divinity and my ordination,” he explained.
“Indeed, and how did you come to be in the People’s Republic?”
“Back in the 1970s, the government of Chairman Mao was ever so pleased to have Taiwanese come here to live—rejecting capitalism and coming to Marxism, you see,” he added with a twinkling eye. “It was hard on my parents, but they came to understand. I started my congregation soon after I arrived. That was troublesome for the Ministry of State Security, but I also worked as an engineer, and at the time the state needed that particular skill. It is remarkable what the State will accept if you have something it needs, and back then their need for people with my degree was quite desperate. But now I am a minister on a full-time basis.” With the announcement of his triumph, Yu lifted his own teacup for a sip.
“So, what can you tell us about the local environment?” Renato asked.
“The government is truly communist. It trusts and tolerates no loyalty to anything except itself. Even the Falun Gong, which was not truly a religion—that is, not really a belief system as you or I would understand the term—has been brutally suppressed, and my own congregation has been persecuted. It is a rare Sunday on which more than a quarter of my congregation comes to attend services. I must spend much of my time traveling from home to home to bring the gospel to my flock.”
“How do you support yourself?” the Cardinal asked.
Yu smiled serenely. “That is the least of my problems. American Baptists support me most generously. There is a group of churches in Mississippi that is particularly generous—many are black churches, as it turns out. I just received some letters from them yesterday. One of my classmates at Oral Roberts University has a large congregation near Jackson, Mississippi. His name is Gerry Patterson. We were good friends then, and he remains a friend in Christ. His congregation is large and prosperous, and he still looks after me.” Yu almost added that he had far more money than he knew how to spend. In America, such prosperity would have translated into a Cadillac and a fine parsonage. In Beijing, it meant a nice bicycle and gifts to the needy of his flock.
“Where do you live, my friend?” the Cardinal asked.
The Reverend Yu fished in his pocket for a business card and handed it over. Like many such Chinese cards, it had a sketch-map on the back. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to join my wife and myself for dinner. Both of you, of course,” he added.
“We should be delighted. Do you have children?”
“Two,” Yu replied. “Both born in America, and so exempt from the bestial laws the communists have in place here.”
“I know of these laws,” DiMilo assured his visitor. “Before we can make them change, we need more Christians here. I pray on this subject daily.”
“As do I, Eminence. As do I. I presume you know that your dwelling here is, well ...”
Schepke tapped his ear and pointed his finger around the room. “Yes, we know.”
“You have a driver assigned to you?”
“Yes, that was very kind of the ministry,” Schepke noted. “He’s a Catholic. Isn’t that remarkable?”
“Is that a fact?” Yu asked rhetorically, while his head shook emphatically from side to side. “Well, I am sure he’s loyal to his country as well.”
“But of course,” DiMilo observed. It wasn’t much of a surprise. The Cardinal had been in the Vatican’s diplomatic service a long time, and he’d seen most of the tricks at least once. Clever though the Chinese communists were, the Catholic Church had been around a lot longer, loath though the local government might be to admit that fact.
The chitchat went on for another thirty minutes before the Reverend Yu took his leave, with another warm handshake to send him on his way.
“So, Franz?” DiMilo asked outside, where a blowing breeze would impede any microphones installed outside the dwelling itself.
“First time I’ve seen the man. I’ve heard his name since I arrived here. The PRC government has indeed given him a bad time, and more than once, but he is a man of strong faith and no small courage. I hadn’t known of his educational background. We could check on this.”
“Not a bad idea,” the Papal Nuncio said. It wasn’t that he distrusted or disbelieved Yu, just that it was good to be sure of things. Even the name of a classmate, now an ordained minister, Gerry Patterson. Somewhere