Chapter 19: Men of the Cloth
When Cardinal Michel Abruzzi became Pope Michael I, Argo had reason to be pleased. The Director of the Legion of Christ, one of his family, had reached the pinnacle of the Church, and Argo, a favorite son, knew that his stock had risen. Argo’s oft cited work with stem cells, his success in founding of The Legion of Christ University, and his loyalty to the Legion justified Pope Michael’s esteem, and when Argo was summoned to the Vatican, he was certain something positive awaited.
It was only three weeks after Pope Michael’s election and attempt on his life, and the media were still featuring the story. The bomber had not been identified, but the explosive device was identical to those used by Al-Qaeda, which had not taken responsibility for it. Most observers thought that organization’s leadership did not want to admit failure even though some radical Muslim websites had claimed “credit.”
It was the first time Argo had seen the papal drawing room, and the size and splendor of the hall was intimidating. A bank of large tinted windows filled the south wall. The pope’s desk sat on the west side in front of a door leading to the pope’s quarters. Entry to the room was on the east, and visitors had to walk a hundred feet to the chairs which sat in a row in front of the pope’s table. On the way, Argo passed art objects from all over the world. African masks sat on the wall next to Oriental watercolors and tapestries from the Persian Empire. There were a few maps, one of which was made by Columbus tracing his southern route from West Africa to Hispaniola.
Carmerlengo Belli introduced Argo to Luis Cardinal DelGato, the new director of the Legion, as they waited for Pope Michel to enter.
“I did not realize you were so young,” remarked DelGato in Italian marked by an Argentinean accent.
“Father Malle is quite remarkable,” said Belli with a broad smile.
“To have accomplished so much so quickly is a testament not only to ability but strength.” DelGato, in his late sixties, was a protégé of the founder of the Legion, Marcial Maciel, but was untouched by the scandal and testified against him in a hearing conducted by Benedict when he was a Curia prefect. “Your university has already begun to receive acclaim as a model of administrative excellence.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence, but I am only one of the deans,” said Argo. “And I have had excellent support from my staff.”
“Yet another example of your administrative expertise,” DelGato pointed out. “The selection of a support staff is critical to any manager. Their success is yours.”
“That is good of you to say,” answered Argo with as much modesty as he could muster.
“Thank you for coming all the way from Connecticut on such short notice,” said Michael in Italian to Argo and after the required obeisances. “Given your visits to science labs across the continents, I imagine you have now amassed frequent flyer miles sufficient to reach the gates of heaven,” he said with a grin. The men laughed. “I wish mine were transferable. I cannot count the number of trips I made between Paris and Rome.” He paused before adding, “Alas, Michel Abruzzi is no more.”
“But that is a happy circumstance,” objected Belli.
“Because the world is well rid of him?” asked Michael with a mock look of consternation.
“That is not what I meant, Your Holiness,” said Belli a bit red-faced.
“I am encouraged to hear it,” replied the Pope before turning back to Argo.
“It is good to see you once again,” he began. “The last time we addressed the staffing issue, and we are gratified to note your success in that regard, despite your misgivings.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness.”
“We thank you and look forward to seeing you more often,” Michael said looking quickly over to DelGato. “The director has taken my recommendation to create the post of assistant director of media. In that capacity you will work with the Legion in the use of the media … in all of its phases from education to vocations.” He turned toward Delgado as if to cue him to continue.
“We have seen your American TV appearances, and you have acquitted yourself well. They can serve as object lessons for other Legionaries.”
“I’m afraid my experience on TV is limited to a handful of appearances,” said Argo honestly.
“And in that, you have more experience than most,” DelGato pointed out. “Your papers in the scientific community have also been well-received, and your guide to stem cells has become a popular discourse on college campuses. We are certain that your expertise in the American mass media will be of inestimable value.”
What his superiors did not mention was that in their top, young Legionary who wore the Cross of the Cadre was a highly successful, high profile priest who happened also to be highly photogenic. It would have been difficult to find an actor or model to shine a better light on the Legion.
“I am honored by your confidence, Your Eminence,” replied Argo to his director.
“But you are less than pleased,” said Michael, now in English. “I believe I have come to read your face, my son. Tell us what it is that concerns you.”
Argo saw three possibilities: suggest that what the Pope thought was concern was in fact unexpected joy at his advancement, manufacture some trivial concern, or tell the truth. The first was a poor option because it would at once suggest the Pope was mistaken and would really convince no one. Dreaming up a minor objection would have been best, had he been able to do so. That left the truth, which required diplomacy. How could he say that his work at Cal Tech and his management of research at the Legionary university would have to be shared with what sounded like making promotional films?
