you please show Sister Vincenza to her quarters and introduce her to the other Sisters?'

"Yes, Holiness," the priest replied, smiling at Vincenza and offering his arm as support for the walk down the hall. "This way please, Sister. I'll be right back, Holy Father," he called over his shoulder as he led the nun away from the study.

"No hurry," replied the Pope, wiggling his fingers at Vincenza as she departed. He watched them disappear around the corner at the end of the hall and then closed the door.

"Thank God she's here," he said to himself as he walked back to his desk, "Now I have someone I can talk to who will actually listen."

Looking quickly at his watch he decided to keep working on the homily a little longer. He wanted that in good shape by the time he met with Villot and the others.

Taking his seat, he picked up his pen and began rereading the speech, making notes and revisions as he went along. He didn't know how long he'd been at it when the intercom suddenly buzzed, making him nearly jump out of his seat.

"Yes, Diego." he called into the machine.

"Sorry to disturb you again, Holiness, but I was just notified that your family has arrived. They're waiting for you in the Consistorial Hall".

"My family! Wonderful! Tell them I'll be right there!"

The Pope leapt from his chair and flew into the hallway.

"Where are they, Diego?"

"I'll show you, Holy Father," the priest replied and couldn't help but smile at the joyful Pontiff. This was the happiest he'd seen Don Albino since his election.

The two made their way through what seemed to Luciani an endless maze of corridors until they finally reached the audience hall. Through the open door, the Pontiff could see his sister and brother and their families. It was the most beautiful sight he'd laid his eyes on since his arrival in Rome.

"Nina! Eduardo!" he called happily as he strode into the room, his arms open to embrace them.

"Uncle Albino," a choir of young voices cried as his nieces and nephews, ranging in age from 10 to young adults, ran to greet him.

Picking up the smallest and then embracing and kissing each young face, he made his way through the crowd to shake the hand of his brother-in-law and kiss the cheek of his brother's wife. Finally, placing his tiny nephew on the floor, he reached out for his sister, who needed no more invitation than his outstretched arms to enter them and embrace him in kind. Her eyes were filled with tears and she sobbed softly into his shoulder as he caressed her and gently rubbed her back to try and soothe her.

"There, there, Nina...don't cry little one,' he whispered softly.

She pulled away from him slightly and looked up at him, tears still streaming down her face, even though she was smiling.

"That's better," her big brother said, with a gentle smile and wiped away a tear with his hand.

"This is a joyful occasion, eh?"

Sniffling, Nina tried to regain her composure as she looked into her brother's dark eyes. "If only Mama could see you now...how proud she would be."

The Pope's hands gently cupped his sister's face as he replied softly, "She sees, Nina...she knows. So does Papa."

Nina nodded. She understood. But now the tears began again and she once more took refuge in her brother's embrace.

Still with an arm wrapped firmly around his sister, the Pope reached out a hand to clasp that of his brother, Eduardo.

The younger man smiled and shook his head. "You never cease to surprise me, Albino...who ever would have thought..."

"Whoever in deed," the Pope replied wistfully.

His sister having finally recovered, straightened up, but still clinging to him for support informed him, "There are five busloads of people from the village coming for the ceremony tonight."

"Five?" Albino held up his outstretched hand in shocked illustration to his sister's statement.

"Yes," Eduardo agreed, "There's at least 350 people, plus the mayor and some of the village council...You're the biggest thing to ever happen to Canale D'Agordo," he concluded, slapping his brother on the back.

"350 people..." the Pope said with a sense of awe and then chuckled, "I didn't think there were that many people in the village!"

"It's almost the whole population," his niece Lina volunteered.

"Amazing," the Pope whispered in disbelief, "Just amazing."

"What's amazing Uncle Albino?"

"That all those people would come all that way...God it has to take over 12 hours to make that trip...on a bus, which isn't very comfortable as we all know, just to attend my installation...it's unbelievable!"

"Installation?" Eduardo was puzzled. "Aren't you getting crowned with that...that," he wiggled his fingers above his head, "...you know that...thing!"

"The big gold beehive," the youngest nephew, Alberto, piped up.

"Well...yeah...that's what it looks like," Eduardo agreed.

"Oh," Albino started to laugh, as he pictured the triple tiara in his mind, "Yes... it does...it does look like a beehive...you're so right, Alberto!" He picked up the youngster and held him firmly in his arms, as he explained, "No...There won't be any "beehives", he said playfully tweaking Alberto's tiny nose so he squealed in delight and giggled, "...nor any thrones...not that portable sedan chair any way...or any of that other nonsense."

