Peppino

by Seth Coleman

  “Yes…That might work; very wise, Monsignor. I will make sure the names of his gang are printed in the newspaper. It is around nine p.m. now, and the Saturday morning delivery starts at six a.m. I better hurry, as they have probably started printing already. I will leave here and speak with the editor immediately and make sure he has all the information he needs. The illiterate will not be able to read it, so I would suggest you mention it in your sermon on Sunday too.”

  “You can be sure of it, Chief. I think this will be a very successful weekend.”

  **********************

  After being asked to leave the home of the baroness by the polizia, Nicola, Abramo, and Peppino gratefully headed down the hill. The moon was almost full, and the sky was clear enough for the stars to sparkle. As they reached the bottom of the path to Villa Bologna, Peppino stopped to take one last look.

  “Are you saying your good-byes?” Abramo asked with concern. “I know you must be sad.”

  “I am sad to say good-bye to my brothers and sisters, that is all.”

  “Peppino,” Nicola started, “this is going to be the last time you see your home for a while…if you ever do see it again.”

  “That’s OK. I’m not going to miss it.”

  .“You know, Peppino, if the constable dies, you and Emilio will be held responsible for his murder.”

  “He didn’t die then?”

  “The last I heard, he was taken to his home, and the doctor was attending him. But I think his condition was grave, and it is doubtful he will live. Even if he does, you will never be able to return. If you do, the polizia will surely arrest you.”

  “Yeah, but at least he would get the guillotine and not be hanged like you almost were,” Abramo teased Nicola.

  “That is true. Peppino, did you know Italy was the first in Europe to outlaw hanging as a way of corporal punishment some years ago? My friend the monsignor brought it back special just for me.” Nicola laughed and then became more serious.

  “My friend, you may have thought your life bad here, but if I were you, I would take the time to think about the good things. Hide some good memories away so that you can bring them up to think about when you think of home. Your memories are going to recall either the good or the bad. I am afraid with you that there may be more of a tug to think on the bad. If you allow that to happen and give into it, it will make you a bitter person. Remember the good, Peppino, and make peace with the bad. If you can do that, it will build your character. What you have experienced here is a necessary part of what you will be used for when you are grown up,” Nicola said.

  “What do you mean? What am I going to be used for?”

  “Only God knows that, Peppino, but I think it will be for good. I hope so, anyway. Follow your heart and follow the right path, and you will grow into it.”

  “I agree, Peppino,” smiled Abramo. “I think God will use you for good, too.”

  Peppino looked at Nicola and then to Abramo and shook his head slightly. “I don’t get you, Nicola. I admire what you do to help the people, but I don’t get the God stuff. And I definitely cannot figure out how you can call yourself a Christian and dress us like one of the Christ killers.”

  “Christ killers!” Nicola looked at Peppino in shock. “Where did you ever hear that nonsense?”

  Peppino looked at him, baffled. “To start with, the baroness, and also my teacher at school, and I think I even heard Father Niccarelli say it once in Sunday school.”

  “Well, they are ignorant people.” Nicola stopped momentarily and looked at Abramo, who was looking up at the sky. He shook his head and continued. “Did anyone bother to tell you that our Messiah was Jewish?”

  “Yeah, I heard that, but I don’t think he was really Jewish, was he?”

  “He was a rabbi, Peppino. His mother and father were Jewish. The Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were written by Jewish men, and the Last Supper was a celebration of the highest Jewish holiday, Passover. Yes, I would say he was really Jewish. In fact, I know some Jewish people who love God more than many of the so-called Christians who live here in Calabria. Abramo is one of them.”

  “Then why are they hated so much?”

  “That is an excellent question, Peppino. If you ever figure out the answer, let me know.”

  They continued on, each thinking their own thoughts of the day’s experiences. By the time the sun had risen, they had reached Bianco.

  “There is a synagogue in this village, and we will need to attend.”

  “Why?”

  “Today is Saturday,” offered Abramo. “Every Jewish person observes the Sabbath. It is one of the commandments of God that we keep it holy. We work for six days, but this is our day of rest. If we walked past without going to temple, my own people would turn on us. There are many of God’s laws that we observe that might seem strange to you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the fact is that there are thirty-nine actions a Jew cannot do on the Sabbath. They are called the Melachot.”

  Abramo looked at Peppino as if he knew what his response would be before he told him. “Remember before we left the stable you picked up the bag we brought your clothes in? I told you to leave it, and Nicola agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, one of the melacha is that a Jewish person must not carry anything outside his own home on the Sabbath. If you had taken it with us, it would have looked suspicious.”

  A skeptical expression crossed Peppino’s face. “Abramo, I think that is very strange.”

  “I am sure it does seem strange to you, Peppino, but there are many ways that people worship God, and this is one of ours. These are the very laws that the Messiah you believe in obeyed himself. Although we do not see him as our Messiah, some of us recognize him as a prophet.”

