A Bell for Adano

by John Hersey

  Major Joppolo said: “Why was this bell important, then?”

  The priest said: “This bell was the center of the town. All life revolved around it. The farmers in the country were wakened by it in the morning, the drivers of the carts knew when to start by it, the bakers baked by it, even we in the churches depended on that bell more than our own bells. At noon on the Sabbath, when all the bells in town rang at once, this bell rose above all the others and that was the one you listened to.”

  Cacopardo, who was old enough not to have reverence for anything, said: “I think that even the Monsignor regrets the sending away of the bell, because he used to regulate his fornication by it.”

  Craxi said: “I am certain too that he regulated his eating by it, as everyone else did.”

  Major Joppolo said to Borth in English: “We’ll have to try to do something about getting another bell.”

  Borth said: “It’s ridiculous. There are lots of things more important than this bell. Get them some food and don’t forget that alleyway.”

  Major Joppolo said: “All the same, the bell is important to them.” And he said then in Italian: “Thank you for telling me about the bell. I promise you that I will do all I can to get another bell which will have some meaning as a bell and will have a good tone and its history will be that it was given to you by the Americans to take the place of the one which was taken away by the Fascists to make gun barrels.”

  Cacopardo said: “You are kind.”

  Craxi said: “I thank you, Mister Major, and I kiss your hand.”

  Major Joppolo said: “You what?”

  Cacopardo the historian said: “He meant no offense. It is an old custom here. Once the important people make us kiss their hands, and later when the actual kissing became too much of a bother, it became the habit merely to mention the kissing, as if it had been done.”

  Craxi said: “I meant no offense, Mister Major. I am anti-Fascist.”

  Major Joppolo said: “It appears that everyone in this town is anti-Fascist. Well, we will see about the bell. Now I wish to speak alone with the priest. Zito, you may stay. You are my usher. Giuseppe, you may stay. You are my interpreter.”

  Craxi said: “Mister Major, the telegram.”

  Major Joppolo said: “I will try to send it.”

  Craxi mentioned the kissing again, and turned to go. When the others had gone, Major Joppolo said to Father Pensovecchio: “Father, I wish to tell you that the Americans want to bring only good to this town. As in every nation, there are some bad men in America. It is possible that some Americans who come here will do bad things. If they do, I can assure you that most of the Americans will be just as ashamed of those things as you are annoyed by them.”

  Father Pensovecchio said: “I think we will understand weakness in your men just as we try to understand it in our own.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Thank you. Father, I have been told that you are the best priest in Adano.”

  The priest said with quite honest modesty: “I am here to do my duty.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Therefore I should like to ask a favor of you. You must feel perfectly free to refuse me if you wish. I should like to ask you to say a few words before your mass tomorrow morning about the Americans. I shall leave it to you to say what you wish, if you will merely add that there are certain proclamations which the Americans have posted which ought to be read

  Father Pensovecchio said: “That I can easily do.” Major Joppolo said: “I myself am a Catholic. If you will have me, I should like to attend your mass.”

  The priest said: “It will be a pleasure to have you.” Major Joppolo was glad that he did not say it would be an honor.

  Major Joppolo said: “I shall see you tomorrow then.” Father Pensovecchio said, just to make sure: “At the Church of Sane Angelo. It is by the Piazza of that name. At seven in the morning. Until then, son

  When the priest had left, Giuseppe said in his brand of English: “You doing okay, a boss. All you got a do now is fix a food.”

  “Yes,” said Major Joppolo, “food. We’ll go to the bakeries. But first, do you have a crier here?”

  Giuseppe said to Zito in Italian: “What is the name of the crier? Did he run into the hills with the others?”

  Zito said: “No, he is here. Mercurio Salvatore. He is here. Only, Mister Major, he does not always say exactly what you tell him to say. He will say the general meaning of what you wish, but he will change it some. Even if you write it down, he will change it some.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Will you get him, please, Zito? I want to send him out to tell the people to read the proclamations. “

  Zito went. Major Joppolo said to Giuseppe: “We will go to the bakeries, then we will post the proclamations.” Giuseppe said: “Okay, a boss.”

