Peppino

by Seth Coleman

  “What is this intrusion!” bellowed the baroness from the top of the stairs. She stretched her arms from the wall to the banister, blocking the way so that the two men could not pass. “I will have your job for this impertinence. You must leave this house immediately.”

  “I have come on the authority of both the chief magistrate of Bovalino and the monsignor and have been instructed to take your son in for questioning. Let my men pass,” he ordered.

  “And why would you do that?” she said, shoving the two men backward and down a few steps. “This is my home, and I will not have you come in here and make demands of me and my family. I know you and your family, Vittorio,” she said, waving her hand threateningly at him, furiously angry. “I do not wish to have your job taken away, but unless you leave this house immediately, you will force me to do just that.”

  Hearing the altercation, the children who had been sleeping came running out of their bedrooms to the side of their parents and older brother. Gaetana quickly told them to stand beside the baroness, making the congestion at the top of the stairs impossible for the two men to get by.

  The constable slowly removed his gun from his holster and pointed it at the baroness, then said firmly, “I said, let my men pass.”

  “I see you do not care about your future, Vittorio. Very well; children, move aside and let them do what they must.” Then she said, addressing the officer, “My son is not at home.”

  The children watched as the two officers brushed past them and went down the hallway, entering into each of the rooms.

  “Where is he?” the constable demanded.

  “If you must know, we had words earlier this evening, and he left. This is not the first time he has done such a thing. If you want to find him, I would suggest that you locate that hooligan Emilio De Luca; my son is most likely with him. Now, I insist that you tell me why you are looking for Peppino.”

  “He and that ‘hooligan,’ as you say, broke into the jail in Bovalino along with Nicola Bagnara and his men and knifed one of the guards and helped the prisoners escape.”

  She crossed her arms and looked squarely at the constable. “If Peppino was involved in such a thing, I am sure he was forced to do it by that despicable Nicola Bagnara. He is your culprit, not my son!”

  “That is not for me to say.” He turned to his men and pointed toward the door to the kitchen. “Check the rest of the house.”

  “I told you he is not at home, but search as you like. You will only find some itinerant Jews who are sleeping in the stable.”

  “Jews? Why would they come all the way up the hill to your home?” he asked suspiciously.

  “If you must know, we see it as our Christian duty. We often give nourishment and lodging to Jewish families traveling through our community. I am sure by now we have a reputation with them, as they stop quite regularly. If it is late in the day when they arrive, we give them food and then offer the use of our stable. Go speak with them yourself if you like.”

  The men returned to the top of the stairs. “There is no teenage boy here, only this one,” he interrupted, pointing to Vincenzo, who stood resolutely next to his mother and father.

  “Yes, we will do just that. Lenzo, Silveo, check out the stable. Now!” he ordered.

  The two men hurried through the front door as the baroness turned and addressed her family. “Everyone, go back to bed. There is nothing we can do now but pray for Peppino. Go do that now.”

  Concettina walked over to the baroness and tugged on her nightclothes. “Will Peppino be okay?”

  The baroness looked down at the child staring at her. Concettina’s eyes were full of tears and concern for her brother. The matriarch of the family had been through an emotional upheaval that wore through to her last nerve, and she needed comforting herself. She exhaled a sigh of frustration and fear and then uncharacteristically lifted the child into her arms and embraced her. “He will be fine” she said, giving her a light kiss on the forehead.

  Concettina nodded her head. “Okay,” and then added. “Will God’s angels take care of him?”

  The question went unanswered as the baroness kissed Concettina’s head several times.

  Standing by the front door, the constable looked up the stairs at the distraught family. He watched as the baroness stood on the top step squeezing Concettina tightly, as the other children and Gaetana gathered around her and began hugging one another.

  Lenzo and Silveo returned through the front door. “As she said, there are three Jews in the stable, a father and his two sons. They are traveling to Reggio Calabria and stopped here for food and are staying in the stable for the night. Would you like us to bring them in for questioning?”