  “But isn’t it true that the Jews were the ones to kill him?”

  “Pontius Pilate was the one to give the order to kill him; you know that from Sunday school, don’t you?”

  “Yes, so then how come the Jews were blamed?”

  “We get blamed for everything,” Abramo quipped.

  “It is hard to understand without being there,” Nicola said with a sigh. “I guess someone spread a rumor that the people believed, and since the mob was Jewish, they got blamed. After all, the Bible says that the Jews are God’s chosen people, so why would God allow his chosen people to kill his own chosen son?”

  “Let me answer that one,” interjected Abramo. “Technically, that is true. Anyone who is born of a Jewish mother is considered Jewish, no matter what life they live. But it does not necessarily mean that they observe God’s ways or even believe in him, for that matter. Let me use the monsignor as an example. He lies, cheats, drinks, and I have even heard that he has seen prostitutes. Do you consider him a Christian?”

  “Yes, of course I do. I must. I hate him, but he is a leader in the church. He represents God’s will on earth.”

  “Are you sure about that, Peppino?” Abramo asked. “Do you really think that just because a man uses God’s name that he represents God? Think on that one awhile.” Nicola reined in his horse a bit. “There is the synagogue ahead on the right. When we get there, Abramo will introduce us as friends from Reggio traveling through the village on our way to Rome. After the service we will walk with those members going north.”

  “Walk? Why would we walk?”

  “Another melacha,” laughed Abramo. “We are not allowed to ride on the Sabbath, only walk.”

  “I don’t think I could be Jewish, Abramo. Too many rules.”

  Abramo and Nicola both laughed.

  “I don’t think you will ever have to worry about that, Peppino. In fact, I am not sure that they would want you.” Nicola teased while both men laughed heartily again.

  “Very funny!” Peppino said, not appreciating their humor.

  “It is very important that you do exactly as Abramo does,” Nicola said, “and when the men begin to chant, just bow your head and appear to
be praying. In fact, it might not be such a bad idea to do it in earnest.”

  “Very funny!” Peppino repeated. “I will handle myself fine. They will think me the most observant Jew in the temple, you’ll see.”

  “Good. For the time being, I am going to be your father. I don’t want them asking you questions you cannot answer. We are fortunate to be entering the temple after the service has begun, and we need to leave just before it ends to avoid conversations. If someone does say something, leave the talking to Abramo. I will continue walking, and you stay with me.”

  “I wish you were my father, Nicola,” Peppino mumbled.

  Nicola didn’t give any sign of having Peppino’s words. Peppino later found himself wondering if perhaps his friend had been feigning temporary deafness.

  Peppino was surprised how much the service sounded like his Sunday school class. The rabbi told the story of Daniel in the lion’s den and how God protected him. Right before the service ended, the three left and began walking on the Coastal road north.

  “How did you like it?” asked Abramo.

  “I don’t know. I have heard the same story in Sunday school class, and it was not any different. How come?”

  “The Scripture is the Scripture, Peppino. We both believe in what you call the Old Testament. We just stop there,” offered Abramo.

  “Oh, well, it looks like the monsignor has not disappointed me. Look up ahead. A road block; I bet you it is in our honor. What do you think, Abramo?”

  “I think they are looking for three criminals, not two Jewish men and a boy.”

  “I am not a boy,” Peppino snapped.

  “Well, you are today, Peppino. It is very important that you act natural. Just be yourself, and try not to appear nervous, and we will get through this fine. Greet each of the men and say, ‘Shalom,’ and keep walking. Jewish people are not required to carry papers if they are traveling through the town, so just keep moving.”

  It was another ten minutes before they reached the checkpoint. They watched the polizia stop every carriage and delivery wagon. It appeared that they were carefully inspecting the contents of each. By the time they reached the officers, Peppino’s heart was racing. He stared at the ground as he walked forward. They had just passed one of the officers when one addressed Peppino.

  “Hold it, young Jew,” the officer demanded, moving his horse to Peppino’s side and holding out some papers to him. “I forgot to give those people up ahead their papers back. Be a good Jew and run ahead and give it to them,” he ordered.

  “Why would you ask me to do such a thing?” Peppino said angrily. “We are not allowed to carry anything on the Sabbath. If you like, I will catch up with them and ask them to return, but I am not allowed to carry anything on the Sabbath. It is part of our Melachot rules.”

  “That is right, my son,” said Nicola, “but this man does not know our ways. You should not be so angry with him. Apologize to him right now.”

  Looking at the officer, Peppino doubted very much that the papers would ever make it back to their rightful owners. “Yes, Father. I am sorry, sir,” Peppino said mockingly.

  “That’s OK,” said the officer to Nicola. “I have a teenage son, too. Go ahead; I will find someone else to take it to them.” “Grazie and shalom,” said Nicola, bowing slightly.

  “Shalom,” smiled Abramo.

