It was getting hard for him to stand up and sit down. At the moment, he was sitting awkwardly on his cushioned chair in the west wing study, meditating on immaculate conception. He stared vacantly at the grandfather clock across the well-appointed room, and realized with a start that he was late for his doctor's appointment. He extended a shaky finger and rang for his handlers, who appeared beside him so quickly that they could only have been waiting right outside the door.

It was an effort for the two handlers to bustle the Pope into the Popemobile and negotiate the tricky Vatican City traffic, but they got him to his appointment only fifteen minutes behind schedule. This was an important visit, because it was the first time they would view the baby with a sonogram. The Pope had initially been afraid to take this step because it would be an actual visual confirmation of the child. The Pope only knew that he was pregnant, not any details of gender. He worked best with faith - and less so with facts. Facts could be scary things.

He was thinking, as he eased himself out of the comfortable back seat, that he would have to start moving about incognito before long. The Popemobile was much to conspicuous for the pregnant pontiff. It wouldn't do to be seen visiting this type of doctor.

Inside the nondescript doctor's office, the Pope was asked to lie down on a cushioned table and hike up his robes. He self-consciously did this, and waited. His exposed stomach bulged ominously under the harsh overhead lights. A nurse rubbed a handful of cool conductive goo all over his midriff, and the doctor readied the sonogram.

The Pope started sweating. This would indeed be a revelation, and like many less holy than he, his first reaction to the unknown was fear. This was followed by denial, and finally by acceptance that it was all part of God's mysterious plan. Perhaps it was to be the much anticipated Second Coming. He knew that this is what it should be - he was, after all, the Pope...

A gasp came from the doctor. "Your Eminence, you have a uterus!" Sometimes, the Pope reflected, visual evidence really did work better than this whole "faith" thing.

The Pope raised his head and looked at the monitor screen. A little greyish form floated in blackness. He could see tiny, perfectly formed hands and toes, and a little bottom and... Oh Heavenly Father!! It has a tail! The Pope winced, and felt a bowling ball of despair settle in his gut. As if the tail weren't bad enough, he caught a glimpse of tiny horns on its head.

Here indeed was a conundrum. He knew what his options were - or rather, what they weren't. He had already rationalized his way around the obvious problem. The presence of horns and a tail, in addition to the fact that he was mightily uncomfortable, led the Pope to the conclusion that the baby had no soul, and was thus not subject to church edicts concerning abortion. The sticking point was that, this being the Vatican, abortion was not permitted. Since it was not permitted, there was nobody who knew how to do it.

Maybe he could have somebody flown in. But what if word got out? Maybe he could find somebody to do it on the sly. Visions of coathangers burrowing into his pale, virgin flesh sent a shiver from his taxed spine all the way down to his swollen ankles.

On the little monitor screen, the baby turned its tiny head towards the anguished audience, and in movements indicating abnormal awareness, opened its little black marble eyes and twitched its pale face into a smile that caused the doctor to lose his grip on the sonogram wand.

The screen went blank.
J9(8)