Answering in English, Argo looked plaintively at the kindly Pontiff. “Thank you, Your Holiness. I am certainly honored by the faith that has been shown me, of course, and I will approach the new position with all of my effort. I am afraid, however, that my work at the university, still in its infancy, might be impacted negatively.” He paused to make eye contact with Belli and DelGato, and with a sheepish smile turned back to Michael. “I fear I am not quite up to the task.”
“I understand,” said Michael knowingly. “It was not so many years ago when Pope John Paul took the Cardinal from Paris to direct the Legion of Christ in Rome. It seemed impossible to me that I could perform either function well, and I was already in my 60’s. The Pope was literally on his deathbed, then, and in truth I doubted His Holiness, if only for a moment. However, John Paul’s faith in me gave me greater strength than I believed I owned, and with the help of Cardinal Belli, I was able to function satisfactorily.” He rose slowly from his chair, and the others quickly did the same. “Come around the desk, my son. I want to see that more closely,” he said pointing to Argo’s crucifix.
Argo held the cross out, and Michael took it into his wide hand, his stubby fingers feeling it reverently. “This cross, given to you among all others by His Holiness, provides power … transcendent strength … beyond its delicate appearance.”
Michael took Argo’s arm, and leading him to the back room said to Belli and Delgado. “Thank you, Antonio, Luis; we will meet privately now.” And the door closed behind the French Pope and the American Legionary leaving the two elder prelates to wonder, privately, why the Pope was lavishing so much attention on the young American.
The anteroom was a quarter of the size of the drawing room and was darkened by Venetian blinded windows on the south side. This room had a working desk for the pope with telephone, fax, and laptop. Two legal pads and a collection of pens and pencils were lined up neatly on one side of the desk, a carafe of coffee sat on the other, and a brass banker’s lamp filled the back. The desk sat out from the windows and faced the door to the drawing room. There was only one armless wooden chair alongside the desk, and it looked to Argo that it was for a secretary.
A leather easy chair sat in the corner of the room by the door leading to the pope’s private chambers. No other chairs sat in the space, but a number of busts of past popes, most unrecognizable to Argo, sat on pedestals along the north wall opposite the windows. In the center of that wall and above the sculptures was Caravaggio’s David with the Head of Goliath.
“I prefer this room for privacy,” said the Pontiff taking his chair at the desk and motioning Argo to sit next to him at the desk. “The staff sits behind that wall, and I have turned the intercom off so they must walk around and back through the hall to reach me. They have learned to leave messages on the answering machine,” said Michael a wry smile and no trace of his status. “I like to steal a few minutes everyday to consider those great popes who have served. This book,” he said taking it from a side drawer, recounts their lives. Many of them are truly extraordinary.”
Argo looked over his shoulder at the sculptures but was riveted by the painting of David. “They are impressive, as is the Caravaggio,” said Argo turning to Michael, whose face lit up.
“So you are also a patron of the arts?”
“No, Your Excellency, but I do very much admire the master. I saw the David with the Head of Goliath for the first time as a novitiate … in the Galleria Borghese. From then on I became a devotee.”
“As am I,” said Michael not hiding his happy surprise. Michael had moved past the boundary of role to reach Argo on a human level. “It was hung yesterday. The museum curator was kind enough to let it out on loan though Lent. They got a Raphael in exchange,” he said of the quid pro quo. “But tell me, Argo, what in it do you admire most?”
Argo turned back to focus on the masterpiece. “The light, of course,” he began.
“Yes, the light in all of his work is especially dramatic,” agreed Michael. “Go on.”
Argo faced the Pontiff. “David,” he said flatly. “The way he holds his trophy, not with ghastly pride but with equanimity.”
“What is equanimity … my English …”
“Ease, Your Holiness. He has just killed the giant and severed his head, yet he holds it up not so much in victory that should be lauded but only as a matter of fact … of a deed that had to be done, as grotesque as it was… he was unperturbed, not bothered by the blood and gore.”
“Indeed! His innocence quite transcends the horror of the act.” Michael was more than pleased in having found so young a kindred spirit from across the ocean. “Caravaggio, no stranger to violence, saw quite through to the core of the issue. He knew that violence directed at evil is not to be lauded, but it is also not to be shunned. It is, alas, the way on earth.”
Argo was not quite sure he had seen that much in the painting, which he tended to enjoy on a visceral not intellectual level. For Argo, art was sensual and to be appreciated as evocative of feeling. For meaning, Argo looked to the word.
