The Devil Will Come

THREE

TOMMASO DE STEFANO LINGERED OVER his cigarette, seemingly fretful about his appointment. Above him, water cascaded from the fountain of entwined sculpted dolphins which had stood at the center of the Piazza Mastai since 1863. His wife had been trying to get him to stop smoking and even he wheezily acknowledged the necessity. Yet this entire Roman square was a monument to tobacco and it was, perhaps, historically appropriate to pay homage with a smoke.

Besides, he was nervous and even a bit timid. His awkwardness bore a similarity to the trepidation he felt a few years earlier when a cousin emerged from a six-year jail term for larceny. At the time he’d asked his wife helplessly, ‘What do you say to a man who’s life’s been interrupted like this? How are you doing? Haven’t seen you for a while? You’re looking good?’

Behind him was the rather grand nineteenth-century Pontifical Tobacco Manufacturing factory erected by the entrepreneurial family of Pope Pius IX, now a state facility concerned with monopolies. Facing him was a more pedestrian four-story structure of red sandstone built by the same Pope in 1877 to house and educate the girls employed by his tobacco factory. It probably hadn’t been an act of pure papal charity, more likely a calculated maneuver to keep a cheap workforce off the streets and free of venereal disease.

De Stefano stamped out his cigarette and crossed the square.

Though the tobacco factory was long gone the red building had endured as a school. A bevy of well-behaved teenage girls in blue and white tracksuits milled around under a sign: SCUOLA TERESA SPINELLI, MATERNA-ELEMENTARE-MEDIA.

De Stefano took a sharp breath and pushed the iron gate open. In the marble forecourt a young nun was conversing with the harried mother of a little girl who was running in circles, working off pent-up energy. The nun was black – African, judging by her accent – wearing the light blue smock of a novice. He chose not to interrupt her so he carried on through the courtyard into the cool dark reception hall. A diminutive bespectacled older nun in a black habit saw him and approached.

‘Good day,’ he said. ‘My name is Professor De Stefano.’

‘Yes, you’re expected,’ the nun said in a business-like manner that contrasted with the friendly way her eyes crinkled. ‘I’m Sister Marilena, the Principal. I think her class is finished. Let me get her for you.’

De Stefano waited, adjusting his necktie, watching the young girls rushing past to get outside.

When she appeared, a look of fleeting disorientation crossed his face. What had it been? Eleven years? Twelve?

She was still statuesque and darkly beautiful but seeing her now in a black scapular with her hair all but obscured by a nun’s veil seemed to derail him.

Her skin was milky, only a few shades darker than the high-necked white vest that she wore under her square-scooped habit, the traditional dress of her order, the Augustinian Sisters, Servants of Jesus and Mary. Though she wore no make-up, her complexion was perfect, her lips naturally moist and pink. In her university days she had dressed better than the other students and had used lovely fragrances. But even allowing for the plain garb of a nun she couldn’t help but look stylishly impeccable. Her eyebrows were carefully plucked, her teeth lustrous, her nails unvarnished but manicured. And despite her billowing habit it was clear that she still cut a slim figure.

‘Elisabetta,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘Professor.’

‘It’s good to see you.’

‘And you. You look well.’ She held out both her hands. De Stefano grasped them, then quickly let go.

‘That’s nice of you to say. But I think I’ve become an old man.’

Elisabetta shook her head vigorously at that, then asked, ‘Shall we get some sun?’

The courtyard was littered with playthings for the younger children. Between two potted trees was a pair of facing stone benches. Elisabetta took one and De Stefano settled onto the other, automatically reaching into his pocket.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s no smoking here – the children.’

‘Of course,’ De Stefano said sheepishly, withdrawing an empty hand. ‘I need to quit.’

There was a longish pause, broken when Elisabetta said, ‘You know, I hardly slept last night. I was nervous about seeing you.’

‘Me too,’ he admitted, barely hinting at how tense he still felt.

‘Most of my old friends drifted away long ago. Some of them were uncomfortable. I think others thought I had become cloistered,’ she said.

‘You’re able to see your family, then?’

‘Oh yes! At least once a week. My father lives nearby.’

‘Well, you look happy.’

‘I am happy.’

‘The life suits you, then.’

‘I can’t imagine doing anything else.’

‘I’m pleased for you.’

Elisabetta studied his face. ‘You look like you’d like to ask me why.’

De Stefano smiled broadly. ‘You’re very perceptive. Okay, why? Why did you become a nun?’

‘I almost died, you know. The knife missed my heart by a centimeter. I was told that some men scared away the attackers before they could finish me off. I spent two months in hospital. I had a lot of time to think. It wasn’t an epiphany. It came to me slowly but it took hold and grew, and anyway, I’d always been religious – I got that from my mother – I’d always been a believer. What I saw around me had an impact, too. All the unhappy, unfulfilled people: the doctors, the nurses, patients I met, their families. The nuns gliding through the hospital were the only ones who seemed at peace. I didn’t want to go back to university life. I realized how desperately unhappy I was, how empty, especially without my Marco in my life. Once I felt the calling everything seemed so clear.’

