The Quest

She filled the goblet with wine and passed it to him. He drank and passed it back to her. She said, “If you believe in love, you believe in God.”

Where had he heard that before?

Chapter 23

They didn’t see Henry again for several days, but he, or a messenger, dropped off an envelope in which were their visa applications partly filled out, awaiting only their passport information and their signatures. A note from Henry said, “Bring these in person to the Ethiopian embassy, ASAP. Cross your fingers.”

Purcell and Vivian visited the Ethiopian embassy the next morning and spent a half hour waiting for a consulate officer who seemed to be a relative of General Getachu. The former regime’s diplomatic staff had been dismissed, of course, and had undoubtedly chosen not to go back to Ethiopia and face a possible firing squad, so they’d probably stayed in Rome and were hanging out with the other expats at Etiopia. The colonial ties between Italy and Ethiopia had been brief and not strong, but they persisted, as Purcell saw around the Termini, and he imagined that Italy would see even more upscale refugees as the revolution got uglier. Meanwhile, he had to deal with the unpleasant consulate officer, who didn’t speak English but spoke bad Italian to Vivian, who maintained her composure and smiled. The man didn’t seem to believe that anyone wanted to travel to the People’s Republic for legitimate purposes, and he was right. The officer took their passports, which he said would be returned to them in a week or so at their place of business, which was L’Osservatore Romano, with or without their visas. He also took 100,000 lire from each of them for expedited processing.

The consulate officer’s parting advice, which Vivian translated, was, “If you are denied visas, do not apply again. If you are accepted as journalists, you must refrain from all other activities in Ethiopia.”

Vivian assured him they understood and wished him, “Buongiorno.”

They spent the next few days before Christmas exploring the city. Vivian said she’d been to Rome twice on school trips, but she didn’t know the city as an adult, so Purcell showed her Rome by night, including Trastevere and the fading Via Veneto, where he pointed out the Excelsior where Henry was living and presumably drinking. They didn’t go into the hotel bar, but he did take her to Harry’s, and after they’d had a drink at the bar, he told her about finding Henry there.

She said to him, “Thank you for doing that.”

“That’s what you wanted.”

“Was it… awkward?”

“It was, but we moved on to bigger issues.”

“I knew you would both be mature.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She smiled, then leaned over and kissed him at the bar, and the slick bartender said, “Bellissimo.”

During the day they walked the city and he took her to out-of-the-way places, including the Chapel of Quo Vadis, where Vivian was intrigued by Christ’s footprint in the paving stone, and she said, “This could be real.”

“You never know.”

A call to Henry had gotten them put on the visitor’s list at Porta Santa Rosa, and they walked the hundred acres of Vatican City, and Purcell showed her Henry’s office building, and also the Ethiopian College where black-robed monks and seminarians entered and exited. Vivian asked, “Will I be allowed in there?”

“Good question. I don’t think it’s coed. But we’ll try.”

“I’ll wear your trench coat.”

“They’re celibate, Vivian, not blind.”

Henry had gotten them passes to Saint Peter’s for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and they met Henry at Porta Santa Rosa at eleven and walked to the basilica without having to go through the throngs in Saint Peter’s Square.

The Mass looked to Purcell as it had looked on television when he’d seen it sitting in a New York bar one Christmas Eve.

Vivian, as expected, was moved by the pageantry and the papal address, and the pope’s announcement that 1975 would be a Holy Year. Purcell, though he spoke neither Italian nor Latin, was also impressed by the history and the grandeur of the Roman Mass. He wondered if they’d keep the Holy Grail at the altar of the basilica or in the Vatican Museums. He’d suggest the altar, and maybe he would make that part of the deal. He smiled at his own absurd thoughts and Vivian whispered to him, “It’s good to see you happy.”

Henry had secured late supper reservations in the Jewish ghetto, explaining, “There is nothing else open in Rome tonight.”

And there were no taxis or public transportation either, so they walked along the Tiber to the ghetto and entered Vecchia Roma on the Piazza di Campitelli.

The restaurant was standing room only, but the hostess seated them immediately, and Henry confessed, “I promised them a four-star review in L’Osservatore Romano.”

Vivian asked, “Do you do restaurant reviews?”

“No, and neither does the paper.”

Vivian and Purcell exchanged glances.

Henry asked, “Red or white?”