His family looked aghast.

"What?"

He winked at the boy in his rams and put him down, looking from one stunned face to another. "What's wrong," he finally asked, "You didn't think I'd have a ceremony like that...did you?"

"We didn't know you had a choice," his sister answered.

"Well...I didn't really...I...ah...I just told them I didn't want it to be too fancy or too long...and after a while they finally agreed to it...though I'll tell you a little secret," he lowered his voice and everyone bent forward slightly to hear. "I don't think they're very happy with me about it."

Everyone exchanged glances and smiled.

"I imagine they're not," Eduardo said with a laugh, "But then you've never been one to do what people expect...have you, Albino?"

Eduardo placed an arm around his brother's shrugging shoulders and squeezed him as he responded simply, "Uh huh."

The room filled with laughter and the visit progressed to other subjects, until Monsignor Noé appeared along with Lorenzi to remind the Pope that there were other matters that required his attention.

The visit with his family had lasted only 20 minutes. And ended on the happy notes of the Pontiff promising to visit his home as soon as he could and his niece Pia, a medical student in Rome, promising to come to see him on a regular basis.

After leaving his family, Luciani returned to his study. Again, he checked his watch, 11:45. He had never been a clock-watcher before, but today was different. He was dreading the ceremony that evening. He desperately wanted time to slow down a little, so he could prepare himself just a bit more...but it continued to move...faster, it seemed, than usual.

Deciding that the few minutes left before his Angelus appearance were useless in regard to getting any work done, he sat down in one of the study's easy chairs and gathered his thoughts for the talk he was about to give.

His mind kept drifting back to the sight of his sister, her eyes overflowing with tears. "Tears of joy," he wondered, "Or concern." Concern that the great weight of responsibility that was being placed on his fragile shoulders, along with the Pallum this evening, would prove too heavy and crush him. He worried about that himself. He'd worried about it from the fateful moment the words "I accept" had escaped his lips. But now it was too late for worry. Now he needed to gather all the strength he had in preparation for what lay ahead.

A knock at the door brought him back to reality.

"Come in," he answered cheerfully, rising from the chair to greet the foursome who seemed always to arrive just in time for his appearances, so they could critique every word he said after it was over.

Lorenzi opened the door and stood at strict attention as the two Cardinals, the bishop and the Monsignors filed by.

"God! But they take themselves far too seriously!" The Pontiff thought. But he smiled and said only "Hello," to each man.

"Well...," he said looking from one somber face to the next, "...shall we go and visit with our friends?"

He nodded to Lorenzi, who had stationed himself by the window and now opened it wide at the Pope's signal. As soon as it opened, the capacity crowd in the plaza erupted into cheers.

As John Paul came into view, the cheers grew into a roar of shouts and applause.

Smiling and waving, the Pope signaled for quiet and adjusted the microphone. Once the people

grew silent, he began.

"Up in the Veneto, I heard it said, 'every good thief has his devotion'...I have a number of them..."

Laughter and applause flowed through the crowd, while the prelates gathered behind the Pontiff glanced at one another in dismay. Once again he had begun informally, speaking of himself in the first person singular, rather than the regal "we". The crowd loved it...they hated it.

Once the laughter had died down, Luciani continued, "...Among others, I have a devotion to St. Gregory the Great, whose feast falls today. In Belluno, the seminary is called 'Gregorian' in his honor. I spent seven years there as a student and twenty as a teacher. It so happens that today, September 3rd, he was elected Pope and I am officially beginning my service to the universal Church."

"He was a Roman, who became first magistrate of the city. Then he gave everything to the poor, entered a monastery and became the Pope's secretary. On the Pope's death, he was elected and tried to refuse. The Emperor and the people intervened and he finally accepted. He later wrote to his friend, the Bishop of Seville: 'I feel like weeping more than talking', and to the emperor's sister, 'the emperor wants a monkey to become a lion.'"

"One sees that in those times, too, it was difficult to be Pope!"

The crowd broke into laughter at this last sentence, even the four prelates who usually stood stony-faced, smiled. Finally, when the laughter had died down he proceeded.

"He was very good to the poor. Converted England. And above all, he wrote beautiful books. One is The Pastoral Rule, which teaches bishops their trade, but in the last part, it has the following words..." He paused a moment to remember the quote correctly and then went on, "I have described the good shepherd...but I am not one. I have shown the shore of perfection at which to arrive, but personally, I am still in the breakers of my faults and short comings, and so, please...throw me a life preserver of prayer, lest I drown.' “Pausing a moment, a smile spreading across his face, the Pontiff added, "I say the same."