  Major Joppolo looked down at his desk and saw Craxi’s telegram. He undid the safety pin and unfolded the paper and read:

  “To Franklin D. Roosevelt, Capitol Building, Washington D.C. Fremente di gioia per la lbertá da molto tempo attesa the i vostri valorosi soldati anno dato alla città d’Adano stop vi prego accettare i sentimenti sinceri della mia gratitudine e riconoscenza. Antifascista Giovanni Craxi fu Pietro.”

  “Giuseppe,” the Major said, “let’s see how good you are as an interpreter. Now, this is for President Roosevelt. You must make it as eloquent as you can. What does it say?”

  “To Franklin D. Roosevelt and a so forth,” said Giuseppe. “Crazy with joy because of a liberty so long time awaited which your brave a soldier have a give to a town of Adano. What’s a stop?”

  “That’s just the end of a sentence, Giuseppe.”

  “End a sentence. I beg a you accept a sincere sentiments of my gratitude and a recognition. Signed a this Craxi. You going to deliver it, a boss?”

  “Sure,” the Major said, “the President will be glad to hear.”

  Chapter 2

  MERCURIO SALVATORE, crier of the town of Adano, took a little time to show up, because he had to get into his uniform. His face was happy when he did arrive, because he had thought that his crying days were over. Having been a voice of Fascism for seventeen years, he thought that the newcomers would not want his loud shouts. He had taken his uniform off and hidden it in the house of Carmelina the wife of Fatta. He had then awkwardly paraded himself in civilian clothes and the people, having seen him in uniform for seventeen years, laughed at him.

  “Where is the crier?” they asked each other in his presence.

  “He has disappeared into the clothes of Fatta which do not fit him,” they shouted, and laughed.

  Therefore Mercurio Salvatore was happy and grateful when he presented himself to Major Joppolo. “I am glad to be able to serve you and I kiss your hand,” he said in his husky Voice. Indoors he had learned to speak in a kind of whisper, because he knew the strength of his throat.

  Mercurio Salvatore stood before Major Joppolo in tawdry splendor. He wore a uniform of the eighteenth century, and looked as if he had been wearing it ever since that time. The tights had once been blue, but now they were a light and spotted grey. The turn-back coat had once been lined with red silk, but the silk had long since fallen apart, and Carmelina the wife of Fatta had replaced it with sacking from the sulphur refinery which she had dyed purple with grape juice, but the purple had washed out in the first few rains, so that now Mercurio Salvatore was a walking advertisement of Cacopardo Sulphur.

  If Major Joppolo had been any other American officer, he would have laughed outright at Mercurio Salvatore. But Major Joppolo was so intent on what he wanted to say that he scarcely noticed the uniform.

  He said: “Crier, I have a job for you. I must explain this to you: the Americans are different from the Fascists. They are different in many ways. For this reason there will be quite a few changes in Adano. I hope that they will be changes for the better.”

  Mercurio Salvatore said: “Yes, Mister Major,” to show that he would remember every word of it.

  The Major said: “In or
der to explain some of these changes, I am going to post at various prominent places around the town a number of proclamations, which will make everything clear. All I want you to do is to tell the people to read these proclamations. Impress on them that the penalties for not obeying the proclamations will be severe. That is all.”

  Mercurio Salvatore looked disappointed. “That is not much to shout,” he said.

  Major Joppolo said: “Shall I name a new crier?” Mercurio Salvatore said quickly: “Oh no, Mister Major, I will make something beautiful of what you have said.”

  Major Joppolo said: “The proclamations will be posted before five o’clock this afternoon.”

  Mercurio Salvatore said: “Yes, Mister Major,” and left.