“You never cease to amaze me, young man. It appears your talents know no end,” said Michael without flourish.
Argo’s eyes lowered and cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“I do not say that to flatter,” continued Michael. “God has seen fit to shower you with grace upon grace, and he has brought you to me.” He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “I pray I will continue to direct you judiciously, as He has asked me to do in the past.”
Argo shifted in his seat, waiting for the Pope to continue. “I fear that removing you from your most important work at the Legion university would prevent its growth into the flower of our education program. Yet, it is vital that the Legion continue to grow as it has, and to do that, in today’s electronic world, the media plays a profound role.” He picked up a pen and moved it been his fingers as if it were a cigarette to be rolled. His eyes passed Argo and fixed momentarily on the Caravaggio.
“Any misgivings I expressed…” began Argo.
“No,” interrupted Michael, returning to look at the young man destined to become a significant figure of the new Church. “I have no doubt you can do better than any two others in your place.” Then he smiled. “What is that expression you use: if you want something done give it to a man who is busy? Did I say it right?”
Argo smiled and nodded.
“So, my English is good!”
“It is very good, Your Excellency,” said Argo with deference. “You speak very well.”
“But I have a question. Why is my English good, yet I speak well? Why not one word for both cases?”
“To give English teachers work,” said Argo straight-faced but given away by the gleam in his eyes.
“Bon! And the French Academy resist any change in its language regardless how picayune. They fear French words may become tainted. Substance, sadly, seems not an issue.”
Argo smiled. “Their work is … specific.”
“And best left to the linguists,” added Michael.
“Gladly,” agreed Argo.
Michael pointed to his phone, each of the five buttons lit. “I am already late for my 11:15 meeting, but I would like to arrange a luncheon with you when we can have time to talk more.”
“I would be honored, Your Holiness.”
Michael opened the door to the drawing room and directed Argo to his secretary’s desk outside the other end of the hall. “Tell the calendar secretary to find a time for us before you add any more frequent flyer miles,” he said to Argo before addressing the contingent of prelates who had been waiting for their audience. Embarrassment mixed with pride as Argo hurried along to the door on the far end of the room.
l
When Cardinal Michel Abruzzi became Pope Michael I, Argo had reason to be pleased. The Director of the Legion of Christ, one of his family, had reached the pinnacle of the Church, and Argo, a favorite son, knew that his stock had risen. Argo’s oft cited work with stem cells, his success in founding of The Legion of Christ University, and his loyalty to the Legion justified Pope Michael’s esteem, and when Argo was summoned to the Vatican, he was certain something positive awaited.
It was only three weeks after Pope Michael’s election and attempt on his life, and the media were still featuring the story. The bomber had not been identified, but the explosive device was identical to those used by Al-Qaeda, which had not taken responsibility for it. Most observers thought that organization’s leadership did not want to admit failure even though some radical Muslim websites had claimed “credit.”
It was the first time Argo had seen the papal drawing room, and the size and splendor of the hall was intimidating. A bank of large tinted windows filled the south wall. The pope’s desk sat on the west side in front of a door leading to the pope’s quarters. Entry to the room was on the east, and visitors had to walk a hundred feet to the chairs which sat in a row in front of the pope’s table. On the way, Argo passed art objects from all over the world. African masks sat on the wall next to Oriental watercolors and tapestries from the Persian Empire. There were a few maps, one of which was made by Columbus tracing his southern route from West Africa to Hispaniola.
Carmerlengo Belli introduced Argo to Luis Cardinal DelGato, the new director of the Legion, as they waited for Pope Michel to enter.
“I did not realize you were so young,” remarked DelGato in Italian marked by an Argentinean accent.
“Father Malle is quite remarkable,” said Belli with a broad smile.
“To have accomplished so much so quickly is a testament not only to ability but strength.” DelGato, in his late sixties, was a protégé of the founder of the Legion, Marcial Maciel, but was untouched by the scandal and testified against him in a hearing conducted by Benedict when he was a Curia prefect. “Your university has already begun to receive acclaim as a model of administrative excellence.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence, but I am only one of the deans,” said Argo. “And I have had excellent support from my staff.”
“Yet another example of your administrative expertise,” DelGato pointed out. “The selection of a support staff is critical to any manager. Their success is yours.”
“That is good of you to say,” answered Argo with as much modesty as he could muster.