Again. Applause and cheers and his simple wave for silence.

"Yet..." he continued, "...It's not just I who need prayers, but the entire world."

"A Spanish writer has written: 'The world is going wrong because there are more battles than prayers!' Let us try to see that there may be more prayer and fewer battles!"

Again, the applause rose from the crowd and the chant, "Viva, Papa!" began to spread trough the multitude.

Luciani smiled and looked out over the vast sea of people, straining his eyes to see the furthest edge of the Plaza and the person who stood at that edge. Waving for silence once more, he raised his hands in the familiar Papal embrace of the crowd, "Come my friends...," he said gently.

Noé closed his eyes, but not in prayer. It was as though the informality of the Pope's words were painful to him. Filici hung his head and shook it from side to side. Martin lowered his gaze.

Villot shot a disapproving look at the Pope's back, but shrugged it off when it became apparent it was having no affect.

Luciani wasn't paying the least bit of attention to him or the others. No, he was talking with his "friends"...100,000 of them--perhaps more, and he was completely immersed in them.

"...Pray with me?" he invited the throng and began with the blessing, the people responding with an "Amen" that rolled like low thunder over the basilica.

Villot followed the prayer almost unconsciously, he was more fascinated by the control the Pope exerted over this huge gathering and the feeling of total intimacy that prevailed throughout the entire address. It was not until after the final blessing, when the people erupted one last time into enthusiastic applause and cheering, that the Frenchman again became aware of his surroundings. Backing out of the window he retreated into the study and waited with the others for the Pope to join them.

"It's truly improper..." Monsignor Noé was whispering to Martin.

"What is?" the tall Bishop asked in an exasperated tone.

"The way he speaks to the public. Do you realize Excellency that he's not used one prepared address?"

"Well aware of it, Monsignor," Martin sighed.

"And..." Noé continued, oblivious to the Prefect's obvious boredom with the topic, "...he simply refuses to use the regal 'We'!"

"Not his style...," Martin observed blandly, watching the Pope wave to the crowd, his admiration for him growing in spite of himself.

"Style or no...," the Monsignor hissed, "...he doesn't speak or act like a Pope! How does he ever expect to earn the people's respect if he's always so informal!?" He spit out the last word as though it were obscene.

"I think he already has their respect, Monsignor...," the big man replied, "...along with something even more important."

"And what might that be?"

"Their love," Martin answered matter-of-factly, looking into the monsignor's eyes.

Noé had no response for this last statement and retreated to compare notes with Filici and Machi. They would agree with him.

Villot walked over to stand beside the Prefect.

"So..,." The Secretary of State whispered,"...He's won you over, eh?"

Martin shifted his eyes from the small figure in the window to the tall man beside him. "Perhaps, not quite completely, Eminence...but he's getting there."

Villot nodded.

Feeling he needed to defend his last statement, Martin continued softly, "Who could help but be won over, I mean...," he waved a hand at the Pontiff, who was still reacting to the cheers of the crowd below, "...He's amazing with the people...Truly amazing," he added in a tone of sincere admiration.

This elicited another nod from Villot, but not even the slightest hint of his feelings on the matter.

Deciding that the only way to disperse the multitude in the plaza was to leave, Luciani waved a final time and began backing into the room as he did so. Lorenzi closed the French doors as soon as he was clear.

"Thank you, Diego," the Pontiff said to his secretary and then turned to face his sullen brothers.

"Oh dear...," he said when he saw their faces, "...I've said something wrong again, eh?"

There was a slight flurry of throat clearing in response, but none of the clerics spoke.

Approaching them slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, the Pontiff settled his gaze on his biggest critic. "What is it, Monsignor," he addressed Noé, with a sly smile, "…are the words of The Pastoral Rule a Vatican secret too?"

Noé blushed a deep red. The Pope wasn't sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. Either way, he regretted having upset him so.

"I'm sorry, Monsignor...," the Pope said softly, placing a hand on Noé's shoulder, as the later stared at him in disbelief, "...I was trying to make a joke...but it wasn't a very good one, and I'm afraid I've upset you instead...I am sorry."

Noé's eyes had grown wide. A Pope apologizing to a Monsignor? NEVER!

"Holiness...," the monsignor stammered to the confused Pontiff. But he was unable to get any other words to follow. He gazed, helplessly at his four companions, but they too stood with their mouths hanging open and glazed eyes.

