14. The Pope
Slipping into our jeans and cleanest T shirt, we slicked down our hair, surveyed one another and proclaimed each other fittingly attired to meet the Pope John Paul II, The Holy See. We neglected our two day old ritual of caffeine and sugar donuts and went directly to the USO office.
Again we were greeted warmly and ushered into a group of ten to listen solemnly to our briefing instructions.
"No hooting, yelling or paper airplane throwing. If you have any guns, knives, or letter openers, you must leave them here. Stay with the leader who has the special pass."
After marching as a group, down Via della Conciliziona to Vatican City, we were searched, frisked and scanned with metal detectors. Hundreds of other groups, some consisting up to of fifty, huddled like sheep around their own shepherd-leader as they were directed to "wait here", "stand there" by the orange and blue clad papal guards.
Once inside the auditorium, we sat so close to the next person that the excitement bounced between us setting up a chain reaction that spread and multiplied. Soon, the auditorium could no longer be restrained. One of the German constituents started waving their national flag. An a cappella group broke out in song followed by a high school soccer team's cheer.
R and I sat with our USO group in the far back, under the eaves. We sat so far back that the comings and goings on the front stage look like a miniature puppet show. Chairs were arranged, a podium set, time dragged on. I wished we had stuffed a sugar donut in my purse.
But when the excitement was at its peak two cardinals, followed by four bishops entered, stage left. Hush fell over the crowd, everyone held their breath as the white robed Holy Father made his entrance and gracefully took his place in a large backed chair, center stage. The master of ceremonies at the podium began to acknowledge the visiting groups. "The Ladies Home Society of Saint Anthonies Diocese, wish to greet you..."after acknowledging about twelve individual American, Great Britain, Australian, and New Zealand groups he cumulated with, "The English speaking peoples wish to greet you."
One hour, two hours passed, the novelty of the event wore thin as the master of ceremonies dragged himself through the, "The Saint Paul's High School Soccer team of France, wishes to greet you..."
After all the salutations the Holy Father began his homily in Latin. His voice sounded strong but had a tender quality that beckoned you to sit at his feet. Welcoming the peoples of Germany he intoned in perfect German, then Spanish, French and English. Each time adopting the appropriate accent. The Pontiff then stood and gave his blessings to all the peoples that made the effort to be there this morning, to their children, mothers, fathers and friends. From way in the back I felt his power, his connection to God. I was proud to be there, proud to be counted as one who had seen and been blessed by the Holy Father.
He then walked to the far end of the stage and raised his hands in blessing to the couples dressed in their wedding garb. Anyone who is wed in Saint Peters cathedral is eligible for the papal blessing. Pope John Paul then began to shake hands of dignities representing distant countries like Japan, China, and Hollywood. News spread like our earlier enthusiasm from one to another that the Holy Father was to exit via the main isle and touch our peasant hands as he went. R. and I along with the rest of the crowd instantly swarmed against the isle barriers, each vying for a better position. But we waited, packing closer and closer together as our Father finished blessing the newly weds and then began to acknowledged the elite seated in the front.
Bodies pushed me from all sides, I couldn't breath. Claustrophobia reached its claws from the masses, attacking me, ripped at my throat and chest.
"R, I've got to get outta here," I said. "Quick, I think I'm going to explode. I need air."
R., remembering my initial concern, about exploding when the pope looks, upon a non-agreeing Catholic ,didn't hesitate but quickly muscled his way through walls of cheering believers blazing me a trail behind him. It was well past noon when we finally reach a clearing I felt dizzy from lack of oxygen and food.
"I want to go to the beach," I declared. "If we plan all the train connections right, there'll be no problem catching our late plane."
Richard the True, Richard the Wise, "Have we seen all of Rome yet?" he questioned as he handed me the map.
"Hum," I leaned against a pillar in the shade while studying our multi-folded map. "There's a large green glob that looks like a park here in the left corner."
R leaning over my shoulder ran his finger down one of the crisscrossing pink lines. "If we follow Via di Ripetta we could have lunch at the Piazza del Popolo and then check out the park Villa Borghese and its museums."
