CHAPTER 11. CITIZEN OF ROME

February 11, 2013.

Giacinto Moretti looked at her, his bright blue eyes never leaving her face. He reveled in her loveliness, in his own state, in life itself—he was happy. But was he happy in the absolute sense—if such a thing were even possible? No, because a faint, yet persistent, feeling was slowly but surely undermining the very foundations of his soul, like a tiny woodworm. Giacinto Moretti fiercely longed for even greater happiness. Like a weary pilgrim who, in a certain moment of life, finds an oasis in the desert and tastes the sweet charm of crystal-clear water, he had fully learned the value of this exceptionally endearing substance—sincere love—which, naturally, awakened a dependence on its nature within him.

Giacinto Moretti loved sincerely, yet due to his craving for even greater love, he was truly unhappy in his happiness. This unique scion of the Italian nation, a blood descendant of Romulus and Remus, perfectly understood and genuinely felt that if he couldn't make her completely happy, someone else would make her unhappy to one degree or another. Could it be that he felt this way because his happiness was completely identical to her happiness—the happiness of Daniela Bernardi?

“Excuse me, have you decided on your dishes from our menu?” The words rang out in Giacinto Moretti's consciousness like a peal of thunder, rousing him from his rather vague but brief state of sacred semi-oblivion.

“Decided… Ah, yes, decided! You'll let me choose for you, my dear Daniela?” The truly unique Italian said with a hint of an unfamiliar uncertainty.

“I’ve already made my main choice, my love…” The incredibly charming Daniela smiled sweetly at him.

“Then allow me to leave your company for a few more minutes!” The young waiter said with genuine sincerity and politeness.

Hearing these words, Giacinto Moretti immediately began to expend his seemingly inexhaustible reserves of focused attention on that matter, clothed in a certain form, which for some reason is called by human beings with the simple word “menu.” But was he really spending his attention on the content and form of the menu? Or was he, perhaps, so intently and diligently studying himself at that very moment? Whatever the case, although the following words, continuously being created across the dining floor of this well-known restaurant, reached his ears, they did not reach the most sacred depths of his extremely sensitive mind. It seemed he was completely absorbed in himself and therefore could only breathe in the air (the feelings and thoughts) he was surrounded by at that moment:

“This is a bad sign—the greatest misfortunes and, undoubtedly, calamities of no lesser magnitude await us!”

“The renunciation of the papacy is a slap in the face to God!”

“I look forward to seeing the new Pope. Do you?”

“What do you think, why did he break these ties? Why did he renounce the offices prescribed to him by the Almighty Himself? Why did he, chosen by God to make and establish decisions, begin to be guided by his own reason, and not by his own feelings?”

“I suppose it's in the name of emotion, because his life in that position was so boring, monotonous, and uniform. Due to the existing limitations, that is, the rules of conduct, he was forced to act as popes had for dozens of centuries before!”

“But doesn't a farmer, a tailor, a soldier, or even a baker… don’t they also act as representatives of their professions did in the distant mists of the past?”

“Of course they did… but they don't have… and they never had before!... the same knowledge that popes have and had: knowledge is the heaviest burden of the papacy and the greatest misfortune of popes! Whatever enlightenment and bliss this knowledge may bring, it can never… listen to me!... it can never make a person happy!”

“‘Pope!’ ‘Pope!’ Why are you all so fixated on this word? Pope! What is a Pope? Only an image! Who is a Pope? Only a man who unquestioningly enjoys the benefits of many, while feigning compassion for the loss of the benefit of only one! A Pope! He produces nothing but empty words and no less empty promises, yet he consumes with exceptional frenzy everything that we, the people of the artisan class, produce!”

“This is what happens when the love for God becomes significantly less than the love for life! Perhaps he spent every moment of his life just to become Pope… perhaps this was the single and unshakable aspiration of his whole life… perhaps all his life he longed for this very power, but… but what then? Did he rise so long and gloriously only to fall so quickly and timidly?”

“I used to avoid her so as not to cause her pain—now I avoid her so as not to cause myself pain!”

“On the rostrum, the Pope is God's vicar, but in his bedroom, he is the same person as all other people on earth!”

“A Pope's life is beautiful only in certain moments… I am convinced that Benedict XVI realized this, and having realized it, he made the corresponding decision… After all… although the tapestry of our lives is made of bright colors, the dark colors in it are still significantly more numerous than the former!”

“Never touch the stars—you might get burned!”

“And who will be the new Pope? Yes, will be, not will become!”

“To become a Pope does not only mean to observe all the necessary, formally defined, ceremonies of taking the papal office: to become a Pope means to lift a heavy burden, a heavy cross, onto one’s shoulders… a cross not of noble gold, but of simple lead; to become a Pope means to raise above one’s head not a crown entirely studded with all kinds of precious jewels, but to don one’s head with a cruel, yet natural, and therefore truthful, crown of thorns; to become a Pope means to clothe one’s flesh not in a mantle of ermine, but to clothe it in the Shroud of Turin…”