down, the younger always watching Raul, and the older one looking around the various corners of the large, comfortable room. It was decorated with rustic handicrafts, honoring the Alentejan region in which they found themselves, the breadbasket of Portugal, a flatland in contrast to the broken terrain of the center and north. A cart wheel dominated one wall, in all its height, varnished, with various glazed tiles along the spokes, some with verses, others with historical figures. It took some time for the old man to turn his eyes from such a picturesque object and fix them on a cow horn. He seemed in no hurry. Perhaps his advanced years made him placid, or, purely and simply, his psychological makeup. There could be no question about his manipulative genius and his skill in deceiving, always for the good, of course. What could be more important?
Ten minutes of silence. Ten. Not a word was spoken, only the heavy breathing of the old man and the rustle of Raul Brandao Monteiro’s clothes, when he shifted in the chair where he was sitting uneasily. Nothing more.
9
The Second Conclave, 1978
Now that God has given us the papacy, let’s enjoy it.
Monday marked the third day of the conclave. Already there had been six sessions of scrutiny without conclusion. One hundred and eleven cardinals under eighty years of age were participating in the vote, the same ones who six weeks earlier had chosen Albino Luciani, the deceased John Paul I. After only thirty-three days in office, his heart stopped, according to the official history, which was permanent
… until the contrary was shown to be true.
Work was suspended for dinner, increasing tension in the Polish cardinal Karol Wojtyla’s shoulders. For two nights he had prayed intensely in cell number 91, which had been assigned him, that God would inspire the conclave with His infinite knowledge in the just conduct of the voting. Why was it so difficult to be a man of the Roman Catholic Church? If only the great beyond could communicate more directly with the earth… how to understand the signs, what was true and was not? The sudden death of Luciani still weighed on him, his genuine smile, his intrinsic goodness, his sanctity… He had never thought to return to the Sistine Chapel again in his own lifetime to choose another pope, certainly not in the same year.
Now he bent over his cannelloni without appetite, afraid that God would see in him the successor to Luciani.
How was it possible that the conclave began that Saturday with a surprising six votes for him, and by the sixth round, before lunch, he’d received fifty-two? During the days of preparation for the conclave several cardinals calmed the partisans by hypocritically announcing during dinners and other holy encounters they were not candidates. Wojtyla and the others knew who the favorites were: Siri and Benelli — the first an ultraconservative with a very bad reputation, the second in the liberal line of his friend John Paul I. He went over to discuss the chances of the Genovese and Florentine with Koenig, the influential Austrian cardinal.
‘The conclave is for those runners who come from behind, Karol,’ Koenig answered him. ‘Those who enter the conclave as popes normally leave as cardinals.’
‘I know that, Franz. But I don’t believe that this conclave will have the surprises of the previous one,’ Karol offered sincerely. Both spoke the living language that they shared between them, Italian. Koenig with a German accent and Karol as flawlessly as a native speaker.
‘One never knows,’ Franz Koenig said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. ‘One never knows.’
The first vote revealed a trend plainly along the lines of the Pole’s thinking. Siri ahead with twenty-three votes, followed by Benelli with twenty-two, Ursi with eighteen, Felici with seventeen, Pappalardo with fifteen, and… Wojtyla with five, probably out of goodwill, five souls whom he had treated with prudence in the recent past. Let the fact be noted we are not dealing with a sporting event or other competition, but with something done in the most sacred spiritual togetherness, and any resemblance to a disorderly dispute is false. These are saintly formulas for electing a saint. The method of communication with the Father and the description of the results are merely illustrative. When it is said Siri leads with twenty-three votes, one shouldn’t imagine fans shouting his name.
In the second round of Saturday, Benelli had forty votes, Felici thirty, and Siri had fallen to eleven. Ursi maintained eighteen votes, Pappalardo dropped off the list, and Wojtyla, somehow, had raised his stock to nine. At that moment he didn’t worry about it; those votes would be out of sympathy, nothing sustained or sustainable. In a little while he’d drop off the list, like Pappalardo. He’d be back in Krakow by the end of the week at the latest.
Sunday would start with three sessions, although Benelli shouldn’t need them all. He would be pope by the end of the day or before, Karol Wojtyla thought naively, unaware of the machinations of his great friend. The first session of the day, third of the general conclave, gave forty-five votes to Benelli, twenty-seven to Felici, an unusual eighteen votes to Ursi, and the same nine to Wojtyla. Thirty more and Giovanni Benelli would obtain the two-thirds plus one necessary, not very problematic.
In the following round, Benelli, still ahead, achieved sixty-five votes, Ursi four, and Wojtyla advanced to twenty-four. A new candidate emerged, Giovanni Colombo, archbishop of Milan, with fourteen votes.
Before the last vote of the day, Cardinal Colombo presented a petition asking not to be considered in the subsequent sessions. So, Benelli had seventy votes, five less than needed for the papacy, and Wojtyla received forty. He returned to cell number 91 after dinner with some anxiety, but not much. Benelli was close to the votes needed to become the next Supreme Pontiff. By morning everything would be resolved in favor of the Florentine. Wojtyla prayed for Benelli to obtain the necessary enlightenment to guide the Church in its next years. With the third pope in the same year, they needed stability.
So Monday morning and the sixth round surprised Wojtyla on hearing his name fifty-two times, while Benelli saw his number reduced to fifty-nine votes. As conclaves go, when one lost ground, one never recovered.
Now you know why the cardinal from Krakow looked at his cannelloni with no appetite. His nerves gripped his stomach, and he was left pale, breathing hard.
‘The conclave is for dark horses, Karol,’ the Pole heard. It was Franz Koenig sitting down by his side. Karol’s compatriot, Wyszynski, was with him.
‘This is your work,’ Wojtyla accused him, looking at his companion.
‘Mine?’ the Austrian replied with a smile. ‘No, Karol. This is your work.’
‘Everything is going to turn out well,’ Wyszynski added in support.
The three men got up and went to the chapel. Wojtyla’s plate remained untouched through the entire meal.
‘Do you remember what Willebrands said to Luciani in the last voting?’ Koenig asked in a low voice.
‘I was not close to him in the last conclave.’
‘I was. And when Luciani began to panic at his imminent election, Willebrands told him a great truth: “The Lord gives the burden, but also the strength to bear it.” ’
‘Don’t wish to be in my place, Franz. I hope Benelli recovers and puts an end to this right away.’
They got in line for the orderly entrance into the chapel. Nothing in this place was disorderly, everything according to the standards of God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth. Karol Wojtyla closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Everything would be as He desired. Benelli or him. What shall be shall be.
A little farther behind in line Franz Koenig rejoiced in his work. Since the beginning, he had carried out a strategy that would lead to the election of Karol Wojtyla. He had spoken with the majority of his non-Italian colleagues, given them works by Wojtyla to further convince them. Nothing like a little publicity, not deceitful, since Wojtyla was a serious man with integrity. All this with Wojtyla completely unaware. Enough of Siri, Benelli, and Felici. They all had their good qualities, of course. All right, Siri might not have any, but it was a moment for change. The time of the Italians must come to an end. The seventh session of voting, the same ritual of eight centuries, the days of black and dirty white smoke, the suspense, the frustrated, expectant onlookers in Saint
