by Seth Coleman
“As a statesman the war is not with guns but with words, words that influence change. As an aristocrat you can be a general in the battle that Abramo and I have begun and be effective in fostering changes in ways we cannot even imagine. Peppino, you can make the line in Brancaleone disappear.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Peppino.
“Yes, I think we both do, don’t we, Abramo?”
“Yes, Peppino. I think you are a man of passion. I have watched you fight for the rights of the people; I have seen your loyalty and bravery in helping to save Elena; and I have witnessed your indignation at the insults of a man who would belittle the Jews. I think we all agree that you did not handle any of those situations well, but if you learn to rein in those passions, I think you will be the one who will be most effective in helping our people.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really, but there is something you must learn to love,” added Abramo. “It is the third thing I hope you will learn. Learn to love the thing you hate most right now. Learn to love correction. None of us is born with all of the answers, but those who accept wise correction are the ones who will hone their own character.”
“Is that one of your Melachot laws?” Peppino said sarcastically.
“No,” said Abramo as he and Nicola laughed good-naturedly. “It is not one of the written laws, but I think it is one of the lessons of God. We all have stubborn wills that resist those who do not agree with us. It is natural to feel that way. But if we learn to love the corrections that are true about ourselves, face them, and let them change us, we will grow and build our own character.”
“I am not sure if I will ever love correction, but I like you, Abramo. I think you a little strange, but I like you.”
“I like you too, Peppino. So I hope you will do it. Will you go to school for the next four years and learn these lessons?” Abramo asked.
“I expect they are going to be hard lessons for you,” Nicola said. “I want you to know that before you answer. You will be required to follow orders, even if you do not like them. When you are angry and want to leave, you must remember that you could have gone to jail, where you would be forced to submit to the authority of people who would not be kind. Force your mind to look for ways to appreciate the school we have sent you to.”
“If I do what you ask, will you come back for me in four years?”
“We will not forget you. That is a promise, and I hope by then the baroness will figure some way to work it so that you can return to Brancaleone.”
“You did not answer my question. Will you come back for me in four years if I go to this school?”
“You are relentless, Peppino! Mamma mia, what will we do with this boy?” Nicola yelled into the air. “Yes…Yes, I will promise to personally return for you, my friend.”
All three of them were laughing again.
“Okay,” Peppino said reluctantly. “Then I will do it. I promise. I will go to this school in Subiaco. What is the name of it anyway?”
Nicola glanced at Abramo and then cleared his throat. “It is called the Monastery of Saint Benedict.”
“a monastery!”
Chapter 11
The train station at Reggio Calabria was bustling with activity. Located at the very tip of the boot of Italy, it was a center of transition. From here some travelers transferred to boats going to Messina in Sicily, while others booked passage on ships traveling to Africa across the Mediterranean or to Greece, Turkey, and Spain. Some traveled by train in the direction from which they had just come, northeastward across the foot of the boot bordering the Ionian Sea and then northwest up the eastern coast of Italy facing the Adriatic Sea. It would be a long train ride for those traveling to Bologna and Venice in the north, but from what Peppino had heard, it was a very beautiful trip.
Peppino had been to Reggio Calabria once before with the baroness and thought it more fun to watch than the carnival that came to Bovalino every year. He had seen Sephardic Jews dressed in costume before, but today those traveling were dressed in their finest, many of the men wearing colorful robes with wide sleeves, their hair twisted into a tail hanging below a brightly colored red skullcap, which Abramo told him was called a fez. Their children ran around the train station in noticeable swarms. All of the boys were dressed in black pants and white shirts, while the girls wore colorful dresses that reached to just below their ankles. He enjoyed listening to their loud laughter while they played among themselves. The boys were further set apart from the other children by ringlets of hair, called payots, that hung down each side of their face from just above their temples. The payots bobbed about whimsically as the boys played, and Peppino thought to himself how much fun he and Emilio would have made of them, just a few days before.
Their train traveled north along the west coast of Italy toward Naples and Rome and was so crowded that the three were separated for a time. Peppino sat on the floor at the threshold of the door that led from their car to another, his feet dangling just above the coupling mechanism that joined both cars. As the train jolted and creaked its way out of the station, he could feel the knees of one of the passengers standing behind him bumping into his back. There was no use complaining, as he could see the car across from him was just as crowded. He knew he was fortunate to be leaving Calabria.
Although Peppino hated the idea of going to school at a monastery, he understood what Nicola and Abramo had said. He had never thought of himself as being in a position to make change. The thought of becoming a baron had only meant endless parties and hypocrisy, a life sentence he did not wish to endure. He also was aware of his own shortcomings. All he had to do was look at Vincenzo to be reminded of them.
He hated his outbursts of anger the most, wishing he could control them, but he just didn’t know how. The baroness would be surprised if she knew I hated it more than she did, he thought to himself, wondering what she would have thought if she knew that many times he stood in front of the mirror spitting at his own image. Secretly, he hated the person looking back at him. Maybe somehow the monastery could change him. Yes, he would do as they wished, but he would not accept the religion that most definitely would be forced upon him. He would listen, smile, and learn their ways so that when the time came he could use what he had been taught against them. He would be so clever that they would not even know that he was their enemy. He smiled to himself. Yes that must have been what Nicola meant when he said that I must learn to become “wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.”
