Dominique Manotti: Rough Trade

Exciting. Four months that have changed my life. Here, nobody knows me. For them I’m only a militant. A machine for thinking and speaking, and that’s all. I’ll keep the memory of the Sentier like that of a warm stomach, the atmosphere of the streets, the cafés, the workrooms. And the memory of Daquin. His hand. The weight of his body. His gaze.

Wednesday 28 May 3p.m.Passage du Désir

Daquin on the telephone. He was looking for people who knew the French Catholic fundamentalists and were capable of talking about them in a language he could understand. In the end he came to the Jesuits. He made an appointment for the following morning with a senior member of the Order, the spokesman for the French bishops.

Thursday 29 May, noon Passage du Désir

Daquin had recalled his troops. In the absence of Lavorel they were reduced to Romero and Attali, both somewhat rested but lacking in punch. Daquin spoke to them quickly about the clue involving the Catholic fundamentalists, without giving his sources. Polite scepticism. He presented them with a summary of the various current fundamentalist attitudes, at least as far as he had understood them that morning. They took notes, they concentrated, without enthusiasm. Finally Daquin produced a map of France on which he had marked the location of fundamentalist groups with different colours indicating various shades of opinion. Pink for those closest to orthodoxy, dark red for those most hostile to the Vatican.

‘Good. There are three of us. The other police departments are not interested in my idea. Neither are you, either, but I’m your superior within the hierarchy. We’ve only time for one operation. Where shall we go?’

Attali bent over the map, suddenly interested.

‘To Rouen, obviously.’

‘I agree, to Rouen. Father Juan Roth Gomez runs a fundamentalist parish there. He was consecrated priest by Monsignor Lefebvre but left Ecône because he found the community too moderate. He’s close to the “Sedes Vacans” group who regard the Pope as heretic from the time of Vatican II. He’s a Spaniard. He’s travelled widely in Europe and has recently been staying in Germany from where his father came. On the way to Rouen, the corpses of Celebi and VL. Rouen, not far from Paris. If Agça is somewhere, he’s there. And the Pope arrives in Paris tomorrow. Romero, telephone your chum Petitjean. We’re going to call on him this afternoon. In the mean time I’m going to take you for a quick snack, to raise the morale of the troops.’

Thursday 29 May, 5.15p.m. Rouen

Daquin and his team arrived in an unmarked car outside a modest little house in a very quiet deserted street. Petitjean had done what he could to provide them with some information but in fact nobody knew anything about this house and its occupants, a priest and his old housekeeper. True, there were fiery sermons on Sundays in the nearby parish. It appeared that certain parishioners came from Paris every week to hear them. But the priest apparently led a blameless life and had a very good reputation among all the local tradespeople.

‘We’ve got no choice. We’re going in blind. Attalli, you’ve got fifteen minutes to find the ways out at the back and a point from which you can watch them. In a quarter of an hour we’re going in. If nothing’s happening after ten minutes, come and find us inside.’

Romero got out of the car to have a smoke.

*

Daquin rang the bell. An old woman who was rather stout and walked with difficulty, wearing a black smock and carpet slippers, opened the door.

‘Madame, we’re from the police, and we’d like to talk to Father Roth Gomez.’

‘Come in, gentlemen. He’s working in the dining-room, preparing his next sermon.’

She took them to the dining-room. Daquin signalled to Romero to make a quick tour of the house.

The small dining-room looked on to a garden, of which only part was visible, rough grass and three apple trees. The furniture was heavy, Henri II style, as sold by the Galeries Barbès. On the big table was a pile of books, two pads of paper and ten or so felt-tip pens of different colours. As they came in a man stood up. Tall, sturdy, young, mop of black hair, very white complexion. And a gaze … fanatical, thought Daquin, He was wearing a worn cassock.

The old woman made the introductions.

‘Father, some police officers who wish to speak to you.’

‘Sit down, gentlemen. What can I do for you?’ Spanish accent.

‘Do you know Ali Agça?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He folded his hands. ‘He’s more than a friend. Let us say a spiritual brother.’

‘Is he here?’

‘No, not at the moment. He’s away for a few days. But he was here last Tuesday. Why these questions? Has some misfortune befallen him?’

Romero returned at that moment and indicated to Daquin that the house was empty.

‘No, not as far as I know. Has he spoken to you of his wish to kill the Pope?’

‘Monsieur, we no longer have a Pope. And it is truly our misfortune.’

‘Let’s not quibble. I mean Pope John-Paul II.’

‘The man you call John-Paul II is a heretic, a secret agent in the pay of the communists. If someone were to kill him, it wouldn’t be such a great misfortune. Since the so-called Vatican Council II the communists have infiltrated a whole section of the Catholic church. Fortunately …’

Attali came into the dining-room and leant over to Daquin: Kashguri’s Renault 5 was parked in the garden.

‘… some of us still embody the true faith, the church of former times will live again, you’ll see. I myself am at God’s disposal. I shall do what He commands me to do in order to restore the true church.’

‘I’m sure of that, Father. I don’t doubt it for a single moment. And do you also know Osman Kashguri, a friend of Agça?’

‘I don’t know his name. But someone came, about a month ago, who was sent by a friend of Ali. Unfortunately this man was a henchman of the devil.’

‘What has happened to him?’

‘I buried him in the garden.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s what I did. Where else would you want me to bury him? Not in consecrated ground, surely?’

‘Of course not. But if you buried him, he must have been dead. How did he die?’

‘God took pity on him.’

‘Father, I don’t doubt divine pity for one moment, but could you be a little more precise?’

‘After a discussion with Ali, this man asked me for hospitality. I saw at once that evil was within him. And I was afraid that he would have a bad influence on Ali, who is a pure man. But the Church is a refuge. A man of God cannot refuse aid and succour when a sinner asks him for it. I arranged for him to have the bedroom next to mine. At first everything was more or less all right. And then he began to have trances. He sweated, he trembled. He seemed to be suffering deeply. It was the first time I had seen at close quarters a man possessed of the devil. I overcame him, I fastened him down to his bed, I brought him holy water and I blessed him several times a day. At one moment he began to shout. Ali and I gagged him. I didn’t want the neighbours to know that in my house there was a man possessed of the devil. One morning I went in for the first blessing and I found him dead. I thanked God for having delivered him from his torment. Ali helped me and we buried him in the garden.’

‘Did Agça know that he was fastened to his bed?’

‘Of course. Sometimes he held conversations with him so that he would keep still.’

‘Didn’t Agça tell you that he was a heroin addict and didn’t you want to call in a doctor?’

‘A doctor for the body can do nothing when the soul is ill. And his soul was very ill. Drugs are an absolute evil. Believe me, if my prayers and my blessings were not able to help him, and my soul is very pure, then there was nothing to be done.’