Luis Rocha - Papal decree

‘I forgive you. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’ He made the sign of the cross as he said each word. ‘Follow me, and put that away. Show some respect for my church,’ he whispered, and left.

Rafael waited a few seconds, holstered the gun in the front of his jacket, and left the confessional, lighter, free of sins. He followed Robin to the sacristy. He looked around for acolytes, priests, auxiliary people; he didn’t want to be surprised. It was ironic not to feel safe in the house of the Lord. If you couldn’t find safety there, it existed nowhere in the world.

They left the church from a side door, which opened onto a cream-colored corridor. They passed a door with a plaque that read Sacristy and two more, Secretary, and the other unidentified. At the end Robin opened a final door. The plaque bore his own name, Father Robin Roth. He waited for Rafael and let him go in first, as good manners dictate, then he closed and locked it.

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Sit down,’ he invited, pointing at two stuffed chairs in the office. A desk at the back displayed a computer screen, which was on; two bookcases with shelves from floor to ceiling filled one of the walls. A simple cross hung on the other wall, without Christ, but only an engraving on the horizontal arm with the three letters that were the soul of the Society, IHS.

Rafael kept his hand on the gun, inside the pocket of his jacket, as if he were cold.

‘No one’s going to hurt you in here,’ Robin assured him.

‘Start talking, Robin. I don’t have all day.’

Robin sat down and sighed. It wasn’t a subject he wanted to take on. ‘Were you with Gunter?’

‘Until the end.’

‘That must have been shitty.’

Rafael agreed. A silent look said it all. Sure, it was shitty, one more image to forget, a friend to erase from memory, a past, a life. Fuck it. He’d deal with it later, one day when everything was confounded in a mass of dreams, thoughts, things that were and others that were not, a fog that time always had the ability to create to attenuate sorrow and happiness, the good and the bad.

‘Have you ever heard of the Secret Monition?’ Robin asked, crossing his legs for more comfort.

‘Of course. Its authority was attributed to Claudio Acquaviva, one of the first superior generals of the Society of Jesus in the seventeenth century. According to my memory, it was all a forgery by some Pole who was expelled from the society.’

‘Do you know what it was for?’ Robin asked in a professorial tone.

‘According to malicious tongues, it was instructions and methods for helping the society gain importance and influence in communities they infiltrated and in other institutions of power. Am I right?’

‘Correct.’

Robin got up from the chair and went to the desk. He took a key out of his pocket and opened a drawer. Rafael took the gun inside his jacket pocket in his hand. Robin took out an ancient book, whose cover was coming apart. It had seen better days. He returned to the chair and handed the book to the Italian.

‘What’s this?’

‘Read it.’

Rafael felt the book, turned it over in his hands, looked at the cover, the title page, the back page, tried to identify a certain odor; the exterior gave no clue whatsoever, no engraving, just brown leather, worn by time. He opened it. The first three pages were blank, yellowed, frayed, almost sticking together. On the fourth page he understood everything. Stamped in capital letters, MONITA SECRETA, and in smaller letters, a subtitle, Methods and Advice. The name of the author was below, a little indistinct, Ignatius

Loyola, and the year, 1551.

‘Interesting,’ Rafael murmured. He turned to the next page, where the text began in Spanish.

‘The Monition is one of Loyola’s works?’

‘Exactly. He always knew what he wanted for the society, and he left it in writing. What you have in your hand is the reason for our success and longevity,’ Robin explained.

The Secret Monition was a polemical work that many insisted didn’t exist or was a fraud. There was always constant doubt about its authorship. It was attributed to Acquaviva, the superior general between 1581 and 1615, always with great uncertainty, but no one dared once to claim that Loyola was the author. This fact was new.

‘Why was this necessary?’ Rafael wanted to know. ‘Why such intransigence?’

‘Don’t speak nonsense,’ Robin criticized him. ‘We’re not a religious order, and you know it.’

‘Then what are you?’

Robin didn’t answer. He was searching for the right words.

‘What are you, Robin?’ Rafael insisted.

‘We are the front line of the Roman Catholic Church.’

‘Please, Robin. Spare me the bullshit.’

‘Since 1523.’

‘Now you have ten more years?’ Rafael mocked. ‘Didn’t the founding in Paris occur in 1534 in Saint-Denis?’

‘You don’t know the half of it, Rafael. Only two minutes ago you didn’t know Saint Ignatius was the author of the Monition,’ Robin admonished.

Rafael had to concede the point. He was there for answers, and Robin was providing them. Rafael let him go on.

‘You should know about Saint Ignatius’s voyage to Jerusalem in 1523.’ Robin didn’t wait for Rafael to confirm. ‘History said that Saint Ignatius had had visions and various spiritual experiences in Manresa. He decided to go to Jerusalem and devote himself to saving souls. He and some followers had gone to Rome at the time of the event to ask for Pope Adrian the Sixth’s authorization. That’s the official version. But Loyola was never interested in going to Jerusalem. That was meaningless for him. He had a project, a vision, and if, in order to achieve it, he had to do a favor for someone, he would do it.’

‘Then who sent him to Jerusalem?’

‘The cardinal of Florence, Giulio de’ Medici,’ Robin revealed.

‘It was Clement the Seventh who asked him to go to Jerusalem?’ Rafael wanted to verify. He couldn’t afford any misunderstandings.

‘Of course it was.’

‘What did the pope want him to do there?’

‘Note that Giulio de’ Medici was still not pope in September. He became pope only in November, and Loyola helped him with that. The correct question is, What did the cardinal of Florence want him to look for there?’ Robin clarified, stroking his beard.

Rafael waited for the answer. What the hell would it be? Robin delayed on purpose.

‘I’m dying of thirst from so much talking.’

‘You’re not going to stop now, are you?’ Rafael grumbled.

Robin laughed lightly. He was enjoying this.

‘What was he looking for?’

‘Papers,’ Robin answered, watching the reaction.

‘Papers?’ Rafael was surprised.

‘Parchments,’ Robin specified.

Rafael had been sent several times for parchments and papyri that the church considered important for one reason or another. Jordan, Syria, Israel, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, as well as western Europe. Sometimes as a mere courier, other times as a thief or buyer, depending on the case or who possessed them. There was a black market in manuscripts, Rafael knew well. It was more than probable that it had existed for centuries or even millennia. Given that Loyola went to Jerusalem to recover parchments for the church five hundred years ago, the idea was not unbelievable.

‘Loyola went to Jerusalem and returned shortly afterward,’ Rafael reflected.

‘It was extremely quick,’ Robin added. ‘If it were today, he would have gone and returned the same day. Considering the travel conditions in the sixteenth century, he traveled fast. He spent only twenty days in Jerusalem.’

Rafael nodded his head in agreement. ‘So what were the parchments?’