It was a long trip to Subiaco, where the monastery of Saint Benedict was located. It had been more than twenty-four hours of jolting, rocking, and bumping into other passengers when the train finally pulled to a stop in Tivoli. From here it would be a twenty-five mile ride on horseback.
Abramo took them directly to the local synagogue, where he introduced himself to the rabbi. After some friendly words, prayers, and exchange of money, the man agreed to lend them three horses for their trip to Subiaco. Peppino noticed, however, that the part about going to the monastery was left out.
They traveled for hours through the sumptuous gorges of the Simbruini Mountains. Steep canyon walls on either side of the road drew their attention to the sounds of wildlife. The birds chirping and leaves brushing against one another blended to become one. As they traveled through the many narrow passes, the steep rock face caused trickles and drips to cascade into small waterfalls that eventually joined the little creek alongside the road. Those sounds, when subtly combined with the others and added to the water splashing over and around small boulders, became a brilliant harmony even Mozart could not have orchestrated.
“Peppino, pull up alongside of me,” Nicola indicated with his hand without turning to look back at him.
Peppino jerked the reins lightly. Immediately, his horse made a slight whinny and shook its head before increasing his pace. “What is it? Is there a problem?”
“No, not at all, I just thought you might like a little history about this a
rea. We are only a few miles from the monastery, but before we get there we will be passing the remains of Nero’s villa. Do you remember who he is?”
“Yes, I think he was a Roman emperor, wasn’t he?”
“Good! You are right. He was in power around 50 AD, and he has quite a sordid history.” As they turned the bend, the ruins of a palatial palace came into view. “There is not much left now, just the foundation, but this was once the most luxurious villa in Italy. Not only was he surrounded by all this beauty, but the narrow canyons made it easy to position guard posts. During his reign he built three dams across these canyons to create lakes that provided water for Rome. The villa was built beneath the dams and is where the town got its name. Subiaco is from a Latin term that means ‘under the lake.’”
“I am surprised that you have so much book knowledge,” said Peppino, surprised but not wanting to be insulting.
“Peppino, I knew that education was important. I read many history books about our country at the library.”
“You studied when you didn’t have to?”
Abramo, who had come up alongside as the path widened, said, “Imagine that, someone who understood the value of education.”
“That is true, my young friend. I learned at a young age that knowledge is power, and reading was where I would gain that advantage. You look at study as something to tolerate, when in fact it is a gift. Education opens doors of opportunity. Most of our people in Italy are kept illiterate. Think about it for a moment. Since they do not know how to read, they have to rely upon others to tell them the truth.” Nicola paused for a second. “And from my experience it is not wise to trust the words of but only a few. If you take these next four years and concentrate on your studies, believing that with the knowledge you will learn you can help our people, you will be a different man when you leave.”
“That’s the first time you’ve called me a man.”
Nicola smiled. “You are still young now, but when you graduate, you will be eighteen years old. That is when I believe you will be fully vested as a man.”
“We differ on that thinking,” interjected Abramo. “When a Jewish boy turns thirteen, he is given what we call a bar mitzvah. It is a rite of passage for all our boys, and it is then we consider them entering into manhood. To me you are already a man.”
“Well, then, I am a man; I am fourteen—” started Peppino.
“Let me rephrase what I said,” chuckled Nicola, interrupting him. “You enter into manhood at thirteen, but by the time you are eighteen, you are fully vested into your manhood. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, sorry. Nicola, I know I have much to learn. I will do my best at the monastery.”
“My, my, my,” said Abramo good-naturedly. “I think we just experienced another miracle.”
“OK, you two,” said Nicola. “Let me finish your history lesson. Although Nero was a great emperor, he was considered one of the worst. He came into power only fifty years after the death of Christ, whose fame had already spread through the Roman Empire. Nero saw Christianity as a threat and tried to squelch it into silence by killing Christians.”
“He was not a nice man,” Abramo added.
“There are reports that he would capture Christians and set them on fire, still alive and in agony, to use as lanterns to light in his private garden. It is hard to believe that anyone could be so cruel, but it gets worse. I am sure you were taught about the great fire of Rome in 64 AD that burned through much of the city. Nero used that as a way to eliminate believers in Christ. First, he would falsely hold them responsible for starting the fire and then sentence them to death by dressing them in animal skins and feeding them to hungry dogs while he sat and watched. He considered it sport.”
“Then he was a Christ killer?” Peppino asked seriously.
Abramo and Nicola looked at one another, shrugged, and then nodded in agreement.
“Yes, I guess that would be an accurate statement, but he was not known as a Christ killer. He was known as a persecutor of Christians.” Nicola waved his hand in front of his face as a sign that he wanted to get off of that subject. “Enough about him; there are other great facts about this area. Did you know that Subiaco is noted as being the first city in Italy where books were published? That was in the fifteenth century.”
