Short fiction complete, p.205
Short Fiction Complete, page 205
Pope William’s smile darkened just a bit. “And what will you do if we refuse to pay—assuming, that is, that the World Court should decide in your favor.”
“Which is ridiculous,” said Hagerty.
Sam was unperturbed. “If the World Court really is an International Court of Justice, as it claims to be,” he gave me the eye, “then it has to decide in my favor.”
“I doubt that,” said the Pope.
“Ridiculous,” uttered Cardinal Hagerty. It seemed to be his favorite word.
“Think about it,” Sam went on, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Think of the reaction in the Muslim nations if the World Court seems to treat the Vatican differently from other nations. Or India or China.”
Pope William’s brows knit slightly. Hagerty’s expression could have soured milk.
“Another thing,” Sam added. “You guys have been working for a century or so to heal the rifts among other Christians. Imagine how the Protestants will feel if they see the Vatican getting special treatment from the World Court.”
“Finding the Vatican innocent of responsibility for your industrial accidents is hardly special treatment,” said Pope William.
“Maybe you think so, but how will the Swedes feel about it? Or the Orthodox Catholics in Greece and Russia and so on? Or the Southern Baptists?”
The Pope said nothing.
“Think about the publicity,” Sam said, leaning back easily in Iris chair. “Remember what an American writer once said: ‘There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but can be destroyed by ridicule.’ ”
“ ‘By ridicule, howsoever poor and witless,’ ” the Pope finished the citation. “Mark Twain.”
“That’s right,” said Sam.
Cardinal Hagerty burst out, “You can’t hold the Vatican responsible for acts of the Lord! You can’t expect the Church to pay every time some daft golfer gets struck by lightning because he didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain!”
“Hey, you’re the guys who claim you’re God’s middleman. You spent several centuries establishing that point, too, from what I hear.”
“All right,” said Pope William, smiling again, “let’s grant for the sake of argument that the World Court decides against the Vatican. We, of course, will refuse to pay. It would be impossible for us to pay such a sum, in fact Even if we could, we’d have to take the money away from the poor and the starving in order to give it to you.”
“To the nation of Ecuador,” Sam corrected.
“To Ecuador National Space Systems,” grumbled Cardinal Hagerty.
“Which is you,” said the Pope.
Sam shrugged.
Pope William turned to me. “What would happen if we refused to pay?”
I felt flustered. My face got hot. “I . . . uh—the only legal alternative would be for the Court to ask the Peacekeepers to enforce its decision.”
“So the Peacekeepers will invade the Vatican?” Cardinal Hagerty sneered. “What will they do, cart away the Pietà? Hack off the roof of the Sistine Chapel and sell it at auction?”
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t see anything like that happening.”
“Lemme tell you what’ll happen,” Sam said. “The world will see that your claim to be God’s special spokesman is phony. The world will see that you hold yourselves above the law. Your position as a moral leader will go down the toilet. The next time you ask the nations to work for peace and unity, the whole world will laugh in your face.”
CARDINAL HAGERTY WENT white with anger. He sputtered, but no words came past his lips. I thought he was going to have a stroke, right there at our conference table But the Pope touched him on the shoulder and the Cardinal took a deep, shuddering breath and seemed to relax somewhat.
Pope William’s smile was gone. He focused those steel-gray eyes on Sam and said, “You are a dangerous man, Mr. Gunn.” Sam stared right back at him. “I’ve been called lots of things in my time, but never dangerous.”
“You would extort half a billion dollars out of the mouths of the world’s neediest people?”
“And use it to create jobs so that they wouldn’t be needy anymore. So they won’t have to depend on you or anybody else. So they can stand on their own feet and live in dignity.”
Sam was getting worked up. For the first time in my life, I saw Sam becoming really angry.
“You go around the world telling people to accept what God sends them. You’ll help them. Sure you will. You’ll help them to stay poor, to stay miserable, to be dependent on Big Daddy from Rome.”