  “No, then we will be responsible to feed them. Go back and tell them to be on their way. We do not want vagrants stopping in our villages.”

  “Yes, sir.” Both men left to carry out their orders.

  Now that the confrontation was over, the constable noticed the subtle refinement of the expansive foyer. Moments before he had been so focused that he had not even noticed the white-and-gray–streaked marble floor that had been shined to a gleam. In the center stood an ornate cherry table garnished with brightly colored flowers, obviously freshly cut. The atrium was the height of two floors and illuminated by a stunning crystal chandelier adorned with brilliantly faceted crystals that threw a faint rainbow of colors on the surrounding walls and the table that stood directly beneath it. He had heard about the famous statue that stood in front of the lightly colored rose wall, but had never seen it until now. People said that it was chiseled by Michelangelo, who was said to have lived in the home of one of the baroness’s ancestors. Quite remarkable and impressive, he thought to himself as he looked once again at the family standing at the top of the stairs. They were all staring at him. He gave them an uncomfortable smile and nodded before walking to the door. He stopped and turned one more time, wanting to apologize to the baroness for drawing his gun in her home, but thought better of it. He nodded one last time before closing the door behind him.

  Looking back as he walked down the path, the outside of her home appeared like the average home in Calabria. Not at all pretentious; in fact it was very plain looking. Most likely played down so as not to be attractive to thieves, he thought to himself. The only hint of elegance was the grand wooden door with a large polished brass knocker. Other than that, the house that stood at the top of a dirt path could have been owned by his chief.

  Vittorio Abruzzi wondered who would win in the battle that was about to ensue: the polizia, the church, or the baroness. He was afraid he knew the answer.

  **********************

  The baroness had chosen Brancaleone for the view and, of course, the extensive lands gifted to her husband’s family by Fernando de Aragón, Duque de Calabria, in 1496. She knew only that he was a Neapolitan aristocrat of royal blood who played a significant role in Mediterranean politics in the sixteenth century. The massive estate was a reward to the baron’s family, for a reason she never could remember. History was of no interest to her. It was valuable only for the status it provided her personally. When her husband had died twenty years before, she inherited everything, including the title, which she considered her reward for tolerating him. She had been suffocated by a loveless marriage that had been arranged by her late father, to the “old man” of Bologna, as she’d called her husband privately. A proper marriage for the children of aristocrats was an important business and political strategy. For the already titled families, it was crucial for nobility to marry nobility in order to propagate the family dynasty.

  The Medici family of Florence had remained at the top of Italian society for centuries. It was a family that included Cosmo Medici, the wealthiest banker in Europe in the late 1400s, and his gifted son Lorenzo Medici, titled by the people “Lorenzo the Magnificent,” and credited with the rebirth of cultural arts in the Renaissance that had begun in the fourteenth century. Lorenzo’s court included artists such as Piero and An
tonio del Pollaiuolo, Andrea del Verrocchio, Leonardo da Vinci, Sandro Botticelli, Domenico Ghirlandaio, and Michelangelo Buonarroti. Michelangelo had even lived with Lorenzo and his family for several years, considering him a father figure.

  The baroness’s ancestry of privilege included three popes in the Catholic Church, Pope Leo X, who was known for the sale of indulgences and challenging Martin Luther’s ninety-five theses; Pope Clement VII, the “almost” illegitimate son of a Medici, until the church declared him legitimate prior to making him pope; and lastly, Pope Leo XI, who died within a month of his coronation. During the five hundred years of Medici generations, many wore titles such as duke and duchess, some were knighted families, and others were barons and baronesses. Two were even queens: one of France and another of Spain.

  Ippolita was born a Medici, and that meant that from birth her hand was sought by royalty and the wealthiest of European businessmen. Her father had taken the best offer, one that included money, title, and massive lands in southern Italy, an underdeveloped area he thought held promise for the future of the country and a wise investment.