  “Shalom,” snarled Peppino.

  Nicola put his hand around his pretend son’s shoulders as they passed through the road block, then turned and nodded to the officer, who was smiling and shaking his head. Nicola returned the gesture. After they were out of earshot, Nicola was the first to speak.

  “Peppino, you must learn to control that temper of yours. You almost got us all caught.”

  “I couldn’t help it. He was wrong to be so rude just because we are dressed Jewish.”

  “Mamma mia,” said Abramo. “Now he’s going to defend us. The Messiah must truly be on his way,” he teased.

  “Well, at least we made it,” said Nicola. “This evening after the Sabbath, we will take a train to Catanzaro and then north to Subiaco.”

  “Where is Subiaco,” asked Peppino, “and why are we going there?”

  “Remember when you asked what I said to the baroness?”

  “Yes.”

  “I promised her I would take you to a good school for young men.”

  “I don’t want to go to school. I want to stay with you and Abramo.”

  “You know that is impossible. You have a choice to make, Peppino. Either you go to this school, or you go to jail; your choice.”

  Peppino thought about it for a moment. “For how long will I have to stay at the school?”

  “Four years.”

  “Four years!” Peppino shouted.

  “Shhh, Peppino. Don’t call attention to us.”

  “I am not going to go to school for four years.”

  “Yes, you are. We need you to, and the people of Calabria need you to.”

  Peppino looked at him with an expression of interest. “Why would the people of Calabria need me to go to a school in Subiaco?”

  “I hope you are ready for this conversation,” began Nicola. “I am a common man, Peppino, like Abramo and your friend Emilio. We can create influence by taking a stand and sometimes causing a revolt, but you, Peppino, you can rewrite history.”

  “Rewrite history? I can’t even pass my spelling test.”

  Nicola laughed and put his arm around Peppino’s neck, shaking and pretending to strangle him. “You know, I wish you were my son; I like your spirit.”

  Peppino looked at his friend, expecting to hear something profound, and he was not disappointed.

  “Peppino, you are almost fourteen. In a few years you will be an adult. I know you do not like being an aristocrat, but it puts you in a very unique position…one that can influence change in a way I could never do.

  “Someday you will inherit the title of baron and take your place as the head of one of the most influential families in Calabria. If you were in that position now, you could stop the things that are happening to me and help open doors that would make permanent changes for the people of the region—influence laws to help the people become literate, improve working conditions, and get the crime out of the church. You could change the things you hate about life here.”

  “But I do not wish to be a baron and associate with the imbeciles the baroness associates with,” Peppino protested.

  “You can be best friends with whoever you wish—Emilio, me—but you can also make friends with those who are part of the problem and guide them to your ideas. It is not easy. It will require you learn to be a master statesman, but with your passion I believe you can do it.”

  “Like how?”

  “Let’s see…Well, there is one way I have found most effective in getting people to do what I want. It is based on the premise that people take ownership of their own ideas. If we come up with a good idea ourselves, we are more likely to do it than if it is someone else who suggests we do it.” Nicola gave Peppino a serious look and continued.

  “You must learn to guide conversations and then skillfully sow the seed of your idea in their mind, making them think they were the one to come up with the thought. It has to be done in such a way that when they finally come around to your point of view, you can congratulate them for being so smart and then tell them what a good idea they had. It will be your idea, but if you learn to get good at it, they will never know it. You will not get the credit, Peppino, but I think tides of history have been turned by this type of diplomacy.”

  “You make it sound easy,” Peppino said. “I am not like my brother Vincenzo. He is the statesman. I am the one always getting into trouble. It seems even when I try to be good, I find a way to make bad happen.”

  Abramo chuckled. “Yes, that is true of you now, but that will not always be the way you are. Not if you work to change that.”

  “Peppino,” said Nicola, “you are going to go away for the ne
xt four years, and they are going to be years that can transform your life if you allow it. If you fight against it, you will lose, and those you could help effectively in the future will lose, too. If you learn your lessons well, you will become a person to be admired, a person who can remove the imaginary line in Brancaleone. It will be up to you what you make out of the school we are taking you to.”

  “What do you want me to study? Is it a school for statesmen?”

  “No, not quite.” Nicola smiled. “But it is a school where I hope you will learn two important lessons. If you do, I think it will change you and the lives of those around you.”

  “What is it you want me to learn?”

  “The first is that I want you to learn to be close to your friends and closer to your enemies. The second is to learn to be wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove. If you learn those two lessons well, I think you will be a very effective statesman.”

  “What does that mean? Why would I want to be close to my enemies?”

  “If you were a wise general in an army, you would study your enemy.” Nicola smiled at Peppino, choosing his words carefully. ‘You would get to know their habits, their strong and weak points, and you would learn them so well that you could develop an effective strategy to win the war you are fighting against them.” Nicola could see that he was getting through to Peppino and placed his hand affectionately on his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze and continued.