“Sam!” I admonished.
“I’ve read the Gospels. Christ went among the poor and shared what he had with them. Fie told a rich guy to sell everything he had and give it to the poor if he wanted to make it into heaven. I don’t see anybody selling off the papal jewels. I see cardinals jet-setting around the world. I see the Pope telling the poor that they’re God’s chosen people—from the balconies of posh hotels.”
Greg Molina smiled grimly. He must be a Catholic who’s turned against the Church, I thought.
Sam kept on, “All my life I’ve seen the same old story: big government or big religion or big corporations telling the little guys to stay in their places and be grateful for whatever miserable crumbs they get. And they stay in their places and take what you deign to give them. And their children grow up poor and hungry and miserable and listen to the same sad song and make more children who grow up just as poor and hungry and miserable.”
“That’s not his fault,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” Sam was trembling with rage. “They’re all the same, whether it’s government or corporate or religion. As long as you stay poor and miserable, they’ll help you. And all they do is help you to stay dependent on them.”
Pope William’s expression was grim. But he said, “You’re right.” Sam’s mouth opened, then clicked shut Then he managed to utter, “Huh?”
“You are entirely right,” the Pope repeated. He smiled again, but now it was almost sad, from the heart. “Oh, maybe not entirely, but right enough. Holy Mother Church has struggled to help the world’s poor for centuries, but today we have more poor people than ever before. It is clear that our methods are not successful.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed warily, sensing a trap ahead. Cardinal Hagerty grumbled something too low for me to hear.
“For centuries we have ridden on the horns of a dilemma; a paradox, if you will,” the Pope continued. “The goal of Holy Mother Church—the task given to Peter by Christ—was to save souls, not bodies. The Church’s eyes have always been turned toward Heaven. Everything we have done has been done to bring souls to salvation, regardless of the suffering those souls must endure on Earth.”
Before Sam could object, the Pope added, “Or so we have told ourselves.”
Cardinal Hagerty let out his breath in what might have been a sigh. Or a hiss.
Pope William smiled at the old man, then continued, “The news media have hinted at . . . frictions between myself and the Curia—the bureaucracy that actually runs the Vatican.”
“I’ve heard such rumors,” I said.
Clasping his hands together, the Pope said, “The differences between myself and the Curia are based on the assessment that you have just made, Mr. Gunn. The Church has indeed told its faithful to ignore the needs of this world in order to prepare for the next. I believe that such an attitude has served us poorly. I believe the Church must change its position on many things. We can’t save souls who have given themselves to despair, to crime and dings and all kinds of immorality. We must give our people hope.”
“Amen to that,” Sam muttered.
“Hope for a better life here on Earth.”
Ordinarily Sam would have quipped that we weren’t on Earth at the moment. But he remained quiet.
“So you see,” Pope William said, “we are not so far apart as you thought.”
Sam shook himself, like a man trying to break loose from a hypnotic spell. “I still want my half bill,” he said.
Pope William smiled at him. “We don’t have it, and even if we did, we wouldn’t give it to you.”
“Then you’re going to go down the tubes, just like I said.”
“And the changes I am trying to make within the Vatican will go down the tubes with me,” Pope William replied.
Sam thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, I guess they will.”
Leaning toward Sam, Pope William pleaded, “But don’t you understand? If you press your case, all the reforms that the Church needs will never be made. Even if you don’t win, the case will be so infamous that I’ll be blocked at every turn by the Curia.”
“That’s your problem,” Sam replied, so low I could barely hear him.
“Why do you think I came up here?” the Pope continued. “I wanted to make a personal appeal to you to be reasonable. I need your help!”
Sam said nothing.
Cardinal Hagerty recovered his voice. “I thought from the beginning that this trip was a waste of precious time.”
Pope William pushed his chair back from the table. “I’m afraid you were right all along,” he said to the cardinal.
“So we’ll have a trial,” Sam said, getting to his feet.