Luciani followed Noé's glance and it was all he could do to keep from laughing when he caught sight of the startled foursome. A smile quickly crossed his face, but he covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat to hide it. "Why make it worse..." he thought to himself, "...whatever it is!"

"Well," the Pope said brightly. "Do you have anything to fill me in on about tonight's big event...or do I know it all?"

"I believe you've been informed about everything, Holy Father," Noé responded, still slightly shaken.

"Good," answered the Pope with a broad smile. "Now..." he continued eagerly, "Who can tell me who I will be meeting tomorrow? I've not seen the final guest list."

The clerics looked puzzled.

"You know..." Luciani continued with his customary flying hands, "Dignitaries and the like..."

Still no answer.

Luciani moved behind his desk and sat down, leaning his elbows on the desktop and resting his chin in his hands.

"Guests, gentlemen...," he prodded, "...You did invite people...yes?"

The five nodded in unison.

"So...who was invited? I do have to meet these people...don't I?"

"Well...yes...," Martin said hesitantly, since no one else was responding.

"Ah! Good! Now we're getting somewhere! So, Jacques, who all is coming. I'd like to be prepared to speak with these people intelligently when I meet them."

The group stared at the Pope blankly again. "Be prepared' for what?" was the thought passing through their collective brains. Just meet them, accept whatever token they present and leave it at that! Surely, he didn't mean to have deep discussions with all the dignitaries?

The Pope leaned his chin wearily in his palm again, and drummed the desk top with his fingers. "This is becoming tiring, Fathers," he remarked, and again focused his gaze on Noé. "Virgilio...,"

Noé snapped to attention at the sound of his name.

"...you're the master of ceremonies, you can provide me with a list...can't you?"

"Ah...Yes, Holiness...But..."

"Good! And you can give me a few names now, just to get a head start on thinking about things to discuss with them."

"But, Holiness...," Martin ventured, "...you're only meeting with each delegation for a very few minutes...What difference does it make?"

The Pope had moved from behind his desk and now stood leaning against it and staring at the big Frenchman. It was his turn to be perplexed.

"What difference does it make?" he echoed. "All the difference in the world! I want these people to know that I and the Church know and share their concerns for the well-being of their citizens. If I have only a few minutes to express this, I must be prepared and know which concerns must be addressed, rather than making some blanket statement to just cover everything and nothing!" he concluded, throwing his hands in the air at the thought of wasting such a precious first meeting on trivialities.

This, of course, was what the staff had expected him to do.

Villot shook his head and smiled, in spite of himself. They should know better than to 'expect' anything ordinary or commonplace from this Pope. He would always end up surprising them.

It was Martin who finally spoke up. "I know the names of the dignitaries, Holy Father...Let's see...There's Dr. Potter, from the World Council of Churches, Greek Orthodox Metropolitan Meliton of Chaledon, Rev. Peter Brodie, from the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and Bishop Arthur Vogel of the Episcopal Church."

"Good! Good! What a memory you have, Jacques! What about heads of state?"

"The American Vice President, Walter Mondale and his family; King Juan Carlos and Queen Sophia of Spain, Prince Rainier and Princess Grace of Monaco, Prime Minister Trudeau of Canada, West German Chancellor Schmidt and ...ah...Argentinean President Videla...," Martin paused at this point and looked into the angry eyes of the Holy Father.

Luciani had been nodding complacently up until now. Making mental notes on topics to discuss with the various delegates, but the mention of Videla's name had made him look up at the Prefect with a combination of shock and rage.

"Did I not EXPRESSLY instruct that that....That..."

"Holiness," Villot said softly, hoping to calm the Pontiff. "We couldn't very well not extend him an invitation. He is the Catholic leader of a Catholic nation, after all."

The others nodded in agreement.

"The Cath...," Luciani sputtered, "...Oh yes! He's a prime example of a good Catholic ruler!"

Martin gritted his teeth and starred at the floor...He knew the Pope was right.

"He's a Catholic ruler who rules as a tyrant!" the Pope shouted, his voice, which was always slightly shaky, cracking with the emotion that was building within him. "God!" he blurted as he stormed across the room and back. "If someone in Argentina says, 'I think the president should trim his moustache', they disappear! Never to be seen again...unless you consider turning up as a pile of bones with numerous fellow 'disappeared ones' as being seen!"

All eyes joined Martin's in examining the Oriental rug.

Seeing how upset his staff was by this faux pas on their part, the Pontiff relented.

