Robin Cook - Seizure

“Senator,” the cardinal said, in a voice that matched his projected gentle demeanor. He extended his hand with a limp wrist.

“Your Eminence,” Ashley said, marshaling his most cordial Southern accent. He gave the cardinal’s hand more of a squeeze than a shake, purposefully avoiding kissing the prelate’s ring. “Such a pleasure indeed. Knowing full well the press of your engagements, I am so very appreciative of your finding time to meet with this country boy on such short notice.”

“Oh, hush, Senator,” the cardinal scoffed. “It is a treat, as always, to see you. Please sit down.”

Ashley reclaimed his seat and assumed his previous posture.

Carol flushed anew. Being ignored was as embarrassing as being dismissed. She’d fully expected to be introduced, especially when the cardinal’s eyes darted across her face accompanied by a slight, questioning lift to his eyebrows. She sank back to a sitting position as the cardinal carried over the rough-hewn chair from the small desk. Father Maloney stood silently by the door.

“In deference to our schedules,” Ashley began, “I do believe I should come right to the point.”

Feeling strangely invisible, Carol eyed the two men seated beside her. All at once, she recognized their similarities of character, despite their differences in appearance and beyond their hardworking, demanding natures. Both found blurring the lines between church and state to be to their respective advantage; both were adept at flattery and cultivating personal relationships with whom they could trade favors in their respective arenas; both hid personalities that were tough, calculating, and iron-willed behind their outward personas (the humble priest for the cardinal and the cordial, ingenuous country boy for the senator); and both guarded their authority zealously and were infatuated with the exercise of power.

“It is always best to be direct,” James said. He sat upright with his pudgy hands cupping his zucchetto, which he had removed from his mostly bald head.

Carol had the image of two fencing combatants warily circling.

“It has distressed me to no end to see the Catholic Church so beleaguered,” Ashley continued. “This current sex scandal has taken a toll, particularly with division in her own ranks and an ailing, aged leader in Rome. I have lain awake at night wrestling with a way I might be of service.”

Carol had to keep from rolling her eyes. She knew all too well the senator’s real feelings about the Catholic Church. As a Congregationalist and fundamentalist, he had little regard for any hierarchical religion, and in his mind the Catholic Church was the most hierarchical.

“I appreciate your empathy,” James said, “and I have had similar distress about the U.S. Congress following the tragedy of September eleventh. I too have struggled with how best I could help.”

“Your moral leadership is a constant aid,” Ashley said.

“I would like to do more,” James said.

“My concern for the church is that a relatively few priests with arrested psychosexual development have been able to put the entire philanthropic organization in financial jeopardy. What I would sincerely like to propose for a small favor in return is to introduce legislation to limit tort liability for recognized charities, of which the Catholic Church is a shining example.”

For a few minutes, silence reigned in the room. For the first time, Carol became aware of the ticking of a small clock on the desk as well as the muted sounds of the traffic on Madison Avenue. She watched the cardinal’s face. His expression did not change.

“Such legislation would be a great help in this current crisis,” James said finally.

“As egregious as each individual episode of sexual abuse is for the victim, we should not victimize all those souls dependent on the church for their health, educational, and spiritual needs. As my mama used to say: We should not throw out the baby with the dirty bathwater. ”

“What is the chance of such legislation passing?”

“With my full backing, which I certainly would give it, I would estimate it would have a better than even chance. As for the President, I think he would be happy to sign it into law. He is a man of great faith, with a strong belief in the need for religious charities.”

“I’m sure the Holy Father would be grateful for your support.”

“I am a servant of the people,” Ashley said. “All races and all religions.”

“You mentioned a small favor,” James said. “Is this something I should know about now?”

“Oh, it is a small thing,” Ashley said. “Something more for my mama’s memory. My mama was Catholic. Did I ever mention that?”

“I don’t think you have,” James said.

Carol was again reminded of the image of two fencers parrying and riposting.

“Catholic as the day is long,” Ashley said. “She was from the old country just outside Dublin and a very religious woman indeed.”

“I assume from your syntax she has gone to her Maker.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Ashley said. He hesitated for a moment, as if choked up. “Quite a few years ago, bless her soul, when I was just knee-high to a grasshopper.”

This was a story Carol knew. One night after a lengthy session of the Senate, she’d gone out to a Capitol Hill bar with the senator. After a number of bourbons, the senator had become particularly loquacious and had told the sad story of his mother. She had died when Ashley was nine as the consequence of a septic backroom abortion that she’d had rather than a tenth child. The irony was that she feared she’d die during childbirth because of complications during the birth of her ninth child. Ashley’s fire-and-brimstone father had been outraged and had told the family and his congregation that the woman had been damned to hell for all eternity.

“Would you want me to say a Mass for her soul?” James questioned.

“That would be very generous,” Ashley said, “but it is not quite what I had in mind. To this day, I can remember sitting on her knee and listening to all the wonderful things she told me about the Catholic Church. And I particularly remember what she told me about the miraculous Shroud of Turin, which she held dear to her heart.”

For the first time, the cardinal’s expression changed. It was a subtle change, but Carol could tell it was definitely of surprise.

“The shroud is considered a most sacred relic,” James said.

“I would not assume anything less,” Ashley responded.

“The Holy Father himself has said off the record that he believes it to be the shroud of Jesus Christ.”

“I am glad to hear my mother’s beliefs being so confirmed,” Ashley said. “In full recognition of my mother’s pivotal role, I have been a minor student of the shroud all these years. I happen to know that a number of samples were taken from it, some used for testing and some not. I also happen to know that those samples not used were called back by the church after the results of the carbon dating. What I would like to have is a tiny”-Ashley pinched his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis-“tiny sample of blood-soaked fiber that had been called back.”

The cardinal leaned back in his chair. He briefly exchanged glances with Father Maloney. “This is a very unusual request,” he said. “However, the church has been very clear on this subject. There is to be no more scientific testing of the shroud, other than to insure its conservancy.”

“I have no interest in testing the shroud,” Ashley stated categorically.

“Then why do you want this tiny, tiny sample?”

“For my mama,” Ashley said simply. “I would sincerely like to place it within the urn that holds her ashes the next time I am back home, so her remains could mingle with the Heavenly Host. Her urn stands next to my daddy’s on the mantel in the old homestead.”