“We will,” said the Pope. He was nearly six feet tall; he towered over Sam.
“You’ll lose,” Sam warned.
The Pope’s smile returned, but it was only a pale imitation of the earlier version. “You’re forgetting one tiling, Mr. Gunn. God is on our side.”
Sam gave him a rueful grin. “That’s OK. I’m used to working against the big guys.”
SAM AND I WALKED SLOWLY ALONG THE CORRIDOR THAT LED from the Pope’s quarters to the main living section of Selene. Josella trudged along on Sam’s other side; Greg was a few steps ahead of us. “Sam,” I said, “I’m going to recommend against a trial.” He didn’t look surprised.
“You can’t do this,” I said. “It’s not right.”
Sam seemed subdued, but he still replied, “You can recommend all you want to, Jill. The Court will still have to hear the case. The law’s on my side.”
“Then the law is an ass!”
He grinned at me. “Old gray-eyes got to you, didn’t he? Sexy guy, for a Pope.”
I glared at him. There’s nothing so infuriating as a man who thinks he knows what’s going on inside your head. Especially when he’s right.
Josella said, “I’ll have to report this meeting to my superiors back in Hartford.”
“How about having supper with me?” Sam asked her. Right in front of me.
Josella glanced at me. “I don’t think so, Sam. It might be seen as a conflict of interest.”
Sam laughed. “We’ll bring the judge along. We’ll discuss the case. Hey Greg,” he called up the corridor, “you wanna have dinner with the rest of us?”
So the four of us met at the hotel’s restaurant after freshening up in our individual rooms. I made certain to follow Sam to his suite, down the corridor from Josella’s, before going to my own.
“Bodyguarding me?” he asked mischievously.
“Protecting my interest,” I said. Then I added loftily, “In the integrity of the World Court and the international legal system.”
Sam gave me a wry smile.
“I don’t want you tampering with the opposition’s lawyer,” I said. “Tamper? Me? The thought never entered my mind.”
“I know what’s in your mind, Sam. You can’t fool me.”
“Have I ever tried to?” he asked.
And I had to admit to myself that he never had. To the rest of the world Sam might be a devious, womanizing rogue, a sly underhanded con man, even an extortionist, but he’d always been upfront with me. Damn him!
THE RESTAURANT WAS CROWDED, but Sam got us a quiet table in a corner. He and Greg were already there when I arrived. Shortly after me, Josella swept in, looking like an African princess in a long, clinging gold-mesh sheath. Sam’s eyes went wide. He had barely flickered at my Parisian original, but I didn’t have Josella’s figure or long legs.
Sam sat Josella on one side of him, me on the other. Greg was across the table from him. I think he was enjoying having two women next to him. I only hoped he couldn’t see how jealous I was of Josella.
Trying to hide that jealousy, I turned to Greg. I was curious about him. Over pre-dinner cocktails, I asked him, “You’re a Catholic, aren’t you? How do you feel about all this?”
Greg looked down into his drink as he stirred it with his straw. “I am a Catholic, but not the kind you may think. There are many of us in Latin America who recognized ages ago that the bishops and cardinals and all the ‘official’ Church hierarchy were in the service of the big landlords, the government, the tyrants.”
“Greg was a revolutionary,” Sam said, with a smirk.
“I still am,” he told us. “But now I work from inside the system. I learned that from Sam. Now I help to create jobs for the poor, to educate them, and to help them break free of poverty.”
“And free of the Church?” Josella asked.
Greg said, “Most of us remain Catholics, but we do not support the hierarchy. We have worker priests among us, men of the people.”
“Isn’t that what Pope William wants to encourage?” I asked.
“Perhaps so,” Greg said. “His words sound good. But words are not deeds.”
“You’re really going to insist on a trial?” I asked Sam.
He didn’t look happy about it, but he said softly, “Got to. Ecuador National is close to bankruptcy. We need that money.”
Greg nodded. I believed him, not Sam.