  He picked up his drum where he had left it outside the Major’s office. Ordinarily he had made his first cry in the Piazza Progresso, right in front of the Palazzo, but this time he was self-conscious, and wanted to have a few tries before crying within earshot of the Major.

  Therefore he went first to the park opposite the Cathedral.

  He rolled his drum long and sharply.

  He saw Italian heads pop out of windows and several people sauntered out of their doors and leaned against the walls. Because of the number who had run to the hills, he could see that he would not have so good an audience this time as he had often had in the past. But at least he had an audience, and that was more than he had expected an hour before.

  He took a deep breath. Blood and wind rushed into his throat, and his throat roared: “Well, you laughed. But you can see that Mercurio Salvatore is still your crier. The Americans are friends of Mercurio Salvatore. The Americans wish to be your friends, too. You have been expecting the Americans for some time, but did you expect the changes which would come after the Americans? Did you know that they were going to change many things after they came? Did you know that they were going to change practically everything except the crier? Well, your crier is here to tell you this.”

  Mercurio Salvatore, who had not had any shouting to do for nearly six weeks, was somewhat winded. He rested a moment, took another deep breath, and roared: “Your crier has not time to enumerate all these changes. They will be listed for you in certain proclamations which the crier’s friends, the Americans, will post around the town later today, at about five o’clock. Read these proclamations, people! Obey them, or your new friends will be angry and will behave like the Fascists who are now, thank Jesus, hiding in the hills. Choose, people: friendliness or Fascist punishmentsl Read the proclamations and choose. I have cried.”

  And Mercurio Salvatore hitched his drum around back and marched off to the high ground in front of the ruins of the Castello San Giovanni. There he gave the drum another sharp roll and waited for people to get their ears outdoors.

  Now Mercurio Salvatore filled his lungs and bellowed: “Opposite me I see Carmelina the wife of Fatta in front of her house. I also see the lazy Fatta leaning against the wall of his wife’s house. The crier wishes to thank Carmelina for storage of his uniform during the difficult time of the invasion. He wishes also to address a few words to her lazy husband. It is unfortuate, lazy Fatta, that you never learned to read. It is too bad that you were too slothful to memorize the letters of the alphabet. This afternoon you would have had a chance to read of the changes which our friends the Americans intend to bring about here in Adano.

  “You could have read the proclamations which our friends will post, Fatta. You would not have had anything to lean against while reading because the proclamations will be posted on the walls upon which you depend. The hour of the reading, that is to say about five o’clock, would have been bad for you, because it is the hour when you are overcome with energy and are able to lift a bottle of wine to your lips.

  “But the others will read, Fatta. They will learn that the Americans are our friends. They will learn of the changes. They will know what to do. They will avoid the punishments. For them, Adano will be a new town, and life will be different. For you, it will be the same. You will do wrong, and you will be punished. Adano will still be a place of fear.

  “Look at the lazy Fatta, peoplel Do not be like him. Read the proclamations. Acquaint yourself with the new Adanol I have cried.”

  And Mercurio Salvatore moved the drum around behind him and marched off to the several other places convenient for shouting, and in his own way he told the people about the changes which were to come.

  Chapter 3

  FATHER PENSOVECCHIO could not remember when so many people had come to the Church of Sant’ Angelo. Perhaps he had not been without guile when he had mentioned to ten or twelve people, quite casually, that the American Major would be in Church in the morning, and that he himself had something to say about the Americans. What priest does not like to have many listeners? What priest is not proud of the jingle of many coins in the box, coins for the Mother Church?

  Father Pensovecchio, in the wildest hopes of his casual remarks, had not expected a crowd to equal this. The priest knew that he would repent later of his pleasure in drawing so many people away from the twelve other churches of the town, but for the moment he let his pleasure have rein. He stood in the front and nodded to the ones he had not seen in his church for years. There was Margherita the wife of Craxi, from the Church of San Sebastiano. There was old Bellanca the Notary, from the Church of the Orphanage. There was Afronti the loud-voiced cartman and Basile the fat cartman, both from the Church of the Benedettini. There were people standing up in the side aisles. There was even the lazy Fatta, who had not gone to any church since the baptism of his last baby in 1935, leaning against one of the pillars.

