THE DOCTOR WAS a little intimidated by the importance of his visitor.
“And how is the Monsignor?”
“It's a little too early to say, your Eminence!”
“But what brought on this...this collapse?”
Doctor Lombardi considered for a moment. Cardinal Tsana was not a layman as far as his own calling, namely the Church, was concerned but in the doctor's area of expertise, psychotherapy, that was another thing entirely. Doctor Lombardi knew that he would need to frame his reply carefully.
“Well! In a word, shock...delayed shock in this case but nevertheless, shock!”
The surprise in the Cardinal's voice was evident as he responded, “We all thought that the monsignor was coping very well! He showed no signs that anything like this would happen!”
The doctor eyed the man before him. Cardinal Tsana's visit to his office had caught him completely off-guard but the doctor had now recovered his composure. The Cardinal's visit now left him wondering. It was very unusual for a Cardinal of Rome to visit a hospital personally to inquire after a patient even if that patient was a Monsignor. Strange indeed, and even stranger that the Cardinal was dressed in a non-clerical black well-tailored suit, white shirt with a light blue tie, and black shoes. And where was the man's entourage? Didn't Cardinals have a group of attendants especially a Cardinal as important as Cardinal Tsana?
The man was impressive though, the doctor had to admit. Probably in his seventies, the doctor guessed, but his body was still lithe. The Cardinal had grey hair, thinning at the temples, a high cheek-boned face, a somewhat arrogant posture, and youthful skin that belied his profession, his status, and his age. Doctor Lombardi thought the Cardinal looked more like an elderly diplomat than a church dignitary but that was neither here nor there.
“The mind's a funny thing!” the doctor said. “It shuts out what it cannot accept. The traumatic experience he had in Ireland; the sudden death of his niece. These have been major factors.”
The Cardinal studied the man that was talking to him. He saw an elderly man with thick silver hair, thin sharp features, a long, slightly hooked nose, and a pocked marked face. With thick horned-rimmed spectacles perched about the eyes, the doctor looked owlish in appearance. The short corpulent body completed the impression. Doctor Lombardi was no Lothario as far as women were concerned, Cardinal Tsana concluded, somewhat unkindly.
The Cardinal, still in denial, retorted, “But his niece has been dead for more than four months!” Then he threw in, “Anyway, the monsignor told me, more than once, that he couldn't remember much of what happened the night!
“That’s because he has shut it out! The mind can only shut out something for so long. It could well be that something triggered off memories of that night and his mind simply refuses to cope now with the reality!” The doctor then offered a possible cause. “For instance, it could well have been the sight of Captain Lewis on television that stirred something in his subconscious!”
“You mean when Captain Lewis was receiving his decoration?”
“Yes!” the doctor confirmed. He, himself, had watched the event and felt his emotions stirred.
“What sort of impression might it have on a man that had shared Captain Lewis’s experiences that night”, the doctor further remarked.
The Cardinal weighed the doctor's words carefully. “I suppose it’s possible although it was some time ago now!”
“Well, that's my guess anyway!” the Doctor added
The Cardinal pondered for a while. “Your prognosis for the monsignor is?”
“Not good, I'm afraid. Rest and time will tell us whether the breakdown is long-term or not. For the moment the monsignor has lost control of his mental faculties.”
“How so!”
“He's saying some very bizarre things.”
“Ranting, you mean.”
“Not ranting exactly. He was calm enough when I saw him last but he's not making a great deal of sense.”
“Hmm... May I see him?”
“I can't see the harm, your Eminence, but don't take too much notice of what he says, right now! He's not himself!”
“Yes, I understand!”
The doctor led the way as the two men walked through the corridors of the large hospital. The noonday sun basked the modern building giving some cheer to its somewhat austere interior. They found the Monsignor propped up in bed in a private room and the Cardinal quickly went to his side.
The doctor checked the man's chart and wanted to stay but the Cardinal asked politely, “I wonder if I could be alone with him for a while, Doctor!”