  She had been fourteen years old when she left her family’s home in Florence to wed Ferdinando dei Baron Bologna, who at the time was in his late fifties. For more than eighteen years she catered to the old codger’s whims of fancy and unnatural sexual appetites. She had resolutely shut down her own will and solemnly retreated into a very lonely world of wealth, power, and position.

  After he died, she did the unthinkable for a woman of her stature. At thirty-two years of age, she had an affair and then fell in love with a good-looking field hand who worked on her estate. His name was Giuseppe DeAngelis. For the first time in her life she experienced love, but his lowly station prevented them from marrying. When she became pregnant, she made the most difficult decision in her life. She made a choice not to tell Giuseppe that she was with child and instead told him she was going on a tour of Europe for a year. He was unhappy but understood the demands of a woman in her position, wished her well, and promised to be waiting for her return. In truth, she went to visit her best friend Gaetana and her new husband Dominic who were living near Venice. It was there she came up with a plan to save face. She made Gaetana and Dominic an offer, one that he readily accepted due to his painful financial situation. He and his wife agreed to move in with her. This assured his children, not yet born, a home of privilege. Of course Dominic realized that he would benefit as well.

  She placed her palatial estate in Bologna up for sale, and the three of them moved to Calabria, a relatively poor area, with peasants by whom she would be readily accepted due to her title and wealth. More importantly to her, Calabria was the Italian region that was farthest away from the indiscreet tongues in Florence and Bologna.

  Before she left for the south, her father confronted her about the “lurid affair,” as he called it, and told her that he agreed it was in the best interest of the family that she leave Bologna and not return to Florence. He promised to do what he could to help but also informed her that he would not claim the child as an heir. A few weeks later, she was told Giuseppe was dead by the hand of an unknown assailant.

  She cried until her tears were dry, wishing she had forsaken her duties as a baroness and married the man with whom she shared love and, soon, a baby. But it was too late and a hopeless situation anyway. She was of an upper class and he a lower, and that was just a fact of their respective lives.

  When the child was born, she named him Giuseppe as a token of respect to his father. To save face, the child would be told that Dominic and Gaetana were his parents, but that he had been bestowed to her at birth to be raised as her own son. Giuseppe did not take the surname of Dominic and was told only that his last name was Bologna. He was never told the truth, nor did he ever see his birth record that listed his last name as DeAngelis. The child born out of wedlock had been her reason for life, but her son, whom she called Peppino, hated her. Unknown to others, the baroness felt that she was being punished by God. Worse yet, she believed that she deserved it. The combination made her appear a cold and angry woman, when in truth her ill temper was a result of hurt. She was simply a sad and misunderstood woman.

  Peppino was to inherit the title of baron along with his mother’s wealth and position. To Ippolita, that was all that mattered. Peppino was a Medici by blood, a baron by title, with the blood of a commoner secretly running through his veins.

  Fourteen years had passed since she moved to the south of Italy and built her home. She called it Villa Bologna, but secretly, in her heart, it was the Villa Bologna-DeAngelis.

  Upon her arrival in Calabria, she traveled the region searching for the best place to raise her son. When she first visited Brancaleone, she knew it was to be her home. Its position at the top of a hill overlooking the sea meant security from pirates and thieves, who were known to be rampant throughout the region. She first noticed the property while standing by the village’s church, located on the main road midway up the hill and just below the town’s small plaza. Her thoughts were captured by an enormous boulder that was cradled by solid rock. It sat at the edge of a great precipice overlooking the Ionian Sea and the fertile farmland below. It was awe-inspiring, and for a moment she felt joy, as her eyes were resting upon tranquility, something that had eluded her for many years.

  As a child she had been raised in the church and knew the verse in Matthew about building a house on solid rock: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house; and it fell not for it was founded upon a rock.*

  The setting reminded her of the prestigious Villa Giulia, which had been recently constructed near Pesaro, about one hundred miles south of Bologna. She had vacationed there with Gaetana a few months before moving to Calabria. Villa Giulia was built in the midst of verdant foliage, with only its roof and tower reaching above the tree tops. The palace overlooked the sea and offered a distinct and beautiful view, very similar to the one she had been viewing at that moment. So this is where my new life will begin, she had thought.