  It was a pleasure, certainly it was a pleasure, to have so many come to the Church of Sant’ Angelo.

  But now Father Pensovecchio had a thought which made him very uneasy. What if the Mister Major should not come? Think of the shame. Think of how the other priests would laugh. Think how this vanity, this large crowd, would complain. Think of how his own faithful would flock on later Sundays to the other churches. Think of preaching to empty pews.

  It was already five minutes past seven. The senior acolyte had already whispered in his ear that it was time to begin the mass. And the Mister Major had not come.

  The Mister Major, at that moment, was sitting in his office having a breakfast of fruit and discussing with Borth and with the usher Zito, who never went to church, the matter of the bell. Major Joppolo sat with his feet on the huge desk eating fruit, Borth sat on the end of the desk also eating, and the little Zito stood at attention in front of it, not eating but wishing he were.

  Borth said: “As usual, Major, you’re letting your heart run your head. Forget the bell and clean up the alleyway. This is too sentimental, this bell business.”

  The Major said to Zito in Italian: “Zito, exactly when was the bell taken away?”

  Zito said promptly, without having to think it over: “June the fourteenth. It was the day when Mayor Nasta fined me three thousand lira for leaving my Atlas open at the page of North America. I used to read my Atlas in dull hours outside the door there, and that day I left it open at North America. Like everyone else, Mayor Nasta knew the Americans were coming here. It made him nervous. He thought I was mocking him. He fined me six months’ pay.”

  The Major said: “June fourteenth, almost exactly a month.”

  Zito said: “It took them two days to take the bell down. They used six sets of block and tackle. Then it took another day to crate it. They started taking it down on the eleventh and finally carted it away on the fourteenth.”

  The Major said: “The fourteenth,” but he was thinking. He was thinking so hard that he had forgotten all about going to church.

  In the Church of Sant’ Angelo, meanwhile, Father Pensovecchio was growing frantic. Most of the heads in his crowd, his lovely crowd, kept turning toward the door instead of facing the silver crucifix which survived the fire of 1553.

  He could see that he was about to lose their attention altogether. T
hey would all get up and go out in the streets looking for the Mister Major in a few minutes. There was nothing to do but begin.

  It was most irregular, but Father Pensovecchio knew that much was at stake for his Church, so he did not begin with the beginning of the mass, but instead began to recite the war litany, hoping in this way to kill time until the Major appeared.

  His voice began to drone: “Regina pads ora pro nobis...”

  In his office Major Joppolo was saying his thoughts out loud - in Italian, because he wanted to test them out on Zito: “We could get another. But we could not just get any bell. It would have to be a bell with meaning. Zito, what would you think if we got you a Liberty Bell?”

  Zito said: “What is this Liberty Bell?”

  Major Joppolo said: “It is the bell the Americans rang when they declared themselves free from the English.” Zito said: “The idea is good. But would America be willing to part with this bell for Adano?”

  Major Joppolo said: “We would have to get a replica, Zito. “

  Zito said: “Describe this bell.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Well, it hangs in a tower in Philadelphia, I think. It is of bronze, I think. It has a large crack near the bottom from its age. You can see it on postage stamps, and many companies use it for their trade mark.”

  Zito said: “How is the tone?”

  The Major said: “That would depend on the replica, Zito. We could get one with good tone, I think.”

  Zito said: “I do not like that about the crack. A bell should not crack just because it is old. Our bell was seven hundred years old, but it had no crack. I doubt if America is that old, to say nothing of your bell.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Perhaps it cracked because we rang it so hard to announce our liberty.”

  Zito said: “I do not think the people of Adano want any liberty that has a crack in it. No, they would not like that business of the crack. Maybe you could get us a Liberty Bell without a crack.”