Now for the BIG Stuff!

Now that I’ve broken into the blogging world with my little short story about Albert Ryder, I’ve decided to dive straight into the big stuff…September’ Pope…a novel about Pope John Paul I that I wrote and self-published last year.

While not in the running for any awards, I think it’s a pretty good story…and please keep that in mind as you read…it is a story not an historical or biographical piece. I’ve taken various artistic licenses with the Pontiff’s thoughts and psychological makeup, but they are based on what little I saw and read about him in the media. It is not intended to besmirch his character or belittle his faith in any way. In fact, I believe it shows great courage and strong faith. I certainly hope it will not offend anyone. If so, please accept my deepest and humblest apology…but what I’ve written was written with deep respect and admiration for “the Smiling Pope.”

So without further ado…let us begin.

September’s Pope

Prologue

"Pope Paul VI died this evening at his summer residence, Castle Gandolfo. The Pontiff was 80 years old and had been suffering...blah, blah, blah," The radio announcer's voice droned on with highlights and low lights of Paul's reign, but the Cardinal was no longer listening.

On vacation at a seaside convent with his secretary, Father Diego Lorenzi, and his "all 'round caretaker", Sister Vincenza, Albino Cardinal Luciani, the Patriarch of Venice, had been sitting quietly on the balcony of his bedroom, enjoying the evening breeze off the ocean, chuckling over a book of Mark Twain's essays, and listening to classical music softly on a small transistor radio to relax his mind for a good night’s sleep, when the program had suddenly been interrupted by the bulletin that made him sit up and gape at the radio in stunned silence.

"...his fifteen year pontificate will probably be best remembered for the publication of "Humanae..." Click!

"No," the Cardinal said softly to himself, "that's not what it will be remembered for, it's just what the media will choose to rehash and throw up in everyone's face constantly!"

"Don Albino!"

Luciani looked up as his secretary burst into the room, a panic-stricken expression on his face. The Cardinal shook his head and smiled. "Compared with Diego," he thought to himself, "I'm the calmest person on earth."

"Don Albino...the Holy Father...," Lorenzi stammered breathlessly.

"I know Diego," Luciani responded in his gentlest tones, rising to greet the upset young priest. "He is at peace. God rest his soul."

"We must pack," the flustered secretary blurted out. "We must leave for Rome at once...We..."

"We ...," the older man interrupted, "...must assemble the household in the Chapel and offer a mass for the repose of Papa Montini's soul. Yes, Diego?"

Swallowing hard to regain his composure, Lorenzi nodded. "Yes...Of course, Eminence...I'm sorry...I...I...,"

"Good."

The Patriarch put his arm around his secretary's shoulder as they walked to the doorway.

"Go find Sister Vincenza and ask her to round up the others...then come to the chapel. I'll be in the sacristy, preparing."

"Yes, Eminence."

"After the mass, we will make preparations to return to Venice and from there to Rome."

Lorenzi nodded and ran off to find Vincenza and the others.

Cardinal Luciani walked quickly to the chapel and knelt to offer a prayer for his Holy Father and friend, and for their Church, before the others arrived.

"Dear Lord,” he whispered softly, “welcome into your peace your most worthy servant, Paul VI. He served you and your church well. Grant him the rest he so richly deserves. And help those he has left behind to choose as wise and holy a man as his successor."

Chapter 1

Rome had been prematurely awakened from her summer siesta by the Pope's death. Italians knew well to avoid the capital from July through August, when the heat and humidity were at their worst. They gladly left the city in the care of the tourists, who wanted to experience "sunny Italy" at its sunniest, and the few shopkeepers who couldn't resist making a few extra lira off the hapless foreigners. The rest of the population headed for the mountains of the north or to the sea in the south. But now, Pope Paul's death made it necessary to return and deal with the throngs who would be descending on the city for the mourning and burial, and then the conclave and coronation of the new Holy Father.

Hotels were filled to overflowing with reporters, photographers and television technicians from the world-over. The many ecclesiastical colleges and universities which surround the Vatican were having their dormitory facilities pushed to the bursting point by the gathering of the largest College of Cardinals ever assembled.

Into the midst of the many shiny black Mercedes, Alpha Romeos and BMWs bearing the crimson-clad Cardinals, tootled a slightly beaten up and extremely dusty late-model Lancia, which came to rest outside St Monica’s International College. As its passenger disembarked he noticed that someone had playfully written with their finger in the dust on the car's back hood, 'Wash me...Please!' He laughed and leaning down to address the driver said, "I'm afraid our little chariot needs a good bath, Diego...would you see to that please?"

"Yes, Don Albino. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

The Cardinal thought a moment and then shook his head. "No...I can't...Yes! Come to think of it...I noticed an odd sound in the motor every time you changed gears...did you hear it?"

The younger man shrugged and shook his head.

"Well...It wouldn't hurt to let a mechanic look at it. I want to get back to Venice as quickly as possible when all this is over...and I don't want to break down on the way back!" he added with a broad grin as he reached into the back seat for his bag.

"Yes, Eminence. Shall I pick you up to go over to St. Peter's, later?"