Dinner was uncomfortable, to say the least. Pope William had gotten to all of us, even Sam.
But by the time dessert was being served, at least Sam had brightened up a bit. He turned his attention to Josella.
“Is your last name Dutch?” he asked her.
She smiled a little. “Actually, its derivation is Greek, I believe.”
“You don’t look Greek.”
“Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Gunn.”
“Call me Sam.”
Josella seemed to consider the proposition for a few moments, then decided. “All right—Sam.”
“Did you call your bosses in Hartford, Josie?” he asked her.
“Did I! Old man Banner himself got on the screen. Is he pissed with you!”
Sam laughed. “Good. He’s the sonofabitch who shifted the blame to God.”
“That’s a standard clause in every policy, Sam.”
“Yeah, but I asked him personally to reconsider in my case and he laughed in my face.”
“He said if you took this case to trial he’d personally break your neck,” Josella said, very seriously. “He used a lot of adjectives to describe you, your neck, and how much he’d enjoy doing it.”
“Great!” Sam grinned. “Did you make a copy of the conversation?” Josella gave him a slow, delicious smile. “I did not. I even erased the core memory of it in my computer. You won’t be subpoenaing my boss’s heated words, Mr. Gunn.”
Sam feigned crushing disappointment.
“This Mr. Banner hates Sam so much?” Greg asked.
“I think he truly does,” said Josella.
“Perhaps he is the one who sent the assassins after Sam,” Greg suggested. “At least one set of them.”
“Mr. Banner?” she looked shocked.
A thought struck me. “You said the assassins were amateurs, Josella. Have you had much experience with terrorists?”
“Only what I read in the news media,” she answered smoothly. “It seems to me that real terrorists blow you away as soon as they get the chance. They don’t drag you across the landscape and gloat at you.”
“Then let’s be glad they were amateurs,” Sam said.
“Professionals would have killed us all, right there in your office,” Josella said to me. Flatly. As if she knew exactly how it was done.
“Without worrying about getting caught?” Greg asked.
“Considering the response time of the Dutch security people,” Josella said, “they could have iced the four of us and made it out of the building with no trouble. If they had been professionals.”
“Pleasant thought,” Sam said.
There was plenty of night life in Selene, but as we left the restaurant, Sam told us that he was tired and going to his quarters. It sounded completely phony to me.
Then Josella said she was retiring for the night too. Greg looked a little surprised.
“I understand there’s a gaming casino in the hotel,” he said. “I think I’ll try my luck.”
We said good night to Greg and headed for the elevator to take us down to the level where our rooms were. On Earth, the higher your floor, the more prestigious and expensive. On the Moon, where the surface is pelted with micrometeors and bathed in hard radiation, prestige and expense increase with your distance downward.
Sam made a great show of saying good night to Josella. She even let him kiss her hand before she closed her door. I walked with him as far as the door to my own suite.
“Want to come in for a nightcap?” I asked.
Sam shook his head. “I’m really pretty pooped, kid. This business with the Pope’s hit me harder than I thought it would.”
But his eyes kept sliding toward Josella’s door, down the corridor.
“OK, Sam,” I said, trying to make it sound sweet and unsuspecting. “Good night.”
He pecked me on the cheek. A brotherly kiss. I hadn’t expected more, but I still wanted something romantic or at least warm.
I closed my door and leaned against it Suddenly I felt really weary, tired of the whole mess. Tired of chasing Sam, who was interested in every female in the solar system except me. Tired of this legal tangle with tire Vatican. And scared of the effect that Pope William had on me. I wondered if one of the changes he wanted to make in the Church was to allow priests to marry. Wow!
I HONESTLY TRIED TO SLEEP. BUT I JUST tossed and fussed until I finally admitted that I was wide-awake. I told the phone beside the bed to get Sam for me.
It got his answering routine. “I’m either sleeping or doing something else important. Leave your name and I’ll get back to you, promise.”
