Conclave by Robert Harris

Benítez, Cardinal Archbishop of Baghdad.’
    He turned to Benítez and applauded him. For an embarrassing few seconds his were the only hands clapping. But gradually others joined until it became a warm ovation. Benítez looked around him in wonder at the smiling faces.
    When the applause ended, Lomeli gestured to the room. ‘Your Eminence, would you care to bless our meal?’
    Benítez’s expression was so alarmed that for an absurd moment it passed through Lomeli’s mind that he had never said grace before. But then he muttered, ‘Of course, Dean. It would be an honour.’ He made the sign of the cross and bowed his head. The cardinals followed suit. Lomeli closed his eyes and waited. For a long time, there was silence. Then, just as Lomeli was beginning to wonder if something had happened to him, Benítez spoke. ‘Bless us, O Lord, and these Your gifts, which we are about to receive from Your bounty. Bless, too, all those who cannot share this meal. And help us, O Lord, as we eat and drink, to remember the hungry and the thirsty, the sick and the lonely, and those sisters who prepared this food for us, and who will serve it to us tonight. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.’
    ‘Amen.’
    Lomeli crossed himself.
    The cardinals raised their heads and unfolded their napkins. The blue-uniformed sisters who had been waiting to serve the meal started coming through from the kitchen carrying soup plates. Lomeli took Benítez by the arm and looked around to see if there was a table where he might receive a friendly welcome.
    He led the Filipino over towards his fellow countrymen, Cardinal Mendoza and Cardinal Ramos, the archbishops of Manila and Cotabato respectively. They were sitting at a table with various other cardinals from Asia and Oceania, and both men rose in homage at his approach. Mendoza was especially effusive. He came round from the other side of the table and clasped Benítez’s hand. ‘I am so proud.
We
are proud. The
whole country
will be proud when it hears of your elevation. Dean, you do know that this man is a legend to us in the diocese of Manila? You know what he did?’ He turned back to Benítez. ‘How long ago must it be now? Twenty years?’
    Benítez said, ‘More like thirty, Your Eminence.’
    ‘Thirty!’ Mendoza began to reminisce: Tondo and San Andres, Bahala Na and Kuratong Baleleng, Payatas and Bagong Silangan . . . Initially the names meant nothing to Lomeli. But gradually he gathered they were either slum districts where Benítez had served as a priest, or street gangs he had confronted while building rescue missions for their victims, mostly child prostitutes and drug addicts. The missions still existed, and people still spoke of ‘the priest with the gentle voice’ who had built them. ‘It really is such a pleasure for us both to meet you at last,’ concluded Mendoza, gesturing to Ramos to include him in the sentiment. Ramos nodded enthusiastically.
    ‘Wait,’ said Lomeli. He frowned. He wanted to make sure he had understood correctly. ‘Do you three not actually know one another?’
    ‘No, not personally.’ The cardinals shook their heads and Benítez added, ‘It is many years since I left the Philippines.’
    ‘You mean to say you’ve been in the Middle East all this time?’
    A voice behind him cried out, ‘No, Dean – for a long while he was with us, in Africa!’
    Eight African cardinals were seated at the neighbouring table. The cardinal who had spoken, the elderly Archbishop Emeritus of Kinshasa, Beaufret Muamba, stood, beckoned Benítez to him, and clasped him to his chest. ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ He conducted him around the table. One by one the cardinals put down their soup spoons and stood to shake his hand. Watching them, it became apparent to Lomeli that none of these men had ever met Benítez either. They had heard of him, obviously. They even revered him. But his work had been done in remote places, and often outside the traditional structure of the Church.