VATICAN CITY — The dominant local primate maintains, at the summit of an ancient troop, a chief spiritual officer. On October 11, that officer, Pope Leo, informed the species that a nodule has formed on one of his lungs and that he has decided to undergo surgery, an intervention scheduled for "the coming days." The same statement confirmed a visit to Peru, November 6 to 17. Locals received both items as a single bulletin, in the tone ordinarily reserved for weather.
Our field count opened at the word "nodule" and closed at "November 17," a duration of eleven minutes. Yield: one lung, one nodule, one decision, one intervention, one unnamed interval, one foreign nation, two calendar dates. We ran it twice, then a third time, certain we had missed a number. At minute seven the count logged its only event: a second appearance of the word "lung," still carrying no figure. The nation received numbers. The lung received a noun. Our notes classify the repair as invasive; the bulletin classifies it as coming.
Accept both statements and the arithmetic starts moving. Twenty-six days separate the announcement from the departure, which means the interval is not vague but a countdown with a far wall, its length known to one local and issued to no one else. We filed Form 12, Request for the Date of a Lung, with the appropriate office; it returned within the hour stamped COMING, with a Peru packing checklist stapled behind it. No waiting list appears anywhere in the bulletin. Waiting lists, our records show, are assigned to bodies whose calendars cannot defend themselves.
"Peru was confirmed first," said Monsignor Ercole Vantini, Adjunct Delegate for Pontifical Journeys. "Peru has dates. The lung has never had dates. One does not move what has dates." Asked when the surgery would occur, Vantini said the days in question were "coming as planned," then added, serenely, "The lung knows."
Nearby, the species concurred. "He's the CEO of the whole operation," said Dale Kowalczyk, a retired machinist from Ohio, holding position 214 in a queue for Wednesday's general audience that our rangefinder logged at 310 meters. "I had a gallbladder out on a Tuesday and made a wedding on a Saturday. You tell the body when. That is what a body is for." At minute nine of our observation, the queue produced its fourth apology, addressed to no one in particular.
Final tally from the square: one lung, zero dates for the lung, two dates for Peru, one form returned stamped, one queue 214 positions deep, led by a man who will never join it. His repair occurs on days described only as coming. His travel occurs on days described by number. In this troop, the calendar is the sturdier organ.