"Ah well," he sighed, “It’s probably just as well that you invited him.

Martin looked up. "Really?"

"Yes, Jacques," Luciani replied, smiling at the big man. "It will give me an opportunity to confront, El Presidente on some of his dirty little tricks."

"Holiness," Filici cooed, "...it would not be a good time for such a confrontation."

"Oh? And just when will there be a good time, Eminence?"

Filici actually looked like he was giving this rhetorical question some thought, prompting the Pope to wave his hand and bark, "Never mind!"

Filici swallowed whatever words were about to escape from his mouth.

"You let me deal with President Videla," Luciani said softly, pointing to himself as he walked back to the desk.

He saw a look of horror on every face in the room, even Lorenzi's.

"Don't worry...," he added with a smile, "I know how to be diplomatic when I have to be."

Villot managed to smile weakly. "Very good, Holy Father," he said in an earnest attempt to bring the rather ugly conversation to a close.

"I have much to think about and to work on, my dear brothers," the Pontiff told his staff, "And..." he added, looking quickly at his watch, "I also have lunch to eat! As I'm sure you do also. So if you will excuse me?"

The group bowed as one body and backed from the room, disappearing almost as quickly as they materialized earlier.

Luciani turned to Lorenzi with a broad smile on his face. "Hungry?"

Lorenzi shrugged and smiled, "I could eat, Holiness."

"Then let's go!"

The Pope took his secretary by the arm and together they walked down the hallway towards the dinning room.

"Now that Vincenza is here, I must try to be on time about my meals," the Pope mused and then added with a chuckle, "Do you remember how cross she would become if I were late for a meal?"

"Yes, Holy Father...and usually she found some way to put the blame on me. But surely, now that you're Pope..."

"Nothing will change. Not with Vincenza!" The Pope laughed as he added, "Thank God!"

The nun did, indeed, shoot angry looks at the two as they entered the dinning room. The majority of them aimed at Lorenzi, who she believed had held the Pope up from getting to lunch on time. But her stern frown became a smile when the Pontiff approached and apologized for his tardiness, assuring her it was entirely his own fault for being too long-winded with his Angelus address.

"I promise it won't happen again Sister...Am I absolved?"

She gave him a mock look of anger and then they both dissolved into laughter. Shaking her head, she walked from the room and instructed the younger Sisters to get on with serving the meal.

Lunch was a fairly busy affair, the discussion moving quickly form the subjects to breach with various dignitaries to the homily for the evening's mass, to what time the "Papal Tailors" would arrive with the new cassocks and vestments for the ceremony.

When the meal was over, Luciani gave a blessing and went to the roof-garden for his afternoon constitutional. He had managed to cover up his nerves over the evening's coming events, but now, alone with his thoughts among the sickly potted palms, the reality of it all finally began to sink in. He paced back-and-forth, as much from nervous tension as from the desire to move the blood through his swollen legs.

Until this moment, everything had been like a dream. An insane dream in which he was caught in the one position he had never wished to be, and had, up until now, been trying to make the best of it, in hope that someone would come along and wake him. But after tonight...it was a reality.

The Pallum would be placed on his shoulders, making him the pastor of millions of souls.

Millions... The idea of such responsibility made him cringe...and he turned to the only person he knew could help him bear it.

"Strengthen me, Lord. Grant me inward peace and strength and empty my heart of all profitless anxiety and care. Let me never be drawn from you by the desire for anything, whether noble or base, help me to realize that all things are passing, myself with them. Nothing in this world is lasting, everything is uncertain. Grant me wisdom, Lord. That above all else I may learn to search for and discover you, to know and love you, to see all things as they really are and as you, in your wisdom have ordered them. Only thus shall I go forward steadily on the road on which you have set me."

"Holy Father?"

Lorenzi's voice hit him like a splash of ice water, bringing him back to reality.

"Yes?"

"You should really begin preparing for the mass, Holiness."

"Already? Yes...yes...I'll be right in."

Lorenzi turned and went to wait by the elevator, sensing Luciani wanted just a few more moments to himself.

The Pope looked out over the plaza. It was empty now save for the workmen putting finishing touches on the altar, the florists arranging the flowers, and the another group of workers setting out the thousands of chairs. Soon it would be alive with people. All there to christen his papacy with their prayers and good wishes.

He closed his eyes and whispered one final prayer, "Lord, you have set my feet upon this path. It is one on which I may never turn back...but only move forward. Help me to walk with firm steps, to be a true shepherd to your people. Guide me Lord, show me your way, lest I lead your flock into danger. Amen."