"Ah...yes...I suppose I should pay my respects in 'full dress uniform,'" the Cardinal responded, referring to his scarlet-trimmed cassock, which was currently packed in the bag he held in his hand. For the sake of comfort he had worn his old plain black 'walking cassock' for the ride up from the Lido. He called it his 'walking cassock' because it was the one he wore when he took his daily constitutional around Venice. He had learned that people were far more likely to strike up a conversation with a priest than with a Cardinal, and so he had saved several of his old cassocks from before his elevation to bishop and wore them whenever he took a walk outside the confines of the Patriarch's palace. Now, they would afford him the same freedom when wandering the streets of Rome in the days before the Conclave, when reporters would be laying in wait around every corner for anyone wearing even a hint of red or purple to appear so they could interview a potential Pope. Luciani wanted no part of it.

Waving to Lorenzi, the Cardinal winced as the secretary sped off into the midst of the traffic, horn blaring away.

"God!" Luciani said, raising his eyes to the heavens, "why do I let him drive?" He stood watching fearfully as the small black car vanished in the crowded streets, shaking his head the whole time.

"May I help you, Father?" A voice said from behind him, making him jump.

A tall, thin young man in the cassock of a seminarian, had come up behind him while he had been watching Lorenzi's death defying departure.

"Oh...Yes...I believe I'm expected," Luciani replied, "I received a wire that I would be housed here until..."

"There must be a mistake." the seminarian interrupted. "Only Cardinals are being housed here, and they've all arrived, save one."

Luciani smiled and asked, "Might the missing one be the Patriarch of Venice?"

"Yes," the young man replied cautiously, watching this odd visitor carefully as he dug in the deep side pocket of his cassock.

"Well, I'm happy to inform you that I'm no longer missing," Luciani announced happily, pulling his red zuchetto from his pocket and plopping it unceremoniously on to the back of his head.

Extending his hand to the young man, who took it hesitantly, he continued the introduction with a chuckle. " I'm Albino Luciani, you already the know the rest."

"But...But...," The seminarian stammered, pointing to the Cardinal's simple attire.

Luciani laughed and put his arm around the young man's shoulders. "I know...It's alright, my young friend...It's my fault...I don't always wear all the finery because I find it too confining...In more ways than one. I really must get in the habit of at least wearing my hat before I meet new people."

The Patriarch's stay at St. Monica’s was both comfortable and pleasant for all concerned, which was a good thing as it turned out to be a fairly long stay, the Cardinals opting to open the conclave on the latest possible date.

Finally, on the 25th of August, the Cardinal packed his bag and Lorenzi came to pick him up and deposit him at the Vatican. Before going into what would be total seclusion, Luciani wanted to share a meal with his Secretary, so the two stopped for lunch before going to St. Peter's.

The meal was, as all meals with Don Albino were, pleasant and social. The Cardinal did not have a hearty appetite, but he ate enough to keep himself going and following the meal he downed a small orange pill under Lorenzi's watchful eye.

As he was about to slip the medication bottle back into his pocket, Luciani looked at it and then up at Lorenzi. "I spoke with Sister Vincenza yesterday...," he told the young man. "...and do you know what the first thing she said to me was?"

"Are you taking your medication," they said in unison and then laughed.

"Ah, dear Vincenza...how I've missed her these past few weeks...and Heaven only knows how much longer it will be before we're released."

"Do you think the conclave will be long, Don Albino?"

"Who can say?" The Cardinal played with his water goblet as he continued, "We have a difficult task ahead of us...filling Paul's shoes...finding someone equal to him...," he shook his head sadly, "...very difficult...it will be very difficult."

"Don Albino?" Lorenzi said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Do you think...well...how would you feel...I mean...ah..." Lorenzi couldn't seem to formulate his question.

Luciani looked confused and raising his eyebrows stared intently at his secretary. "What, Diego? What do you want to ask me?"

"Well...do you think you may stand a chance?” the Spaniard finally blurted out.

Luciani erupted into laughter.

"No!" He replied emphatically, between bouts of laughing. "And I thank God that I don't!"

"But why?" Lorenzi persisted, "You're a Cardinal, you stand as good a chance as any, don't you?"

Luciani removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his fingers. Catching his breath for a few seconds he then began to explain. "It's like I told that reporter the other day, Diego...there are three lists of Cardinals..." He replaced his glasses and counted off on his fingers, "...the 'A' list of those who are the most likely to win, the 'B' list of those who may win if the supporters of those on the 'A' list can't agree and decide to compromise and then there's the 'C' list, those who stand a distant chance because...eh! They're Cardinals."

"And you," Lorenzi prompted.

Luciani smiled broadly. "I'm on the 'C' list...and glad of it. I thank God every day that I am. All I need do is vote, celebrate with the winner and go home. And I can't wait. To go home, that is," he added in clarification and both men laughed.

That evening Cardinal Luciani moved into his 'cell' at the Vatican and took part in the Conclave's opening mass. Voting would begin the following morning, but that evening as the Cardinals processed into the Sistine Chapel and the great doors were sealed, they were officially 'in conclave'.

Luciani went to sleep that night on the thin mattress of his makeshift dormitory bed anxious for the next day's voting to begin.

"The sooner it begins, the sooner it will be over and we can all go home," he murmured to himself as he tossed and turned trying to get comfortable. "And God help the poor fellow we leave behind," he added softly as he finally closed his eyes.