A conclave on the bus and three new potential popes

Black smoke billowed again from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel on Thursday, signaling that no pope has been agreed on yet to replace the recently deceased Francis. The cardinals, who have already cast two votes today, will do so again in the afternoon. Thursday is set to be a decisive day to determine whether this is going to be a quick conclave, just like the two last ones, or whether the tension resulting from the late pontiff’s 12 years of reforms will lead to a prolonged debate.

Meanwhile, out in the street rumors abound about who is most likely to become the new leader of the Roman Catholic Church. This week, despite the Italian media’s emphasis on Pietro Parolin as the top candidate, three new names have emerged as potential winners.

In Rome, you hardly ever see members of the clergy wearing a cappello romano or “Saturn hat” anymore; it’s a shame, but there’s a reason for that. Yet at about 10:30 a.m. on a recent morning, a classic old-fashioned priest emerged from an alleyway connecting Piazza Navona to Corso del Rinascimento, dressed in strict black, wearing an immaculate cassock and one of those hats with a wide circular brim and round crown reminiscent of the planet and its rings. In the religious clothing stores that abound around the Pantheon, these items cost between €200 and €300. This may be the reason they’re on the verge of extinction; the other is that this particular priest’s look — shoulders squared, an unfriendly expression on his face, and a backpack on his back with an Air France frequent flyer card — looks both ridiculous and pre-conciliar. One was tempted to take a picture of him, but his face suggested the answer would be no. A few meters further on, the priest stopped at the bus shelter to take Line 64 towards the Vatican.

What followed inside the bus was a mini-conclave in its own right. The priest got on and stood towards the front of the bus, from where he had a full view of the passengers. The 64 line wasn’t very crowded, and three very young nuns who looked Indian and wore tunics somewhere between orange and salmon, matching the veil that showed their hair, and a light black jacket, stood out. One of them, looking very stylish, also wore a white scarf, and unlike the prelate, all three were quick with a smile and immediately struck up a conversation with some tourists.

The rest of the passengers were quietly going about their business until suddenly, three ticket inspectors boarded the bus like Daniel Harrelson’s S.W.A.T. team, one through each door to make sure that nobody escaped. Displaying an aura similar to that of the priest in the Saturn hat, they immediately approached an elderly Argentinian couple with a confused look on their faces. Bingo. They had purchased tickets, but had failed to validate them, and so were facing a fine of €57. There was a small uproar because everyone could plainly see there was no malice involved, but one of the ticket inspectors pointed his finger at the husband and said, “The law is the law, in your country and in this one too.”

I looked at the priest to see if he was going to react — if he was being given a chance to earn his place in heaven, why should I get involved? I had no way of convincing the inspectors. But the priest clearly had no plans to step in. On the contrary, he accompanied each admonishing phrase from the ticket inspector with a supportive nod. It’s the dogma, he seemed to be saying: you start by breaking it, and you end up blessing gays.

In the end, the Argentinians escaped punishment by the skin of their teeth. They were fined, but — in the face of angry public reaction — they didn’t demand immediate payment. Once on the street, the man asked: “Do you think the fine will reach us in Buenos Aires? We came here with the intention of seeing Pope Francis, but it seems we’re late.” His wife added: “What a shame, that man was so nice.” They headed toward St. Peter’s Square with their backpacks on their shoulders, still looking scared.

In the square, there were more police officers and journalists than private citizens. The latest rumor — and rumors have long dominated the news — was that the names of three cardinals with a good chance of winning the papal tiara had suddenly emerged. Although the Italian media continue to insist that the new pope will be Pietro Parolin, who is Italian and upright, some outlets are now pointing to Cristóbal López, Ángel Fernández Artime, and Pablo Virgilio David.

It seems that for the cardinals, the days spent together with prayer, coffee, drinks and cigars may have yielded results. The first two potentials are Spanish; the third one is Filipino, and none of the three look like they’d be caught dead wearing a Saturn hat. Quite the contrary. Cristóbal López, as this newspaper was able to confirm in an interview conducted a week ago, is an interesting, good-natured 72-year-old who was a missionary for many years, and is now the Archbishop of Rabat, in Morocco. One of the things he said in the interview was: “I’m ashamed of the EU and Spain’s immigration policy.” The other Spaniard, Fernández Artime, has his young age working against him — at 64, he is a kid by the Vatican’s reckoning — but on the upside, he knows his way around.

The third long shot is the 66-year-old Filipino Pablo Virgilio David, Archbishop of Kallookan, recently made a cardinal. Pope Francis would bring back members of the clergy with him from his world travels instead of souvenirs; then he would pick up the phone and name them cardinals. David may benefit from the fact that the Filipino cardinal who was at first a leading papal candidate, Luis Antonio Tagle, seems to have lost his luster.

The first smoke to come out of the chimney in the Sistine Chapel on Wednesday was black, very black, as it was on Thursday morning at 11.50 a.m., indicating that no pope was elected on the second or third ballots either. It could still be a long conclave.

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