Magnificat by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

balanced and might fall.” Cardinal van Hooven indicated the scaffolding around the feet of the angel. “As you see, they are not entirely finished yet.”
    “Still, a fine statue. Not a subject we see often in Russia any more, unfortunately.” He stopped. “That statue must have the best view of the city.”
    “One of them, certainly,” said Cardinal van Hooven.
    “A fine place, Rome, but decadent. It is the very heart of the decadence of the West.” He touched the pectoral crucifix that lay just below his beard.
    “And the East has never been decadent? How badly we in the West have been misinformed,” said Cardinal van Hooven quietly.
    “Ah, that is another matter,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko. “The West has never understood luxury, and indulgence instead of excess. A fine line, I admit. Still, the East knows luxury for what it is.” He laughed suddenly, explosively. “And what do I know of it? As a man of God I turned away from such things before I truly knew what they were.”
    “Does that sadden you?” Cardinal van Hooven asked as he resumed walking.
    “Occasionally. I am a man, and at sixty, I cannot help but reflect on my life. I see others who have committed many sins and who have nonetheless prospered. I see others who have tried to live virtuously who have been cast down. My wife used to say that God punished too much virtue just as He punished too much vice.” He indicated the traffic hurtling down the street. “This is not a luxury, but it is certainly an excess.”
    Cardinal van Hooven smiled. He was dressed in a plain cassock, very little differently than any other priest in Rome, though his lapel pin was indication enough of his rank to anyone who recognized it. “In your view, is it wise for the clergy to marry?”
    Metropolitan Gosteshenko hedged expertly. “Your Church does not think so; my Church does not agree.”
    “And you, Pavel, what do you think?” Cardinal van Hooven waited expectantly as they continued along the street where modern glass-and-steel vied with the Baroque for supremacy.
    “I know I have been a better priest and a better Metropolitan because I had a wife for most of my sixty years. But it may be that I was fortunate in my wife—I am very sure I was—and I may be a poor judge because God sent me Marina.” He looked down into the Dutch Cardinal’s face. “Is that a more acceptable answer?”
    “Oh, there is no question about acceptance,” said Cardinal van Hooven, appearing a little baffled by the challenge. “I am curious, that’s all.”
    “Is it?” the massive Russian asked. His beard was brushed to a high shine and his cheeks were rosy. There was sweat along the band of his hat but he did not seem uncomfortable in spite of his engulfing vestments. “Is there somewhere we can purchase gelato? With national borders opening and closing and changing as they have been doing, who knows when I will have such an opportunity again?”
    Cardinal van Hooven smiled once more. “Halfway down the next block. The raspberry is especially good.”
    After they had purchased their cones and found a marble bench to sit on, the Metropolitan finished half his raspberry-and-bittersweet-chocolate gelato before he said, “What is this all about, my friend?”
    “Your embassy—” Cardinal van Hooven began.
    “What do you want?” Metropolitan Gosteshenko cut in, not rudely. “If we keep up this dance it will be the middle of next year before you or I will know what is going on.” He looked at the remainder of his cone. “Perhaps the West has a little understanding of luxury, after all.”
    It was more than two minutes before Cardinal van Hooven said, “Do you have any useful connections in the People’s Republic?”
    Whatever Metropolitan Gosteshenko was expecting, it was not this. “China? What can you want with China?” He shook his head slowly. “That is one border that has remained closed, at least to us. The British might be more helpful, through Hong