‘At the Pontifical Commission, many of my colleagues are in the clergy, of course. I’ve heard some of them speak about their decisions to choose a religious life. I’ve just never personally known someone before and after.’

‘I’m the same person.’

‘The same, I’m sure.’ De Stefano shrugged. ‘But for me a little different. Why this particular order?’

‘It had to be an active community,’ Elisabetta said. ‘I didn’t have the personality to be in a contemplative one. I love children, I like to teach. This order is dedicated to education. And I knew them. I went to school here, you know.’

‘Really?’

‘For eight years. Primary and middle school. Sister Marilena was one of my teachers! I was only ten when my mother died. Sister Marilena was wonderful then, she’s wonderful now.’

‘I’m delighted you found yourself.’

Elisabetta nodded, then looked at De Stefano steadily, ‘Please tell me why you wanted to see me.’

De Stefano cracked his knuckles like a man who was about to play the piano. ‘Three days ago, on Tuesday, there was a minor earthquake centered about fifty kilometers south of Rome.’

‘I wasn’t aware of that,’ she said.

De Stefano paused for several seconds before continuing. When he spoke again there was a slight but perceptible hesitancy in his tone. ‘It was hardly felt here but enough sub-surface energy reached the city to cause a small cave-in at the catacombs at St Callixtus in an area already weakened by previous subsidence and the recent heavy rains.’

Elisabetta arched her eyebrows.

‘It affected the zone just to the west of the wall you studied when you were a student,’ De Stefano said.

‘No one ever got permission to excavate there?’ she asked.

‘No, the decision had been taken, and when you left, well, there was no one who pressed for a reconsideration. I certainly didn’t. Archbishop Luongo was adamant at the time and he became my boss when I went to work at the Commission, so I didn’t make waves.’

‘But now there’s been a natural excavation,’ Elisabetta said.

‘Messy – but quite natural, yes, you’re right.’

‘And?’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ De Stefano said nervously. ‘We – I – need your help.’

‘My help?’ she asked incredulously. ‘As you see, I’m no longer an archeologist, Professor!’

‘Yes, yes, Elisabetta, but here’s the situation. We’ve found something that’s quite remarkable – and quite sensitive. So far only a very few people know about it but there’s a concern that it could get out and cause some unwanted disruption.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘The timing with respect to the Pope’s death is unfortunate. The Conclave is scheduled to begin in seven days – all the Cardinal Electors are coming to the Vatican and the eyes of the world will be on us. In the event that there might be a leak about St Callixtus, well, we’d need to have our story straight. We’d need to be able to offer some credible explanation to minimize the level of disruption which would undoubtedly occur.’

‘Just what did you find?’

‘I don’t want to tell you, Elisabetta, I want to show you. I want you to come out there on Sunday afternoon. We’ll have enough structural timbers in place by then to make it safe. Then I want you to work with me for a while at the Commission. I’ve got an office prepared for you.’

‘Why me? You’ve got an entire department at your disposal. You can get any expert in the world to come at the snap of your fingers.’

‘Time is critical. Today we’re bringing new workmen to the site to do the heavy work. We’ll have engineers involved, more people on my staff. We’ve got areas under tarps to minimize any risk from prying eyes but despite our best efforts, people will talk. We just can’t afford that, please believe me. I wish I could tell you more, but … The press could be informed at any time. The powers that be in the Vatican are very concerned. They are demanding that I produce a standby statement in the event of a leak but I don’t know what to write. There would be an unfortunate cloud over the new Pope if this comes out, especially if we’re caught fumbling for the correct words. You spent a full year doing research on the symbology outside the caved-in chamber. You’ve studied first-century AD Roman astrology exhaustively. You were one of my brightest students. I’m confident that you can hit the ground running. No one is in a better position to formulate an opinion quickly.’

Elisabetta stood up, vexed, her face flushed. ‘That was twelve years ago, Professor! I have a different life now. It’s out of the question.’

De Stefano rose in an attempt to stay level with Elisabetta but she was still almost a head taller than him. ‘Archbishop Luongo is pleased that you’re in the clergy. He believes you’ll have the right sensitivity to the issues and he won’t lose any more sleep over confidentiality. Tell me, did you retain your research notes and papers?’

‘They’re in my father’s apartment somewhere,’ she said distractedly. ‘But I can’t just leave my school. I can’t abandon my students.’

‘Arrangements are already being made,’ De Stefano said, his tone suddenly more forceful, more insistent. ‘This evening Monsignor Mattera at the Vatican, the gentleman in charge of all the Church’s religious orders, will be calling the Mother General of your order in Malta. Your Principal, Sister Marilena, will be informed tonight. The wheels are in motion, Elisabetta. You have to help us. I’m afraid you have no choice.’