| General Fiction posted March 29, 2025 |
I woke up this mornin' feelin' fine...
Do the Clothes Make the Man?
by Wayne Fowler
Previously, Phil and Tom receive their new identities. Phil wakes up believing he is in the Pope’s body. He calls Tom to come to Rome (the Vatican) to help him.
Do the Clothes Make the Man?
The Pope (Phil)
The headache was my first clue, its intensity. There was only one other instance when it hit me with such fury – when I first woke as President Trump. I tried to get up and rush to a mirror. Ugh. Big mistake. At least the aching of my ribcage eased my concentration on my head. Breathing was difficult, though. Short shallow breaths were all I could manage.
“Holy Father! Someone, Alfredo! Help!” It was a voice my ears recognized, but my brain did not. Someone, an attendant maybe, saw my plight and summoned help.
“Help me get him up,” the man in a black robe said to a man wearing a plain woolen suit. He spoke in another language, Italian, maybe, but the interpretation was obvious.
I was on my side, my right arm stuck in a bent position beneath my ribs. Nothing felt broken and I’d heard nothing that might indicate a break – probably just bruised ribs, cracked perhaps, but that wouldn’t require a trip to the ER. I anticipated what came next.
“Call the doctor!”
“No.” I squawked,” afraid to say more since I didn’t speak Italian, Spanish, or Latin, though I’ll readily admit that I had no idea if anyone, even in the Vatican, spoke Latin. Not that I knew we were in the Vatican or that I was in the Pontiff’s body, but it felt like I was – the room, the attendants, my shape…
I don’t speak Spanish, but I understand it some. I now wished I’d paid more attention, tried a little harder the two years I took Spanish in High School. Or the six months I dated Elena. I was stupid to let her go, but then, I was just a kid.
“Gracias,” I muttered. “Mucho gracias.” I could tell I was acting out of character by the quick glances when I spoke, both at me and between themselves. They probably thought I’d had a stroke. That would be good, a stroke. That would account for my erratic, but very Phil-like behavior.
“Baño” I waved indiscriminately for effect, hoping for credibility. Detecting the word ayuda, help, I shook my head in the negative. I waved off the black-robed dude’s reach for a bedpan, grunting, but for real, as I attempted to swing my legs off the bed. I took it that it had been a while since the old body had been up. Well, it’s been a while since this old body had a youthful brain, though 49 wasn’t all that young, I could manage most of the Class 3 mountain climbs and certainly any of the Class IV white water canoeing challenges. In other words, I was fit and equipped mentally to will certain physical responses. I made it to the baño.
I took my time in there, wishing to think and try to figure out my purpose for switching into Pope Francis’ body. Looking around, I saw another door to, or rather in my case, from, the bathroom. It opened into an office. Mine, maybe. I dialed a number I knew by heart, having rang it from all over Europe. “Tom, can you get to Rome? I… I think I’m the Pope.”
Of course, Bob is Tom’s new identity. I would have to refer to him as Bob Thayer because that was on all his papers. He would come, but had no idea how to get to me, even less what we might do. I didn’t either. I just knew I was in over my head. I hoped Bob had some familiarity with Catholicism. All I had was thirty-year-old memories of dating a Catholic girl.
+++
Tom
“Well, sure I can come, but what about you? The real you?”
“I’m…”
“No, you, Bill Johnson, Phil? Remember? You’re going to wake up… You’re sick, aren’t you the Pope?”
“Yeah. ‘Fraid I got the worst of this trade, again. But I think he’ll be all right. He should know how to get back here. That is, if he wants back.”
That was a sobering thought. What if the goal of this switch was to reward a faithful Pope with a youthful, relatively speaking, body, leaving Phil to die in his place? It was a possibility. Phil would give my new name, Bob Thayer, to someone to allow me in. Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to pretend to be anyone but myself. And hopefully, there would be no Schlape character, some evil guy with bad intent. But what did I know? Maybe some version of Schlape was in the Vatican trying to kill the Pope?
Whatever the case, I was on my way, a yellow Catholicism for Dummies book in hand for airplane reading. I would be sure to leave it in the jet – no reason to make Rome airline employees cross with me.
+++
Tom
(at the Vatican door)
(at the Vatican door)
“Wonderfine! Wonderfine!” I had to repeat myself at every turn. It was as if every doorkeeper wanted to play. Finally, I saw him and bowed my way to his presence. I could see the twinkling in his eyes.
“Tom,” he croaked. He held out his hand, barely able to make it more than quarter staff.
“Your Holiness,” I responded. I saw him grimace just a bit. I read it as being uncomfortable with the title. But it could have been a pain in his duodenum, how would I know?
Phil, in the body of the Pope, looked toward his attendants and said, “Preevacy, por favor.” I knew enough to know that an ‘i’ is pronounced ‘e’. One of the aides said, “Intimità?”
“Si,” Phil replied.
All but one in a black robe left.
“Do you speak English?” Phil asked him.
“But, of course, Your Holiness.”
The dude’s expression said that Phil should have known this.
“Bring me one who cannot.” Phil waved his trigger finger in the universal language of “remove yourself.” Presently a man with the thickest five-o’clock shadow I’d ever seen replaced the black robe dude.
“Help me to the bathroom,” Phil said.
Father Five-o’clock immediately reached out a hand and stepped forward.
“Vamoose!” Phil said waving toward the door.
Once he was out, we hugged like long-lost brothers, exchanging “Good ta see ya’s.”
