Conclave

by Robert Harris

As he tipped his vote into the urn, there was a terrific bang, the floor quivered, and from behind him came the sound of panes of glass shattering and crashing on to stone. For a long moment Lomeli was sure he must be dead, and in those few seconds, when time seemed suspended, he discovered that thought is not always sequential—that ideas and impressions can arrive piled on top of one another, like photographic transparencies. Thus he was at once terrified that he had brought God’s judgement down upon his own head and yet simultaneously elated to be given proof of His existence. His life had not been lived in vain! In his fear and joy he imagined that he must have passed on to another plane of existence. But when he looked at his hands, they still seemed solid enough, and suddenly time snapped back to its normal speed, as if a hypnotist had clicked his fingers. Lomeli registered the shocked expressions of the scrutineers, who were staring past him. Turning, he saw that the Sistine Chapel was still intact. Some of the cardinals were rising to find out what had happened.