Excerpt from The Delight of Being Ordinary by Roland Merullo, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Certo, Holy Father. Of course. What kind of plan?"

Another smirk of displeasure. More hesitation. Then: "If I wanted to, say . . . take an unofficial vacation . . . three days, four at the most . . . could you work out the logistics?"

"Of course, Your Holiness. But anyone here could do that. Your travel office. One of the administrative assistants. People say John Paul used to slip away to Cortina d'Ampezzo to ski. It's not hard to arrange such a thing, even with the security—­"

"But I would want it arranged in secret . . . to disappear for a few days," the Pope surprised me by saying. He was still having eye-­contact issues. Unprecedented. "I don't want to go anywhere in that foolish bubble of a vehicle. It's a cage. It separates me from my people. And I don't want the bodyguards or the travel office to know about this. I don't want anyone to know. You and I. Rosa, if she wants to come along. We could make a side trip to see Anna Lisa, go to certain other places I have in mind. Three or four days . . . You're staring at me."

"I'm looking for signs of dementia, Your Holiness . . . with all due respect. Your face is probably the most famous face on earth. Certainly the most famous in Italy. And you and I are going to sneak away? And what? Ride the Autostrada, have lunch with my daughter, take a swim? This isn't Buenos Aires. We're not nine and fourteen anymore."

"It's absurd," he admitted. "You're right, as usual."

A veil of sadness fell across his face. To cheer him, and really only to cheer him, I said (and I will forever take responsibility for this remark), "Maybe the Dalai Lama could come along. I'll give some kind of knockout pill to the two security details, then spirit you both away."

The Pope's smile illuminated the room like light from a second sun. He took a sip of tea, washed it around in his mouth, swallowed, flashed the magnificent smile again, and then seemed to slip into the garment of his papal authority. I'd seen this before, hundreds of times, a magical transformation. He'd told me once that it was fine and good to be humble, but at some point, if you were, in fact, going to lead, you had to be comfortable using power. "Un piano d'azione, per favore." A plan, please, he said, as if he hadn't agreed, a few seconds earlier, that the whole idea was ridiculous. "Hypothetical but detailed. By dinner­time, if you would."

I went along with our little game. "I'll have it on your desk by lunch, Holy Father," I said.

"No, no. Nothing in writing."

And even after hearing those words, even after registering the stern expression on his face, I was sure my cousin the Pope must be joking.

Excerpted from The Delight of Being Ordinary by Roland Merullo. Copyright © 2017 by Roland Merullo. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.