"Holiness...the elevator's here."

Luciani took one final look out over the empty plaza and then walked swiftly to Lorenzi's side.

"Ah yes, time, tide and elevators wait for no man...not even the Pope!"

Placing his arm around his secretary's shoulders, the two men entered the car.

"Are you excited about this evening, Holy Father?"

"Excited? Ah...yes...I guess you could say that. But I'm also a little frightened."

"Frightened? Of what, Holiness?"

"The future, my young friend," the Pontiff replied wearily, "...the future."

4PM.

All the preparations are finished. Guests are filing into the plaza and taking their seats. Demonstrations are going on in adjoining streets, protesting the presence of the Argentinean president.

Within the apse of St. Peter's the members of the hierarchy of the Catholic Church are being neatly arranged into a double line by Martin and Noé.

"Where is he?" A voice asked suddenly from the line.

"Who?" Martin responded, his eyes spanning the long row of white mitered figures before him, hoping to find the questioner to no avail.

"The Pope of course!" The voice replied from the sea of white.

"He'll be along in a little bit..." Martin replied, giving up on trying to find the inquisitive prelate. "He's praying at the tomb of St Peter."

"How appropriate!" It was Cardinal Benelli who made this observation.

Monsignor Noé was not in full agreement. "If it's so appropriate, Eminence, why has no one done it before?"

"I agree," piped up Cardinal Filici. "The Popes have always prepared themselves for their coronation by praying at the main altar, above the Apostle's tomb...They never saw any need to actually go down into the bowels of the basilica..." he trailed off into inaudible muttering as Bennelli shown a condescending smile in his direction.

"Is anyone with him?" The Bishop of Florence asked Noé.

"His secretary."

Deep within the Vatican's catacombs is the site believed to be the burial spot of St. Peter. A small, simple shrine is set up in front of the niche believed to contain the earthly remains of the Church's first 'Pope'.  It was to this place that Albino Luciani, soon to assume the Apostle's mantle, came and knelt in fervent prayer.

"Dear St Peter. Rock upon which Christ chose to build his Church, I come to you to humbly ask your assistance in this dark hour. You and I have something in common...our weakness. When Christ needed you most, you denied even knowing him...not once...but three times! And when he called upon me to succeed you, I refused...at first...but I finally found the courage to accept. Now I ask God to give me the strength I will need to resist any temptation that may cause me to waiver again. I ask you, as you were after this one lapse of faith, to keep before me the realization that all men sometimes fail. Even a saint and martyr can fail. Let me not then, become disheartened or discouraged by my failings, but help me to walk this way of the cross bravely and bear my fate with the same courage with which you bore yours, my blessed predecessor."

Luciani felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's time...Don Albino," Lorenzi said softly.

Luciani nodded. Blessing himself, he stood and looked into his secretary's eyes, which, like his own, were brimming with tears. Placing a hand on the young man's shoulder he pulled him to him and the two embraced for a few moments, neither sure which was being comforted or doing the comforting.

Finally pulling himself up to his fullest height and holding Lorenzi firmly by the arms, Luciani said in as firm a voice as he could muster, "I'm ready."

"C'mon then...," he added cheerfully, squeezing the young man's arm playfully, "Can't keep everyone waiting."

They walked quickly to the main apse of the basilica where the Papal Tailors were waiting to help the Pontiff quickly don his vestments. Lorenzi helped with his miter, handed him his staff, and then left to get into his vestments and join the Pope at the head of the procession.

Luciani's mind was racing. Scenes of Canale D’Agordo, his family, the Seminary at Belluno, his friends and co-workers in the Veneto, his beloved Venice...All of these things were now lost to him. Here Now. This place and these people. This was his present and his future.

Noé signaled for the procession to begin, and Luciani began to move slowly towards the great doors which were being swung open by two workmen, the somber interior of the church slowly being lit by the light of the late afternoon sun.

Luciani heard the bells pealing and the choir singing “Tu Es Petrus” as he drew closer to the doorway, the long parade of Cardinals, bishops and others winding slowly behind him. Finally he reached the door and stepped out into the dying light. As he did, applause and the chant "Viva IL Papa!" were added to the din of the bells and the choir. Smiling, he waved and traced the Sign of the Cross as he made his way up to the throne and turned to face the enthusiastic crowd. 'Don Albino' would soon be no more. Pope John Paul I was about to take his place. His new life was about to begin.