“Thank you for coming all the way from Connecticut on such short notice,” said Michael in Italian to Argo and after the required obeisances. “Given your visits to science labs across the continents, I imagine you have now amassed frequent flyer miles sufficient to reach the gates of heaven,” he said with a grin. The men laughed. “I wish mine were transferable. I cannot count the number of trips I made between Paris and Rome.” He paused before adding, “Alas, Michel Abruzzi is no more.”
“But that is a happy circumstance,” objected Belli.
“Because the world is well rid of him?” asked Michael with a mock look of consternation.
“That is not what I meant, Your Holiness,” said Belli a bit red-faced.
“I am encouraged to hear it,” replied the Pope before turning back to Argo.
“It is good to see you once again,” he began. “The last time we addressed the staffing issue, and we are gratified to note your success in that regard, despite your misgivings.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness.”
“We thank you and look forward to seeing you more often,” Michael said looking quickly over to DelGato. “The director has taken my recommendation to create the post of assistant director of media. In that capacity you will work with the Legion in the use of the media … in all of its phases from education to vocations.” He turned toward Delgado as if to cue him to continue.
“We have seen your American TV appearances, and you have acquitted yourself well. They can serve as object lessons for other Legionaries.”
“I’m afraid my experience on TV is limited to a handful of appearances,” said Argo honestly.
“And in that, you have more experience than most,” DelGato pointed out. “Your papers in the scientific community have also been well-received, and your guide to stem cells has become a popular discourse on college campuses. We are certain that your expertise in the American mass media will be of inestimable value.”
What his superiors did not mention was that in their top, young Legionary who wore the Cross of the Cadre was a highly successful, high profile priest who happened also to be highly photogenic. It would have been difficult to find an actor or model to shine a better light on the Legion.
“I am honored by your confidence, Your Eminence,” replied Argo to his director.
“But you are less than pleased,” said Michael, now in English. “I believe I have come to read your face, my son. Tell us what it is that concerns you.”
Argo saw three possibilities: suggest that what the Pope thought was concern was in fact unexpected joy at his advancement, manufacture some trivial concern, or tell the truth. The first was a poor option because it would at once suggest the Pope was mistaken and would really convince no one. Dreaming up a minor objection would have been best, had he been able to do so. That left the truth, which required diplomacy. How could he say that his work at Cal Tech and his management of research at the Legionary university would have to be shared with what sounded like making promotional films?
Answering in English, Argo looked plaintively at the kindly Pontiff. “Thank you, Your Holiness. I am certainly honored by the faith that has been shown me, of course, and I will approach the new position with all of my effort. I am afraid, however, that my work at the university, still in its infancy, might be impacted negatively.” He paused to make eye contact with Belli and DelGato, and with a sheepish smile turned back to Michael. “I fear I am not quite up to the task.”
“I understand,” said Michael knowingly. “It was not so many years ago when Pope John Paul took the Cardinal from Paris to direct the Legion of Christ in Rome. It seemed impossible to me that I could perform either function well, and I was already in my 60’s. The Pope was literally on his deathbed, then, and in truth I doubted His Holiness, if only for a moment. However, John Paul’s faith in me gave me greater strength than I believed I owned, and with the help of Cardinal Belli, I was able to function satisfactorily.” He rose slowly from his chair, and the others quickly did the same. “Come around the desk, my son. I want to see that more closely,” he said pointing to Argo’s crucifix.
Argo held the cross out, and Michael took it into his wide hand, his stubby fingers feeling it reverently. “This cross, given to you among all others by His Holiness, provides power … transcendent strength … beyond its delicate appearance.”
Michael took Argo’s arm, and leading him to the back room said to Belli and Delgado. “Thank you, Antonio, Luis; we will meet privately now.” And the door closed behind the French Pope and the American Legionary leaving the two elder prelates to wonder, privately, why the Pope was lavishing so much attention on the young American.
The anteroom was a quarter of the size of the drawing room and was darkened by Venetian blinded windows on the south side. This room had a working desk for the pope with telephone, fax, and laptop. Two legal pads and a collection of pens and pencils were lined up neatly on one side of the desk, a carafe of coffee sat on the other, and a brass banker’s lamp filled the back. The desk sat out from the windows and faced the door to the drawing room. There was only one armless wooden chair alongside the desk, and it looked to Argo that it was for a secretary.
A leather easy chair sat in the corner of the room by the door leading to the pope’s private chambers. No other chairs sat in the space, but a number of busts of past popes, most unrecognizable to Argo, sat on pedestals along the north wall opposite the windows. In the center of that wall and above the sculptures was Caravaggio’s David with the Head of Goliath.