“I want to know about the monastery where I will live. Do you know about Saint Benedict?”
“Yes, I do. A bit, anyway. He lived around 500 AD, and, as I understand, when he was about eighteen years old, left Rome to make a life on his own. He had been in love, and although I doubt he was promiscuous, he saw the hopelessness and futility of the type of lifestyle his friends lived and did not want it for himself. Yet, like all men, he struggled with those desires. He sought a spiritual answer, and after meeting a monk near here, he lived in a cave for three years. The only contact with people during that time was with the monk who brought him food. He emerged from that time having matured in both mind and character…actually, the same thing we are hoping for you, Peppino.” Nicola smiled affectionately. “He lived in the community and was eventually asked to become the abbot. He agreed, but some of the followers found his ways too pious and tried to poison him..., not once, but twice.”
Peppino and Abramo were both listening intently.
“The first time was by poison placed in a cup. But when he said a blessing over it, the cup shattered. The second time they put the poison into a loaf of bread, but as he prayed a blessing over it, a raven swooped down and took it from the table. His followers claim that he was a man who experienced many miracles. He is most famous for the Saint Benedictine Rules. I am sure you will soon be learning them. It is a list of rules that have been adopted as a way of life by many monks, even to this day as you will soon find out. So there you have it. My history lesson is over, and the timing could not be more perfect.” As they rounded the next bend, the monastery loomed high atop the sheer wall face in front of them.
Peppino could only marvel at the sight. The monastery was gracefully massive, sitting on a giant ledge halfway down a sheer cliff of jagged rock. Its graceful arches and towers were dwarfed by the backdrop yet in perfect symmetry to the starkly contrasted multicolored cliffs behind. The greenery of trees, wild shrubs, and grasses growing precariously off of the overhangs and up the hillside below the abbey seemed to caress the mammoth structure. The soft light filtering through the foliage created shadows and brilliant highlights accenting its all-embracing beauty. He would remember this moment of time forever and was mindful of the fact that he was about to change…one way or the other.
Chapter 12
-1893-
Age Seventeen
“By delivering this wine, I would say we were being pharisaic,” Peppino said to Silouan as he guided his wagon down the hill toward town, waiting for a response from his friend.
“Pharisaic, huh? Is that one of the words you had to look up for class? And here I thought you spent the entire hour daydreaming about the girls who live in the village,” Silouan responded with a smile.
“Somehow, I find time for both,” Peppino laughed. “Knowledge is power, so I cannot afford to let my mind wander.”
“Are you serious? Even when Friar Tuck is boring?” he asked.
“Yeah, even when he is boring…and you better not let him or any of the other monks hear you call him that.”
“Why not? You do! I’ve heard you call him that many times.”
“Yeah, under my breath so only you can hear. Besides, what do I care if he hears me say it? What could he do to me? I am a baron.”
“Oh, here we go again with that phony story. You are breaking two of the Benedictine rules at once. Lying, and even if it were true, it would be lack of humility. Friar Tuck would really have your mouth washed with lye soap for that one,” Silouan teased. “And just what would you do if you were a baron? You probably would have a train full of beautiful prostitutes at your beck and call, night and day.”
“And what’s wrong with
prostitutes?” Peppino said sharply. “They are people too. Wasn’t Mary Magdalene a prostitute? And she tended Jesus when he rose from the dead, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, don’t go getting so serious. I don’t see anything wrong with them. I hope to see one someday, after I get out of here, but I wouldn’t marry one.”
“You’ll never see one. You are too religious for that.” Peppino teased. “Who in the world would go for you anyway? Look at you: you are all skin and bones, and you wear a dress. You could be Skinny the Lizard under that thing, and who would know? Wait,” he said, feigning a gesture of surprise. “I am wrong. I know who would go for you. Friar Tuck! He would love to help you change out of your robe. In fact the two of you might make a great couple. Hippo and Skinny.” Peppino laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.
“That’s not funny, Peppino. I think he does like me.” Silouan looked at him with a serious tone in his voice. “I feel him looking at me sometimes in class. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“I know; I’ve noticed it, too. I wonder why the monastery allows it, or if the abbot even knows stuff like that is going on. I have so many questions about why God would allow all kinds of people to work for him. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure, but I have thought about it. Friar Tuck seems very religious and follows the Rule of Saint Benedict to the letter. Maybe he just struggles with it. He has never made any advances to me. Maybe he is like Mary Magdalene in the Bible. She repented of being a prostitute. Maybe he repented too and just thinks that stuff but doesn’t do anything. The Bible does teach that God loves repentant sinners.”
“Yeah, but why does He allow people to represent Him that shouldn’t?” Peppino had never spoken to Silouan about his past before. “I know a bishop who is really a bad man. He lies and cheats and steals from his congregation in the name of the church. Until I got here, I hated God because of him. Now I don’t hate God... I still don’t understand him, but I still hate the church. It is so full of hypocrites. Friar Tuck may not have approached you or me, but I have had other monks make advances. They only did it once, but I know it goes on, especially among themselves, I think it is disgusting.”