The Cardinal Page #6

It's white!

Yes, Your Eminence, right away.

It's all wound up.

Stephen, good of you to come down.

Sit yourself.

And how have you been occupied,

this splendid Roman day?

Your private audience

must have gone very well.

What's he like, the new pope?

Amazing, the way he takes it

all in his stride.

The man was made cardinal

only eight months ago.

I brought up a point of procedure

for the next conclave.

A procedure for what happens

when he dies?

- That must have been a bit delicate.

- He seemed quite detached about it.

I explained that no matter

how much faster ships they build...

ten days is still too short a time

to get from the United States to Rome.

He agreed to make it 15 days.

Congratulations.

That's quite an accomplishment.

Not my only one today.

Before I forget, your...

bishop's ring.

You'll be needing it one of these days.

The Holy Father, it seems,

is genuinely interested in America.

I called his attention

to the almost complete absence...

of our countrymen

from the ranks of the Secretariat of State.

From there it was

only a step to persuading him...

it'd be difficult for the Vatican to function

in the future without your services.

You'll be a domestic prelate,

Monsignor Fermoyle.

Entitled to wear the violet cassock

and manteletta.

Well, Stephen?

What's the matter?

It isn't an easy thing to explain.

What isn't?

Speak up, man.

I can't accept a post at the Vatican.

Can't accept?

- It's not a matter of choice.

- In this case, it is.

I have to leave the priesthood.

But that's impossible.

- You can't suddenly...

- It isn't sudden.

I've been working up to this for years.

I'm only telling you now because...

What a masterpiece of timing!

An hour ago, at the Pope's request I was

listing your virtues to Cardinal Giacobbi.

What a story he'll make of this,

with his anti-American prejudice.

You set the whole hemisphere

back a decade.

I'm deeply sorry for any embarrassment

this may cause you, but I hardly think...

I don't want to hear what you think.

Now or ever.

Go, do you hear me? Go!

Our conversation is over.

You're dismissed! Go.

Yes?

Your Eminence.

You didn't even explain to me

why you want to leave the priesthood.

I should have.

I didn't get the right opportunity.

It's been in your mind for so long.

May I sit?

- Please do, Your Eminence.

- Why didn't you tell me before?

I don't know.

I wasn't clear enough

about what I really thought.

I must know what's behind

this extraordinary decision of yours.

I'm not sure I could separate

one reason from the others and say:

"That's what did it."

I don't think I was meant to be a priest

to begin with.

It wasn't my idea.

My parents decided it when I was a baby.

I can't remember a time

when it wasn't an established thing.

Like Dad being the one to go out

and earn a living...

Mom staying home to care for the house

and kids. Nobody ever questioned it.

I never questioned it.

A dollar a week was put aside

for my education.

A dollar a week out of a motorman's pay.

By the time I was in seventh grade

my brother was calling me "the Cardinal."

This morning I'd have said

he had the makings of a prophet.

The only doubt I had, I wasn't sure

I had the strength to be a good priest...

to deny myself what had to be denied...

to live without the softness of a woman.

On the other side,

there was the scholastic part.

I liked my courses, I was good at them.

As long as it was all theory

and no practice...

I felt I was where I belonged.

But then came the time

when I was on my own...

when I had to function

as God's anointed...

answering people's questions about

what was right, what was wrong...

making decisions for them.

And one day,

it was my own sister who needed my help.

And I found I couldn't help her.

Because what she needed was a man,

a friend, a brother.

And all I could be was a judge

with a set of rules.

And finally the time came when

my being a priest meant she had to die.

I did what I had to do, I know that.

What I had to do as a priest,

as an agent of God's law...

I couldn't do what a layman would do

in the same situation:

Pretend that he'd never heard of the law.

I don't challenge the rules.

I just don't want to be the one

to enforce them.

Not for anybody's sister.

I don't want the power

over other people's lives.

I can't face the responsibility.

That's what it really comes down to.

I sit in the confessional,

listening to someone tell his sins...

and I'm the one who's trembling in terror.

I don't know what will become of me.

I must find what else I can do.

But I think, I pray...

that there may be

another kind of life for me.

A life I was meant for...

that will let me sleep nights.

Steve...

I'm going to ask you

to do something for me...

because I think you're wrong

about yourself.

I think I see your problem

more objectively than you can.

Regardless of how it came about,

you were meant to be a priest.

I'm going to ask you

to postpone your decision.

There's something

I can do as your bishop.

It's seldom done, but I can grant you

a leave of absence from active priesthood.

I'll tell Giacobbi...

it's for reasons of health. And it is.

The health of your soul.

Priesthood isn't something

you can put on and take off...

like the cassock you wear.

It's part of you.

Think about it, Steve.

Take a year, take two years.

If at the end of that time,

you're still of the same mind...

I'll do all in my power to get you

a dispensation from your vows.

But...

should you wish to remain a priest...

I'm sure the Holy Father can be persuaded

to keep the position open for you here.

Will you do this much, Steve...

for me and for yourself?

Because of the holiday,

we won't be meeting again for two weeks.

Before our next class, I would like

you to prepare a conversation in English...

about a trip in an automobile

from Vienna to Salzburg.

Until then, auf Wiedersehen.

'Bye, sir.

I hope you have very fine holidays.

I'm looking forward

to seeing you again in 14 days.

- Goodbye.

- Thank you very much.

Thank you, same to you.

Yes, Miss Lederbohl?

Nothing. Have a nice holiday.

Thank you.

Mr. Fermoyle,

do you mind if I walk with you?

- No, not at all.

- We go the same way.

Tell me about America.

- In 25 words, or less?

- Or more.

I've got all afternoon and evening

if you need it.

- I want to be prepared.

- Prepared for what?

My dream is to go to America someday...

where people think about the future,

instead of always the past.

Please invite me for a cup of coffee.

All right.

Where would you like to go in America?

First to New York, of course.

Then, I haven't made up my mind yet.

Where do you think I should go?

- Where are you from?

- Boston.

Boston. That's in Massakewsetts.

Massachusetts.

Tell me about Boston.

All of a sudden I don't know what to say.

I was born in Boston, grew up there,

with my family.

When I was a boy,

we used to swim in the river...

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