“I prefer this room for privacy,” said the Pontiff taking his chair at the desk and motioning Argo to sit next to him at the desk. “The staff sits behind that wall, and I have turned the intercom off so they must walk around and back through the hall to reach me. They have learned to leave messages on the answering machine,” said Michael a wry smile and no trace of his status. “I like to steal a few minutes everyday to consider those great popes who have served. This book,” he said taking it from a side drawer, recounts their lives. Many of them are truly extraordinary.”
Argo looked over his shoulder at the sculptures but was riveted by the painting of David. “They are impressive, as is the Caravaggio,” said Argo turning to Michael, whose face lit up.
“So you are also a patron of the arts?”
“No, Your Excellency, but I do very much admire the master. I saw the David with the Head of Goliath for the first time as a novitiate … in the Galleria Borghese. From then on I became a devotee.”
“As am I,” said Michael not hiding his happy surprise. Michael had moved past the boundary of role to reach Argo on a human level. “It was hung yesterday. The museum curator was kind enough to let it out on loan though Lent. They got a Raphael in exchange,” he said of the quid pro quo. “But tell me, Argo, what in it do you admire most?”
Argo turned back to focus on the masterpiece. “The light, of course,” he began.
“Yes, the light in all of his work is especially dramatic,” agreed Michael. “Go on.”
Argo faced the Pontiff. “David,” he said flatly. “The way he holds his trophy, not with ghastly pride but with equanimity.”
“What is equanimity … my English …”
“Ease, Your Holiness. He has just killed the giant and severed his head, yet he holds it up not so much in victory that should be lauded but only as a matter of fact … of a deed that had to be done, as grotesque as it was… he was unperturbed, not bothered by the blood and gore.”
“Indeed! His innocence quite transcends the horror of the act.” Michael was more than pleased in having found so young a kindred spirit from across the ocean. “Caravaggio, no stranger to violence, saw quite through to the core of the issue. He knew that violence directed at evil is not to be lauded, but it is also not to be shunned. It is, alas, the way on earth.”
Argo was not quite sure he had seen that much in the painting, which he tended to enjoy on a visceral not intellectual level. For Argo, art was sensual and to be appreciated as evocative of feeling. For meaning, Argo looked to the word.
“You never cease to amaze me, young man. It appears your talents know no end,” said Michael without flourish.
Argo’s eyes lowered and cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“I do not say that to flatter,” continued Michael. “God has seen fit to shower you with grace upon grace, and he has brought you to me.” He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “I pray I will continue to direct you judiciously, as He has asked me to do in the past.”
Argo shifted in his seat, waiting for the Pope to continue. “I fear that removing you from your most important work at the Legion university would prevent its growth into the flower of our education program. Yet, it is vital that the Legion continue to grow as it has, and to do that, in today’s electronic world, the media plays a profound role.” He picked up a pen and moved it been his fingers as if it were a cigarette to be rolled. His eyes passed Argo and fixed momentarily on the Caravaggio.
“Any misgivings I expressed…” began Argo.
“No,” interrupted Michael, returning to look at the young man destined to become a significant figure of the new Church. “I have no doubt you can do better than any two others in your place.” Then he smiled. “What is that expression you use: if you want something done give it to a man who is busy? Did I say it right?”
Argo smiled and nodded.
“So, my English is good!”
“It is very good, Your Excellency,” said Argo with deference. “You speak very well.”
“But I have a question. Why is my English good, yet I speak well? Why not one word for both cases?”
“To give English teachers work,” said Argo straight-faced but given away by the gleam in his eyes.
“Bon! And the French Academy resist any change in its language regardless how picayune. They fear French words may become tainted. Substance, sadly, seems not an issue.”
Argo smiled. “Their work is … specific.”
“And best left to the linguists,” added Michael.
“Gladly,” agreed Argo.
Michael pointed to his phone, each of the five buttons lit. “I am already late for my 11:15 meeting, but I would like to arrange a luncheon with you when we can have time to talk more.”
“I would be honored, Your Holiness.”
Michael opened the door to the drawing room and directed Argo to his secretary’s desk outside the other end of the hall. “Tell the calendar secretary to find a time for us before you add any more frequent flyer miles,” he said to Argo before addressing the contingent of prelates who had been waiting for their audience. Embarrassment mixed with pride as Argo hurried along to the door on the far end of the room.
l
Argo spent the next two days with Cardinal Diaz on the parameters of the new media position. Ironically, the media technology that forced the creation of the new position would solve Argo’s problem of being in two places at once. A video network linked to the Legion’s media center in Rome would be set up at a university computer technology lab in Connecticut. It was decided that video conferencing would be faster and far less expensive that having Argo commute, and while the day to day operation in Rome might suffer by his absence, familiarity with the new technology would over time increase its effectiveness. Argo was still unhappy about his new mission, but it pleased Pope Michael, and that was, after all, his over-arching obligation.