“Of course!” the doctor replied. “You know where I am if you need me!”
“Yes! I appreciate your time, Doctor Lombardi! Many thanks!”
Left alone Cardinal Tsana took stock of the Monsignor lying with his head back on the pillow staring blankly at him. The Monsignor's eyes more than anything had a strangely haunted look, the look of a man possessed. Cardinal Tsana could not quite believe that Monsignor Cronin of all people was lying here suffering from a mental breakdown.
“Hello, Monsignor! How are you feeling today?” he said as he sat on a chair conveniently placed next to the sick man and looked into those desperate eyes. He could see only fear there.
“He's coming!”
“Whose coming?” Cardinal Tsana asked curiously. The Cardinal had more pressing business, however, so he didn't wait for an answer. “Monsignor! The report you have completed in relation to the Vatican Bank! Where have you put it?” The man did not respond.
“Monsignor! It's important that you remember what you did with the report!”
Still, no reply was forthcoming. Looking at the pathetic man lying before him, it was hard to imagine that this was the same man that had once been Monsignor Michael Cronin, a genius in one particular field, financial management. Monsignor Michael Cronin held numerous degrees in his area of expertise, and he had been the one man the Pope had turned to when an independent audit of the Vatican Bank had been sought. This man, the Cardinal knew, could ruin everything. He had to know where the report was. Checking to see that the door was firmly closed, he seized the man in the bed by his shoulders and shook him. “What did you do with the report?”
The man was babbling now
“And I saw the heaven open, and behold a pale horse, and he that sat on it was called Faithful and True and in righteousness, he doth judge and make war.”
“What did you do with the report?”
“His eyes were as a flame of fire and on his head were many crowns, and he had a name written, that no man knew, but himself.”
It was no use! The man was demented, the Cardinal concluded.
“And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood, and his name is called The Word of God.”
The Cardinal went through the drawers in the steel cabinet at the side of the bed. Perhaps, he had something on him when they brought him in; a key perhaps? Something! Anything!
“And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean.”
He rummaged through the Monsignor's meager personal effects for a clue.
“And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations, and he shall rule them with a rod of iron,...”
“Shut up, you crazy fool!” the Cardinal snarled. The Monsignor was starting to get on his nerves.
“.....on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS”
Then the monsignor's voice changed and the Cardinal couldn’t believe his ears as another voice overlaid the monsignor's. “I am coming for you, Steiner! I am coming for you!”
The Cardinal hadn't heard that name in years and the sound of it curled his blood.
He turned and ran from the room, colliding as he did so with a nurse that was about to enter. They landed on the floor together with the Cardinal atop her. Without an apology, he disentangled himself and ran down the corridor.
The fleeing man's feral eyes had given her a turn and she muttered as she picked herself up. “Some people!”
Out in the sunlight, the Cardinal’s panic abated. How did the Monsignor know he was Wolfgang Steiner? Only a select few knew and they would never tell anyone, especially Monsignor Cronin. The Cardinal’s mind went back many years to the Dachau concentration camp. Somewhere in a Bavarian forest, Sergeant Mann, his driver that day had long since rotted away. Perhaps the skull with a bullet hole in it and a few bones remained, but, even if they were found, nothing pointed to him. The real Father Tsana had perished in the ovens of Dachau just before he, himself, had made his escape from Germany. The good doctor Wanke had perished with him. He, personally had broken the doctor’s neck and had then placed his body in the same pile as the priest’s. From experience, he knew that no one looked closely at naked dead bodies in Dachau, because there were so many scattered around at any one time.
No, they were both dead and dead men tell no tales, he concluded. He continued to rack his brains for an explanation but none came. He would have to learn from the Monsignor himself how he knew that he, Wolfgang Steiner, was now posing as Tsana. One thing was certain, though, he decided. The Monsignor was a dead man! He had just sealed his own fate. He would die as soon as he disclosed the whereabouts of the report and revealed how he knew Steiner’s identity.