The September heat rose from the pavement like ranks of dragons all snorting their fiery breaths in our direction. Using the tour book as a shield R. guided us down the pink crisscrossing lines and into the shade of the arch of Rome's North entrance.
"I don't think I can make it any farther. There's so many dragons out there that I can't see anything but heat waves."
"You sit here in the shade, I'll get us something to eat and drink," R. said.
He turned to go then hesitated, turned back toward me and handed me the tour book, "Here you may need this."
And then he was gone. I waited what seemed like an hour. Whenever I stuck my head out from under the arches to look around, the dragon breaths forced me back under the shade. I read The Book. It gave me comfort and hope. Three museums, one on each side of the green glob and one in the middle.
By the time R. came back with cold spaghetti and warm beer, I had regained some strength but was concerned about, "How are we going to visit all three museums in the two hours we have left?"
"I don't know," R. relied, "all I know is we'll give it our best effort."
It took us longer than expected to ascend the three level stairway that lead to the green glob but when we reached the top the tree lined walkways welcomed us like veterans of wars. Our T shirts and jeans transformed into flowing 17th-century robes, white and loosely clasped with golden broaches. As we meandered through the shade, the roses tossed their blossoms at our feet and sprayed us with their perfume. Squirrels amused us by juggling acorns and performing acrobatic tricks. Strolling bands of fountains serenaded us with their tinkling harpsichord sounds. While ducks flapped their tails in tempo before nibbling at silver trays full of breads and then waddling over for another cool swim. All the while knowing that their cousins the pigeons were fighting dragons' breaths in the lower city.
So this is what it felt like to be a Medici. All too soon we came to the Museum Galleria Borghese. It was closed. The guard, a short dumpy man with a sinister smile began weaving stories of how much we were missing.
"This museum holds the beautiful statues of Venus Vincitrix and Bernini's Baroque David..."
He hypnotized us with his words and than instructed us to, "visit the National Modern Art Galleria."
By the time we reached the massive building that sat outside the shade trees, climbed the towering steps to the door our flowing robes reverted back to sticky jeans and smelly T shirts. As I read the "Closed" sign I could hear the dumpy guard, far off in the trees, cackling at his perverse joke.
Out of shear orneryness we stomped to the far museum only to find that it too placed itself outside the sanctuary of the trees and was under the spell of the museum guard who hung a large "Closed" sign on the door just as we reached for the knocker. Our jeans absorbed the suns fierce heat like chain mail armor, making us clink and stagger trying to return to the ever just-out-of-reach shady refuge.
Without us seeing, a large fountain took compassion on us, crept out of the trees and blocked our way.
"Look R, an overfilled birdbath with a neck as tall as a lamp post. Its got huge cement legs folding around the lowest part. They make a basin to catch the water that's tumbling from the top. Let's rest awhile."
I didn't wait for his reply before I sat at its edge splashing the cool waters over my scorched face. The fountain sang a soothing lullaby while its fluid fingers reached out, first tickling me under the chin, then behind my ears and under my arms. I instantly loved this fountain and didn't hesitate when it extended its watery arms out to me for a gentle embrace. Like a child nestling in the bosoms of a great aunt, I felt the comfort all around me. As I laid in the lap of the fountain, I looked up to see R. sitting on a nearby stump folding the precious map in strange directions.
"What are you doing to the map?" I called out a little concerned.
"Just folding it, stay in the water. I'll call you when its finished," he replied, concentrating on flipping over the now wadded green map veined in pink.
I tried half heartily to get out of the water but the arms cuddled me so enticingly that I just laid back and watched R. curiously turning into a master origamiest. He creased here, poked a green corner there, turning and folding our worthy map. As he toyed with the map a green paper head with pointed ears appeared from the wad. Next four legs and a tail. Before my eyes R. had folded the map into a green horse veined in pink. He smoothed the rump and then jumped on. Kicked its fat ribs and trotted over to me.
R then reached his hand down to mine and said, "come on princess. We visited all three museums in one after noon. Now its time to leave this enchanted city for home."
I scrambled behind him, leaned my head against his strong back as we galloped toward the city boarders.
"I'll follow you anywhere," I said and then added in a whisper "Sir Gallahad."