Argo had been booked on an early flight back to Kennedy, but when Michael’s lunch opened three days later, Argo took a stand-by for a six o’clock departure. It was another beautiful Roman day, and lunch was served on the papal veranda where past popes ate with presidents and kings, rabbis and emirs, the Dalai Lama, and now this pope sat across the table from Argo Malle.
The culinary staff had quickly learned that Michael preferred simple food and not very much of it. The large boned rather short man could easily have carried more weight, but he was determined to stay trim; many would say gaunt. On two occasions Michael apologized for eating so little lest the culinary staff believe their meals were unpleasing. He was likely to finish his soup, so the dietician decided that hearty ones would be offered at both lunch and dinner.
The luncheon table featured vegetable soup, well-done lamb, sweet potatoes, broccoli, and coffee. “It seems that today is leg of lamb; I hope you like it cooked,” said Michael in English. “I am less a gourmet than the staff would have hoped. It seems I have not cultivated a taste for the finer delicacies; I tend toward the more basic.” He smiled shyly.
“It has been widely reported that you are most healthy, Your Holiness.”
“My appetite is, at any rate, but I resist. Please begin,” he said, taking a few pieces of lamb from the platter. A server stood over them with a watchful eye. “Grazie,” said Michael excusing the waiter.
“Grazie mille,” said Argo looking up at the distinguished gentleman in a black suit and tie who nodded and eased out of sight.
“I wanted to say last time,” began Michael, helping himself to the soup, “that you are a natural leader, Argo Malle, and that is surely a gift. And because of that gift, much is expected of you. You are of superior intellect, of course, but you have also proved yourself to be a man of integrity. Perhaps that is not the word. In Italian they say sostanza.
“Substance.”
“Yes, substance. You are strong of will but you have respect.” Michael took a sweet potato that had already been sliced open and buttered. “I am certain you have not changed your view on stem cells. You believe, I am sure, that the Curia will one day come to your point of view, which you have defended well. Now I believe you are wrong in this, but I admire your understanding of the ontological order … and your obedience.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness.”
“I do not flatter you in saying this. I am merely observing who sits across my table. However, I say this to you because a great leader, which you will doubtless become, must be a man of substance … stronger than his peers … and understanding of his natural superiority. Leaders are so in name only when their leadership is confined by lesser lights.” Michael paused to assess Argo’s attitude, which was attentive and poker-faced. “Good leaders are themselves led by those around them,” he added gravely; “great leaders are led by God.”
Argo pecked at his food and tasted none of it. He understood perfectly what the Pontiff had said, and it was obvious Michael was referring to his own situation. The question for Argo was why the Pope was telling him about leadership at so high a level above his own. Michael had overruled the best minds of the Church, and had Argo sat on the Curia he would have voted against Condicio not because what was said was in error, that would not have been possible, but because it was impolitic. It was likely Michael, having heard Argo defend the encyclical publicly, believed Argo was a supporter in conscience as well as in public.
“I understand, Your Holiness.”
“So why do I tell you this?” asked Michael rhetorically. “I say this because in you, the Church has a great leader in the making. The question is, will you fulfill this potential.”
“I am dedicated to …”
“No, no, I know you are dedicated,” interrupted Michael. “There are many dedicated priests, young men who sacrifice everything for Christ. Greatness goes beyond dedication, beyond intellectual prowess, beyond knowledge. Greatness lies in actualizing one’s potential.”
“Between the potency and the act falls the Shadow,” Argo added on impulse. Michael tilted his head, not understanding. “It is a line from a poem written a hundred years ago. It seems a propos,” explained Argo.
“Indeed, the wisdom of man can be found in many places,” commented Michael with a smile of admiration for the brilliant scion of the Legion. “When we look at history, we also gain wisdom. Are you familiar with the ruins of Petra?”
“No, Your Holiness.”