“So, I guess that gives us a clue, or two,” Phil said.
“Our job’s to root out the stooge, or stooges?” I asked.
“Maybe. But it might be to give this tired, old body the strength to heal.”
“Or… give the real Pope a viral body to do whatever he needs to do?” I offered. Phil grimaced as if having trouble visualizing the Pope debauching Phil’s body.
“Like facing giants, or attacking demons,” I said, recovering.
“Maybe. But first, our own giants. Get Black Robe, will you?”
Phil made his way to a wingback chair as I fetched the boss in the black robe. Once inside and close, Phil told him that I was his friend, “Mi amigo.” Pressing his heart with his hand. Phil then reverted to English.
“Bob Thayer is like a brudder to me. He weel be weeth me.” Phil rolled his hand as if you say forever. The Priest, did you not know he spoke English?
Father Black Robe’s eyes expanded to their fullest, his face ashen. “I will resign, Your Holiness. I did not know.”
We both believed him.
“No,” Phil said. “Send that one away.” Phil motioned with his head and hand as if to send the guy to heaven. “Who sees over my medicines?”
“I will, now, Your Holiness. You think …?”
Phil nodded his head. “Maybe. I don’t mind… The Pope’ sure doesn’t plan to live forever, but it needs to be his own timetable. His and God’s, not…” Phil waved toward the banished priest.
“And what have thee doctors said to you that they hab not said to me? All of eet.” Phil bore his eyes into Father Black Robe.
“They said you are unwell but not unnaturally so considering your age.”
Father Black Robe paused, waiting for further instruction, which Phil obliged.
“They speak of your heart, your kidneys, liver… but of course, you have already told them you will not accept dialysis.”
Phil nodded.
Father Black Robe continued. “But they are surprised that you do not respond to the steroids and the B12 vitamin.”
“Well, now we might know why.”
Tired of being an unused third wheel, I inserted myself. “I’m sorry, Father. We’ve not been introduced. I looked at Phil and winked. “I’m Bob Thayer. And I’ll be happy to give you my details so you can have me checked out.” I reached out my hand expectantly.
“Father Guido Sarducci,” he said, shaking my hand with strength and confidence.
“Very happy to make your acquaintance. Maybe if we start by tossing all the meds and refilling them fresh?”
He agreed. “Your Holiness, let me take care of that immediately and perhaps get you on a path of recovery?”
“Thank you, Gueed.”
Phil guessed right, drawing a huge smile from Father Black Robe, I mean Guido.
Guido left to take care of business.
“So, what’s left for me to do?” I asked.
“Stay and help keep me alive? And meet the Pope if we switch back. Might need you to facilitate the back and forth if this is anything like the last time. Be a different sort of role, but…”
“What happens if there’s no switching, and you…”
“Croak?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I trust you to keep me honest until then – don’t let me get carried away with writing any decrees.”
“They call ‘em bulls.” I said. Phil just glared at me, obviously holding back a joke.
“Just don’t let me shoot off any Canons.” Phil tried to cross his arms over his chest but winced in obvious pain.
We both knew that he meant super decrees. “And what if …?”
“I’ll try to put in a good word for ya.” Phil said, smiling.
+++
The Pope
(in Phil’s body)
(in Phil’s body)
Once the headache subsided a bit, I made flight arrangements for Anchorage to Ottawa. It was going to take a bite out this guy’s bank account, but it couldn’t be helped. I had to see Cardinal Pellier whose residence was in Canada’s capital city.
“Tell him I heard his confession on July 25, two years ago. Ask him if he would like me to tell you what it was that he confessed.” That ought to get me his attention. Presently I was ushered into an office.
“I am sorry, Mr. Johnson. I don’t believe we’ve met. He handed back the passport I’d presented to the Priest who met me at the door.
“We have, and we have not. God sent me, I’m certain. His message is that you are to attend the conclave. You told me on July 25, two years ago that you would not… ever. You said that you’d realized that you were an alcoholic and did not drink wine at communion, but grape juice. ‘Like the Protestant!’ You said. With a bit of venom, I might add.”
“Ho… Holy Father?”
“Do not ask me how. I don’t question God. But you must attend the conclave. Weeks, months… I don’t know. I suppose it depends on how well whoever owns this body cares for my own.”
Cardinal Pellier took a deep breath and exhaled fully. He went ahead and asked: “And why is it this important that I attend when I have already made clear that I do not wish to?”
The Pope did not answer except with as serious an expression as he could force Phil’s body.
After a moment Pellier looked Phil square in the eyes and with all earnest begged, “Please do not let it happen before June tenth. Our diocese plays softball against the Baptists and we haven’t beaten them in seven years!
photo is courtesy of FanArtReview: St Peter's Square by supergold
This Phil Jansen and Tom McQuin episode follows their White House adventure. It's the first of several stand-alone posts.
Wonderfine was the code word between Phil and Tom.
bano: I could not convince FanStory to use the Spanish symbol to properly pronounce banyo (bathroom).
conclave: the process of selecting a new Pope
Pays
10 points
and 67 member cents
(and maybe more). This Phil Jansen and Tom McQuin episode follows their White House adventure. It's the first of several stand-alone posts.
Wonderfine was the code word between Phil and Tom.
bano: I could not convince FanStory to use the Spanish symbol to properly pronounce banyo (bathroom).
conclave: the process of selecting a new Pope
Artwork by supergold at FanArtReview.com
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2025. Wayne Fowler All rights reserved.
Wayne Fowler has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
