True Believers(37)

Gregor’s response to Catholicism might be confused, but his response to the new Cardinal Archbishop of Philadelphia was not. He had met the man twice. He had detested him both times, and the second time more strongly than the first. Physically, the man was almost a caricature of a Jesuit and a cardinal, written as a villain by Miguel de Cervantes: tall and thin, with features so narrow it almost seemed as if he had tried to iron them flat. Gregor could have gotten past the man’s looks, but he was unable to get past his personality. Ferociously intelligent and just as ferociously well educated, he lacked any of a dozen qualities that might have made him human. Warmth had no place on his face. Humor was something he indulged in only at the expense of other people, and he was able to indulge in it often. It would have been difficult for any man with this man’s gifts not to have made many of the people around him look stupid, but another kind of man might have tried.

The worse thing, as far as Gregor was concerned, was the fact that the Cardinal saw himself as a man on a mission. He was here to clean up the mess that had been made of the Church in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, and most specifically the liberal mess. John Paul II had given in on the matter of altar girls, but other loose practices had to go. In the three years this man had been in office, he had put an end to women distributing Communion  , to general absolution at the Good Friday penitential service, and to Bible readings in “inclusive language.” There was a rumor now that he was about to go after the nuns. They would either get back into habit, and into convents, or lose their right to function in the archdiocese. Gregor could sympathize with the view that said Catholics ought to be Catholics, meaning Christians united with the Bishop of Rome, and not just free-floating believers in anything they chose. He couldn’t sympathize with this man’s apparent ruthlessness. He didn’t have much use for the sort of people who described the Catholic hierarchy as devils in Catholics, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this man was not only vindictive, but someone who enjoyed vindictiveness.

Up ahead of him, Sister Scholastica’s veil was waving from side to side as she walked. The young priest who was showing them the way to the Cardinal Archbishop’s office had his head bent in her direction, listening. Gregor wished for the third time that he could just find his way on his own. He knew where it was.

They got to the Cardinal Archbishop’s door, and Sister Scholastica turned. “Here we are. And on time, too. His Eminence doesn’t have a lot of patience.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about patience,” the young priest said. “After all, you’re doing us an extraordinary favor. His Eminence understands that.”

The young priest opened the door and ushered them inside, where a nun sat behind the secretary’s desk, at work at a computer terminal. Both the nun and the young priest were as tense as strung wires. In the days of the old Cardinal Archbishop, nobody had been tense. The nun looked up and nodded.

“It’s Mr. Demarkian, isn’t it? His Eminence has been waiting for you. Good morning, Father. Good morning, Sister.”

Sister Scholastica and the young priest both murmured something unintelligible. The nun called in ahead, then stood up to see them through the inner door.

“We’re all very glad you came,” she said to Gregor, nodding slightly.

Inside the office, the Cardinal Archbishop was standing at the large window looking down on the cathedral. Gregor tried to rid himself of the impression that the man had done that deliberately, in order not to be caught having to stand up. The Cardinal Archbishop seemed to him vindictive, not petty. The young priest hurried ahead of them and said,

“Your Eminence, this is Gregor Demarkian.”

“Mr. Demarkian and I have met,” the Cardinal Archbishop said. “At the awards dinner for the Spirit of ’76 Foundation, the last time, am I right?”

“Absolutely right,” Gregor said.

The Cardinal Archbishop turned slightly. “Father Doheny, Sister Marie Claire, if you would please—”

“Oh,” Father Doheny said, backing quickly toward the door. “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t think of invading your privacy—”

Sister Marie Claire moved more slowly. Gregor found himself wondering irrelevantly if she minded it much that she had the same name as a notoriously prurient women’s fashion magazine.

When the two were gone, the Cardinal Archbishop motioned both Gregor and Sister Scholastica to the chairs in front of his desk. “I’m sorry to get you out so early in the morning,” he told Gregor, “but we are about to have what is surely going to be a major crisis here by the middle of this afternoon. Has Sister told you anything about the autopsy report?”