“Much archeological work as been done recently in Lebanon. In the 10th Century, Petra was a thriving city. Christians, Jews and Muslims created a seat of learning and industry that rivaled the great European capitals. It was ruined by Muslim warriors … destroyed … all of the beauty crushed … all of the industry vanished, its people slaughtered. As you know, they continued their attack against the Christian world in Constantinople, which they also destroyed.” Michael devoured in a gulp a large piece of lamb. “As Muslims fought against Christians then, they do so now. What other provocation is needed to defend itself than when in the 21st Century they bomb the Bishop of Rome … the Catholic Church which has consistently overlooked atrocity upon atrocity in the name of brotherhood!” He cut into another piece of meat, this time with force.
Argo, not knowing what to add, kept quiet. The Pope was tying the notion of great leadership to the Muslim jihad against the West, and it seemed clear where the discourse was headed. Why the Pope was sharing his thoughts with him was less so.
Finally, Michael pushed his plate aside so nothing would be between them and leaned over, placing his elbows on the spot where the plate had been. In a slow, coarse voice, Michael spoke, his eyes holding Argo’s.
“I am Pope Michael the First, named after St. Michael the Archangel who thrust the devil from heaven, and I shall thrust him from the Church.” His eyes were tight, and his papal attitude dissipated. It was man to man, and Argo was taken aback. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
Michael, still staring tightly into Argo’s eyes, demanded, “And what is it that you understand, Argo Malle?”
Argo shifted his eyes from Michael’s intimidating gaze as if he needed to be released from it in order to respond.
“I understand, Your Holiness, that the Lord has marked this time for His church to change direction. It can no longer placate both those within and without the Church to continue unanswered attacks. The devil has grown more powerful in the last century, the Church has foundered, and Michael has been called to right the ship.”
“And he will,” answered Michael, satisfied with that answer. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still riveted on Argo. “The question is, Legionary Argo Malle, can you sail on that ship? Can you be a first mate or must you captain your own ship?”
“I’m sorry, Your Holiness; I don’t understand. I am a Legionary committed to the papacy.”
Michael looked down then past Argo. “Of course,” he said with a sigh. He lifted his fork and rubbed it between his fingers before continuing.
“When I look at you, I see much of myself at your age. You are superior to your colleagues. And in that superiority there is a certain arrogance. Where doubts exist in others, you have none. You have come to rely on the accuracy of your senses and the breadth of your knowledge ... and on your God-granted intellect. It is natural, of course. God has given you these gifts for a reason. As He has seen fit to provide you with a powerful mind, He has seen fit to have me lead his Church ... however unworthy I am or you are. We are selected above others, and we are required to use our gifts in His honor and glory. Of course, you know this.” He paused a long moment. “What I am unsure of are two things: whether deep in the part of the soul which you share with no one you understand what must be done, and whether you have the capacity of truly great leadership to act accordingly.” Again he paused, still twisting the fork between his fingers and looking deeply into Argo’s eyes.
“Think, my son, before you answer, and therefore do not answer now, for we both know your answer would be yes to both questions. There is time for you to reflect. What I have asked you to consider will be with you as you execute your duties for the Legion, but pray every night for guidance. You will find the answers, if not by the next time we meet, then by the time after that.”
l
Argo left Pope Michael with two questions, a different two questions from the ones that had been posed. The first question was what Michael may have been intimating by Argo’s being a first mate. Cardinal Diaz had just been named director of the Legion of Christ, and a change so soon after his appointment would not really be possible. The second question, and the larger, was the extent of Michael’s mental balance. Could the seventy-year-old Pontiff really see himself the reincarnation of Michael the Archangel?
While it was certainly unusual that a seventy-year-old pontiff would devote any time at all with a priest half his age, Argo suspected that his media influence in New York was seen by Michael as advantageous. He had already supported the Pope’s first encyclical, and that support obviously pleased Michael. It seemed clear that Argo was being tested to see how he might respond to a second encyclical even more controversial than the first.
Still, guile and political shrewdness were not by themselves evidence of mental stability, and Argo sensed a certain pathology in Pope Michael I that was not present in the benevolent Cardinal Abruzzi. A psychologist might have noted see a trace of bipolar disorder, but Argo felt a darker, more pronounced anger, a manic threat that lurked behind the eyes, quivered the lips, and spun a fork over and over again.
As for the two questions Michael had asked Argo to consider, no consideration seemed necessary. Whatever misgivings he had about what Michael might do, being close to him would be better than hiding safely in the walls of academe. Michael had been correct, of course; Argo was going to be a great leader, and Michael had also been correct in fearing that Argo could never be a first mate. Argo knew as he always had that he was destined to captain his own ship.
