‘Tell me, Marius,’ he asked. ‘Purify your soul.’
Marius Ferris came closer to his friend and looked at him for several moments, eyes moist with emotion. What he wanted to come out would be the total truth, without evasion, today, right now. Marius Ferris was going to open his heart without weighing his words. There would be nothing held back, no secrets.
‘You’ve known me for many years, Clemente,’ Marius Ferris began. ‘You know I was always devoted to the Lord, always followed His teachings, in His infinite wisdom, without any doubting.’
Don Clemente nodded in confirmation.
‘I have done all I ought to have done, according to what was demanded of me, within my capabilities and values, sometimes with much sweat and sacrifice. Not everyone understands the paths of God as you and I do, you know that well.’
The confessor listened with his eyes fixed on the speaker, showing no judgment about what he was hearing.
‘I can’t complain about anything. Leaving Compostela twenty years ago was probably my greatest test. Galicia robs the soul, holds on to us with claws and teeth and doesn’t let us forget her. There were many nights when I cried over being away from her and not seeing the cathedral or eating navajas at Don Gaiferos. I wept, yes, but in the room of my luxurious apartment on Seventh Avenue a few blocks from Central Park. I celebrated Mass in the comfort of my home in a room set up for that service for only a few well-to-do friends who had that privilege. I amassed a lot of money for God’s work.’ He spoke in a restrained tone, appropriate for the atmosphere of the cathedral; for all that, there was a noticeable harshness in his voice. ‘Last year some things started happening that made me anxious.’
‘What were these things?’ Don Clemente asked, caught up in the story.
‘I received some documents from a Portuguese Monsignor Firenzi. Have you heard of him?’
‘I recognize the name,’ Don Clemente answered, settling himself on the pew, ‘but I don’t think I know him personally.’
‘You may have heard about him when they published the notification of his death,’ Marius Ferris explained.
‘Perhaps,’ the other acknowledged with that thoughtful air of someone searching his memory for a name or event. ‘Of course,’ he remembered now. ‘They found him in the Tiber last year.’
‘Correct,’ Marius Ferris agreed. ‘Valdemar Firenzi was murdered because of those documents. He was the one who sent them to me to hide in a secure place.’
‘And what documents are those?’ Don Clemente’s avid curiosity was well known.
Marius Ferris was silent for a minute, which further encouraged Don Clemente’s gossipy tendencies. The former was organizing his ideas, but not weighing his words. Everything had to be said.
‘Documents written in the hand of Pope John Paul the First, which disappeared the night of his death,’ he concluded.
Don Clemente stared openmouthed, but soon recovered his senses.
‘But… but… what documents are those? Where are they? Isn’t that a myth?’
‘No, I’ve seen them. I’ve had them in my hands and read them. Apparently Valdemar found them by chance in the Secret Archives of the Vatican, where they had been for twenty years. Apparently it was the murderer himself who put them there.’
‘But how? Is he one of us? How is it that you have access to all that information? Is it reliable?’ The torrent of urgent questions that burst from Don Clemente didn’t appear to bother his colleague or friend or whatever they were after twenty years of not seeing each other.
‘I had the misfortune of finding out about him last year.’
‘Who? The murderer of Pope Luciani?’
Marius Ferris made an affirmative gesture.
‘Marius…’ Don Clemente stared at him in astonishment. ‘Do you realize what you’re saying?’
‘It’s the truth, Clemente. Completely true. He found out that I was guarding the papers and found me. I barely escaped.’
This confession began to become more of a conversation, a revelation, than an actual explication of worldly sins committed by the faithful Marius Ferris, follower of Christ.
‘Go on,’ Don Clemente told him. ‘If I keep interrupting you, you’ll never finish.’
‘I was captured and held with a group of people who in one way or another also knew about the papers written by the pope. There were four of us. The only ones left. The others had already been murdered. The worst was awaiting us. But thanks to an emissary from the Vatican and a Portuguese journalist who forced an agreement, we all managed to escape, some more wounded than others. Thanks to the Good Lord, I got out unharmed. The papers I am telling you about are valuable only for historical reasons. They contain no information capable of shaking the foundations of our beloved Church. They are the thoughts of a liberal man already dead now. Nothing more. We are all free to think.’
‘What you’re telling me is dreadful,’ Don Clemente added, still astonished. ‘Nevertheless, I still haven’t heard a single sin in anything you’ve told me.’ A smile spread good-naturedly over his features. ‘Incidents of destiny, yes. Imponderables of life, also, things that escape our control. But not one sin.’
‘Now we’re getting there,’ Marius Ferris warned him. ‘Now,’ he repeated.
Don Clemente took the opportunity to rearrange his obese body on the pew, while his friend organized his thoughts.
‘During this last year, I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’ve analyzed all my years of work and devotion, as well as those of others. I’ve discovered that there are many people taking advantage of the Church for their own gain, Clemente.’
‘I know that well, Marius. But what can one do?’
‘Many things. One can change everything.’ Visibly irritated with his friend’s resigned attitude, Marius Ferris reproved him. ‘The work of God has to continue.’
‘The work of God serves only the interests of a few.’
‘How can you dare say such a thing?’ The heat of anger spread over his face. ‘Over the years I have heard slander, but I never expected to hear it from an intelligent person like you.’
‘Marius. You know what is true. You may be well intentioned, Marius. I don’t have any doubt about that, but you yourself said the same thing a little while ago. You celebrate the Eucharist in the comfort of your apartment for a few privileged people.’
‘Don’t you understand, Clemente?’ He looked hard at him. ‘Don’t you understand that the soldiers of Christ have to reach every level of society?’ He looked around the majestic nave of the cathedral. ‘Your purpose is to win the poorest. Mine, the richest.’
‘Soldiers? Conquer? This isn’t a war, Marius.’ His reserved tone reflected an attempt to calm the troubled waters of the conversation.
‘There you’re deceived. This is a war. A strategic war. We have enemies outside and inside the Church. And we have to eliminate them all.’
‘Listen to yourself, Marius.’ The attempt to calm him had not worked. The dialogue had broken down in this confessional conversation. ‘War? Eliminate enemies?’
‘The experience of the last year has made me realize that there are other groups operating in the inner halls of the Vatican. Our Holy See is scheming with these people. And what do they offer us? Nothing. They are not even believers. They only want the money and power they gain from this collaboration.’
‘Very well, Marius. You are here to confess, not to complain. Go on, please.’ Don Clemente offered these words coolly. No one changes anyone, he thought. As much as you might think the contrary.
Marius Ferris continued, irritated with not having been understood.
‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ he said coldly.
‘Tell me that sin,’ the other said.
‘I was an accomplice in the death of a man.’
Silence. Don Clemente gestured for Marius Ferris to go on.
‘And what evil did this man do you?’
‘He attacked our Holy Mother Church.’
‘And in what way did he commit this act so offensive to our Holy Mother Church?’