The Shoes of the Fisherman Page #3

I'm glad to hear it, Eminence.

Here's the first problem, Father.

It runs right through all your work.

What are you? Philosopher?

Theologian, poet, scientist?

How are we to judge you?

Judge me as one man, trying to

answer the questions of every man.

Which are?

Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I going?

Is there any sense in beauty? In ugliness?

In terror? In suffering?

In the daily deaths...

...which make up the pattern of existence.

- There speaks the poet.

- Why only the poet?

Why not the theologian and the scientist?

They breathe too. They die too.

Then you start us, Father.

I've dug down through the

crust of God's earth.

There's a long record

of life written there.

A record full of wonders.

Dinosaur or ying reptiles, giant moles.

All gone.

But the line is clear...

traced by the creative finger of God.

And it always points in the

same direction, to us:

The knowing man, the thinking man.

And it points beyond us.

To what? Either this world

is a tragic trap...

...in which man lives without

hope and dies without dignity...

or it is like Teilhard de

Chardin wrote many years ago...

...a great becoming...

...in which mankind is thrust towards

a glorious completion in Christ.

I believe in the plan of completion.

I believe in the future union of

the world with the Cosmic Christ.

Let me walk in your country

for a while, Father.

The dinosaur disappeared from history. Why?

We are not sure.

The evidence points to the

fact that he was a creature...

...adapted to a special environment.

When the environment changed, he died out.

How?

Sometimes by disease.

Sometimes by violence.

When creatures stronger

than himself devoured him.

So the finger of God writes

violence and destruction too?

Yes. They are part of

the pattern of growth.

Of evolution.

The deer is a very prolific creature.

It would eat the lands bare.

The lion tears the deer down.

- So the balance of nature is preserved.

- Right.

Now we come to this. Talking about man...

...you called him a very special animal.

The animal who knows, and

knows that he knows.

Exactly. Now, down in our museum

is the skull of a prehistoric man.

His skull is broken by a stone ax.

He was obviously killed

by one of his fellows.

Yes, I've seen it.

- An act of violence, yes?

- Yes.

An act of destruction, yes?

Committed by a thinking

and knowing creature?

Yes.

Is it the same act as the shooting

of a man in a back alley in Paris?

Essentially, yes.

And that act, too, is a

part of the design of God?

The design includes it.

You did not answer "yes"

to that question. Why?

Because I see where you are leading me.

Exactly. We are leading you to

the problem of good or evil.

Right or wrong in the Christian sense.

The killing of that Stone

Age man by another man:

- Was it right or wrong?

- I don't know.

I beg your pardon, Father.

- You don't know?

- No, I don't.

It might have been an

act imposed upon him...

by the necessities of a time and

place of which we know very little.

Imposed by the evolutionary plan?

Yes.

- In other words, by God's plan?

- Yes.

So God is the author of sin and evil.

That's heresy, Father.

No, it is not heresy.

The reality is this:

For certain primitive tribes...

...murder was a religious act.

For us, it is a crime.

The growth from one attitude to

another is evidence of a divine plan.

Even today, too many Christians justify

mass murder under the name of war.

Tomorrow, please God, they will

outlaw war too, as a crime.

- What is it?

- Forgive me, Eminence.

His Holiness, the pope, has collapsed.

Paulo, you and Lou get the

van and go to St. Peter's.

In the square! Get there, would you?

- Did George leave a number?

- No. Shall I ring his home?

No. No. Would you ring the Press Club?

And if you fail there, just try

this other number, will you?

I may be late again tonight, Ruth.

Will you see her for supper

or at her apartment?

We should at least share the chores.

I mean, you could dump every

second dirty shirt on her.

- All right, Ruth. Stop it.

- Stop what?

Stop being vulgar. I guess

that's what I mean.

Pardon me.

When you go to her, does she let

you in or do you use your key?

Wanna count my keys, Ruth?

Here's the key to the filling

cabinet, to the front door...

Stop seeing her. Just

don't see her anymore.

- Sign the check...

- I don't have to sign anything.

Don't tell me if she's a paid little tart

or an unpaid little tart. Just fix it. Now.

You pick a hell of a

time to go into things.

I'm on the air in 47 minutes.

Brian, this is George. About the...

George, you are the last

journalist in Europe...

...to know that the pope is dying.

Why didn't you call me?

Where are you, George?

We tried the other number.

I'll be right over.

- Brian, I...

- Just give us a level, would you, George?

- One, two, three, four, five.

- All right.

Ten seconds, Mr. Faber.

Three, two, one.

You're on, George.

This is George Faber, overlooking St.

Peter's Square in Rome.

The Holy Father has collapsed.

Dr. Carlo Antonelli, one of the

top heart specialists in Rome...

arrived at the Vatican this afternoon.

And there has been a report...

that an oxygen cylinder

has been called for.

An inexhaustible, anxious worker...

possibly one of the most self-critical

pontiffs of this century.

The bell tolls.

The pope is dead.

Listen to the bell.

This is the death knell...

that rings from the Arco delle

Campane only for the pontiff.

Listen. There is a second bell.

Soon these bells will be

joined by bells over the city.

All over every city. All over the world.

The pope is dead.

The Camerlengo will announce it.

The master of ceremonies, the

notaries, the doctors...

...will consign him under

signature into eternity.

His ring will be defaced.

The seals will be broken.

The papal apartments will

be locked and sealed.

While the bells are still ringing...

the pontifical body will be

handed over to the embalmers...

so that it may be a seemly object

for the veneration of the faithful.

They will place his body...

...between white candles

in the Sistine Chapel...

...while the noble guard

maintains the death watch...

under Michelangelo's frescoes

of the last judgment.

On the third day...

...they will bury him, clothed

in full pontificals...

...with a miter on his head...

a purple veil covering his face.

And a red ermine blanket

to warm him in the crypt.

They will seal him in three coffins.

One of cypress...

one of lead, to keep him from the damp...

and to carry his certificate of death.

The last one, of elm...

...so that he may seem at

least like other men...

...who go to the grave in a wooden box.

The pope is dead.

They will mourn him with

nine days of masses...

...and give him nine absolutions...

...- of which, having been greater

than other men in his life...-

...he may have greater

need after his death.

It is strange.

When a president dies, he's

replaced within an hour.

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