  She had quickly sent a note to Giuseppe Ferroni di Senigallia, one of the most prominent architects in Italy, who began the project immediately. The baroness had the surface of the boulder hewn down to make a level patio off of the living room and extended it to the very brink of the vertical drop. Then she had di Senigallia design a wooden platform that extended out from the edge of the great boulder, allowing her an extraordinary vista. He supported it by drilling so deeply into the rock face that he insisted that it was safe enough to withstand even the most massive of earthquakes or most furious tempest winds. To her delight it appeared to project gracefully over the rim. Directly below was lush and fertile farmland that swept gently to the green Ionian Sea. In the early morning the baroness would sit and enjoy the captivating panorama. Her favorite view was of the four mountain ranges that lay brilliantly visible behind the village. The region of Calabria had been blessed with four mountain ranges—the Aspromonte, Pollino, Sila, and Serra—with some of the highest peaks in Italy, all of which could be viewed from her terrace. The early morning mist created a spectacular sight, as it seemed to settle between the ranges, giving them an appearance of layering as if in a painting, one mountain chain beyond the next, highlighting their rims and peaks more perfectly than a majestic piece of art painted by one of the masters.

  Every morning the peasants could see the small figure of the baroness eating her breakfast as they worked their farms one thousand feet below. To the poor people of Calabria, she appeared as a queen presiding over her subjects.

  This morning she sat in silence with a sadness that reached deeply into her soul. All this, she thought, all I have built has been for the son who has just walked out of my life.

  Notes

  * Matthew 7:25

  Chapter 10

  “Thank you for coming so quickly to inform me of Bagnara’s latest murder attempt, Chief. Under the circumstances, I think discussion of this subject is most appropria
tely done here in the sanctuary under his divine guidance.” Monsignor Russo turned and gestured one hand toward the crucifix while the other drew out his full-length cassock, swirling it around quickly enough to make it billow out a bit as he changed position. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “I thought you should be told immediately,” replied Luigi Torchia, taking a seat in the pew closest to the altar. “As chief of Police of Bovalino, I want you to know that I do understand that this must be a delicate situation with Peppino being the son of the baroness.”

  “I do not see this as a delicate situation at all,” he said firmly. “I see it as a God-sent opportunity to send a message to the poor of the region that even aristocrats are not above the law. I will go toe to toe with the baroness if I have to. I have God on my side!”

  “Yes, I see. Well, I wanted you to know that we immediately placed road blocks in and out of Calabria, so we will find him if he tries to leave the area.”

  “I’m not sure road blocks will do it. This is a very shrewd criminal. We have offered a reward for his capture that will be paid for by the church. Then we will see how his poor supporters turn him in to us!”

  “Yes, that is an excellent idea, but I am on the church board, and I know that there is not money available. We are barely keeping our head above water as it is. Not to mention that the baroness is one of our largest supporters. If you come against her or pursue prosecuting her son as you suggest, she will surely stop her donations.”

  “As far as the money is concerned, it will not be a problem. We will advertise the reward in tomorrow morning’s paper, and then when it comes time to settle, I will convince the person that they need to make it a donation back to the church. I will tell them that God will look more favorably on them if they make it a love offering back to him. Yes, I do like that idea, even if I do say so myself.” He smiled. “And since my congregation is made up of illiterate simpletons, I think they will be grateful to try to balance out their sins with God’s judgments. As far as the baroness is concerned, you can leave that to me. With what her son has done, she will be battling public opinion, and if they find out that she has stopped giving to the church, it will add to the negative gossip about her. I can even hear my sermon on the subject.” He started dramatically, “‘We all need to pray for the baroness of Bologna in her time of trial and hope that she will soon change her decision to no longer make contributions to our church.’ I won’t make a big deal about it, but I will make sure the peasants do. She will donate; you watch and see.”