Diego Marani - God's Dog

Salazar turned into the road which led to the Aurelia, the curves reminding him of the route he had been taken on, blindfold, by the members of the Free Death Brigade. He had to act fast; the ceremony would be starting in an hour. It was a glorious day; the air was crystal-clear, fields and houses crisply outlined, barely blurred by the thinning mist on the windscreen. The rows of cluster pines were giving off a fresh scent of resin, casting sharp shadows on the tender green of the fields. The roads around the city were strangely empty, but by the time he got to Via Cipro the pilgrims’ buses were already double-parked, and columns of visitors snaked like gigantic caterpillars from one pavement to the other. Salazar abandoned De Piscopo’s van and carried on on foot. People were pouring into the square; but before going to the colonnade, they had to be searched. Policemen were going through bags and running metal detectors over their owners. A large stand had been put up on the side overlooking Via della Conciliazione, with numbered paying places, and special areas for official visitors. The crowd was buzzing with impatience; children were climbing on to their parents’ shoulders and craning their necks in the direction of the basilica. Many people had brought along plastic stools and were standing on them to get a better view. Although it was barely ten o’clock, the sun was already hot. Water sellers with red caps were weaving their way along the screened-off corridors, while policemen directed people towards the less crowded parts of the square. Salazar had decided to make a discreet approach to a Swiss Guard and give the alarm, so as to avoid creating sudden panic. The Swiss Guards were the only ones he trusted. But the nearest ones were just in front of the papal podium. He was trying to worm his way through the throng to reach them when he heard someone calling him.

‘Well, if it isn’t Salazar! So you’re here too! Well, of course you are! We wouldn’t miss this for anything!’

The guarantor of faith was coming towards him, all dressed in white, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

‘That’s an odd get-up you’re wearing! Were you thinking of running the marathon? Actually, sporting gear isn’t a bad wheeze. I’m already boiling in this gabardine,’ he added, loosening his tie. His eyes on the basilica, Salazar sought desperately for an excuse to get away. But the doctor rambled on, nodding and winking in the direction of the podium.

‘You’ll see, we’ve done a grand job,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Papal medicine is in the vanguard when it comes to the preservation of corpses,’ he continued. ‘Of course modern refrigeration techniques are crucial here. My predecessors completely dehydrated Ratzinger’s body after his death; we did the rest. We kept nature well away from that coffin. Basically, inspector, that is the essence of every miracle: the suspension of the laws of nature. As you see, we’re getting there! You might say that the Kingdom of Heaven will come when man has succeeded in suspending the laws of nature altogether. It’s all much simpler than you think!’ Squinting against the sun, the doctor continued dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief. He raised his sweat-drenched eyebrows and carried on talking, despite the effort that it seemed to cost him, even giving a faintly gleeful smile.

‘Do you know, inspector, I was thinking of you as I was getting ready to come out this morning. I was also thinking about angels: I was thinking that all the angelic orders are probably here at this very moment. If the pope’s body is found to be intact, it will be a portentous event, a miracle such as has not occurred for centuries. The angelic orders could not miss out on such an occasion, so here they’ll all be, from the Powers to the Dominions and the Principalities. The archangels will be here too, probably the odd Seraph. I don’t know about the Thrones, they’re rather busy, particularly at Easter; I’m not sure about the Cherubim, either, that would be too dangerous. As you know, Cherubim are referred to as the ‘burning ones’; the heat produced by such a high concentration of burning angels would be unbearable for us humans, we’d all end up fried! The ones who’ll be here in force are the Virtues, the angels who inspire men to excel in art and science. So why not try to make contact with them? It shouldn’t be difficult. All you need is to locate the lightning flashes they produce. We are in no doubt about the ways that angels reveal themselves. The Bible is quite clear in this respect: the Powers are surrounded by coloured auras and misty vapours, the Principalities by rays of light and the Virtues by lightning. Do you know what I think, Salazar? I think that not enough is made of these possibilities of contact between humanity and the celestial sphere. We must not let this chance slip through our fingers; such opportunities occur just a few times in a millennium, it will be centuries before another such occurs. One mustn’t overdo it with miracles; they tend to lose their allure. But we are men of science and have little to do with such mass events; we should have prepared ourselves for this one by establishing contact with the angelic world in order to organise a human-angelic meeting in tandem with the ceremony. Times have changed, mankind is no longer sunk in barbarism; we are now sufficiently mature to engage in dialogue with these first offshoots of divinity. Think of the good that could come of it! The Eternal Father Himself would benefit; people would have greater faith in the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven. How could the curia not have thought of that? What about the angelic hierarchies themselves? Has it not occurred to anyone that here on earth, after more than two thousand years, we are beginning to need some pretty powerful signs? The Archangel Michael should have given the matter some thought…’ The doctor shook his head; a drop of sweat had fallen on to his lip, and then on to the white hairs of his goatee beard. Salazar looked at him with something verging on distaste, then turned his gaze towards the crowd in front of him, seeking a way through.

‘Excuse me, I really don’t have time…’ he said, then pushed his way into the throng.

‘Whoa there, inspector, you’re always in such a rush! Now, shall I tell you what I think? In my view, angels themselves aren’t big on communication, one department doesn’t know what the other is doing! Besides, if you were one of the Cherubim, would you be bothered with an angel from the third sphere? You mark my words, they’re just like us in the curia, all busy feathering their own nests! I tell you, it’s “I’m all right Jack” up there too. And if they can’t be bothered, why should we? Where are you dashing off to now, inspector? Come with me, I’ve got a place on the podium, we’ll be more comfortable there. I’ve even brought my binoculars!’ he shouted, waving a black case he wore around his neck. But Salazar was out of earshot; now he was struggling forward through the crowd, shoving, apologising, squeezing himself into the slightest gap in his effort to reach the barrier.

Ivan was hurrying down Borgo Santo Spirito, picking his way amidst a swarm of children. He was already in the square, all he had to do now was follow the crowd. Seeing an opening, he broke out of the queue and came up against the guards with their metal detectors. He had to find a way of concealing his pistol from them; he felt for it in his jacket, then looked around. A group of pilgrims was clustering around their leader’s brightly-coloured umbrella; a group of nuns was lining up for the safety check. Seated pedlars were selling drinks and souvenirs; one had a variety of toy animals on a string, Mickey Mouse, Pluto and Minnie. Ivan selected a Minnie; for good measure, he also purchased a tee-shirt with a portrait of Benedict XVI and the words ‘Canonise him pronto’ beneath it. He went into a doorway and slipped it on, then tore open the cloth on Minnie’s back and slipped his Glock down into the foam rubber. He scrutinised the crowd around him and settled on a father with a small girl on his shoulders.