– I remember a walk at the end of John Paul II’s life. I drove him and Father Dziwisz to some place on a mountain road, in the midst of nature, then they set off on foot, and I followed them in a car at a distance, very slowly, so later I could take them. I always zeroed mileage at that time, because the Holy Father, when he got back into the car, wanted to know how long the distance that he covered was. Once, during the Papal journey, it was raining, and I forgot to reset the counter. After a while, the Pope gets into the car and was sitting next to me in the front seat. A moment earlier, Father Stanisław whispered in my ear: “Valentina, when the Holy Father asks what was the distance that he has walked, add some meters to give him courage, you know – sort of encouragement, it is import.” So when the Pope asked, “Valentino, how much have we walked today?, without hesitation I replied: “About a kilometer, Your Holiness.” And, he looked me straight in the eye, lifted his index finger up in a gesture of denial, and said, “Don’t lie to the Pope!”
I thought I was going to sink underground, a cold sweat spilled over me, I was so stupid… I saw in the mirror how Father Dziwisz sitting in the back was laughing, and it was very much in my memory and in my heart. I treated the Pope as someone closest to me and for no treasures, in any way, even the slightest way, I did not want to offend him. “Do not lie to the Pope!” To this day, these words resound in my ears, spoken in a decisive, firm tone. And, I remember his gaze piercing everyone through and through—a look that instantly read your thoughts and feelings.
Magdalena Wolińska-Riedi “It happened in the Vatican”
Znak Publishing House. Kraków 2020
Pages: 181 – 182