It was five weeks after their last meeting that Argo found himself once again across the table from Pope Michael I. This time the table was protected by the warm June sun by a portable white awning that covered a quarter of the ancient terrace. Argo presented Michael with a book on Caravaggio, The Master of Light by Aurelio Lopez-DeVega, a newly published masterwork by the world’s foremost critic of the Milanese artist, and Argo was pleased to learn that Michael had not read it. Michael had just completed The Buried Book by David Damrosch and was eager to share his observations about the book that Argo had already read.
The book dealt with the translations of 2,500-year-old cuneiform tablets relating the saga of the Babylonian hero Gilgamesh. The translator of the lost treasure was George Smith who began working on the tablets in Mosul, not far from Baghdad, where archaeological digs uncovered a trove of Assyrian artifacts in the 1860’s. The Epic of Gilgamesh is one of the oldest works of literature, and in it is to be found what scholars believe to be is the source of the Biblical flood. Unfortunately for Smith and for history, Mosul was the scene of warfare among Arab tribes, and many tablets and artifacts from the period had been destroyed. The warring tribes of Mosul made further research impossible, and Smith died in Aleppo of cholera.
“What I find most disturbing is that even then, Moslems were a destructive people. Mosul and Baghdad were hell holes, devoid even of doctors to help stave off a cholera epidemic.”
Argo nodded. Lunch consisted of sautéed chicken liver, which he could not stomach, and thin ratatouille, which he could down with effort.
“It is a little known fact that Martin Luther looked upon Mohammad as "a devil and first-born child of Satan," remarked Michael, looking up from under his knit brows.
“I don’t suppose Protestants would want to emphasize Luther’s prejudice,” said Argo while spearing a piece of eggplant from the stew.
“Nor do many in the Curia wish to remind us that Moslems crossed the Pyrenees, threatening to stable their horses in here, at St. Peter’s. Had Charles Martel not defeated them at Tours, only a hundred years after Mohammed’s death, the entire cathedral would have been leveled.”
“They were driven out of Europe then?”
“Yes,” answered Michael with a slight curl of lip, “and they’re back!” Michael had taken no food and began twirling his fork between his fingers before continuing. “You see, Moslems are a collection of disparate tribes, their religion propounded by a collection of imams preaching varying degrees of hatred for Western Civilization. They are, fortunately, not unified. That is why they were defeated by Charles Martel and driven back to Africa … where they have stayed since 732. However, today they use modern warfare. They use their control of oil to enrich their emirates. They use the protection of Western civilization, which they despise, by demonstrating violently with no repercussion, as they have in Paris. And they use suicide bombers to terrorize the civilized. Moslems, backed by the words of Mohammed, have risen once again to attack the Church with immunity.”
Argo caught himself before correcting him.
“So now I ask the wearer of the Cross of the Cadre if he can, like the Archangel Michael and Pope Michael the First, join in a holy war against all those Islamists who seek once again to destroy the very source of Western Civilization, St. Peter’s Church.”
Argo waited a long moment before responding. “I am, Your Holiness, and I am honored that Your Grace has asked me personally to do so.”
“And are you able also to answer yes to the second question I asked you?” He was focused tightly on Argo, beginning to sense a rise in Michael’s passion. “Can you suppress your hubris? Can you follow the course that is laid out for you, wherever that course may lead?”
“I can and will, Your Holiness,” said Argo, his eyes focused on Michael’s. It was a lie, of course, and Argo feared Michael could see through him. Of course, neither man could ever bend to an idea that in the depth of their beings they did not hold true. Obedience was one thing, belief quite another.
“Good, my son,” said Michael sternly, flipping his fork more quickly than before. “And with your avowal, I name you Cardinal Argo Malle, Papal Minister to the United States.” He laid down his fork, pausing to gauge Argo’s modest nod. “In that capacity you will represent me in meetings with the American cardinals and in the New York media. You will continue at the university … and may, of course, hire as many people as you need to help you there. You will attend meetings here at times, and you will, of course, be relieved of your duties with Cardinal Diaz. However, much of your work in New York will no doubt be of value to his effort.”
The blood slowly drained from Argo’s cheeks and his hands grew cold.
“You will be tested greatly in this position, my son. It will not be comfortable for you … sensitive and proud. You will be attacked not only from secular forces but also from within. The American cardinals will oppose you, as will many here. But this is the lot of the warrior. Your training in the Legion of Christ, and your dedication to charism will serve you well. Great leaders are those who rise above the others … mired in mindless conformity. They will resist you and even fear you, but what they truly want … what they need … is to be led, and in the end they will respect you.
Within eight weeks, Argo had become the youngest cardinal in the history of the United States.
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