Peppino

by Seth Coleman

  “Maybe those monks decided to become priests to hide their true desires. After all, they can live a hidden life in the monastery while at the same time being fully accepted by the people of the church...” he paused for a moment and then added, “but they must see that God knows the truth if they really do believe in Him. They can hide it from others, but not from Him. That would either mean they are deceived into thinking they are working for God or know they are not and don’t care, which would be evil.” Both were thoughtful for a few moments. “Do you believe in the devil and demons, Peppino?”

  “Of course, how can I not? The Bible speaks of him many times. Remember when the disciples cast devils out in Jesus’s name?”

  “Well, then perhaps the bishop of whom you speak and some of the monks have demons living in them. Maybe they are really serving Satan and don’t even know it.”

  “My friend Nicola told me the very same thing about the monsignor. Even if that is the reason, it makes me hate him more.”

  “Peppino, you do not mean that. Saint Benedict teaches that God hates the sin, but loves the sinner.”

  “I know that, Silouan, but I ain’t no saint!” he yelled at the empty road and at the top of his voice.

  “And that fact easily is established, my friend,” Silouan said, playfully making fun of his friend. “So tell me, what is the meaning of this word pharisaic you used?”

  “Ah, you are referring to my eloquent use of our language. Just give me a second to think of something fitting. I remember what the word means.” Peppino repeated the lesson from class, “Characteristic of the Pharisees practicing external forms of religion; being self-righteous or hypocritical!” He said the last word loudly for emphasis.

  “You must think of an example within ten seconds, Brother Peppino, or you will get a switch taken to your back and be penitent in prayer without a meal for a full day,” teased Silouan. “Hurry, your time is almost up! Three…two…one.”

  “OK, I got it. Why do we grow grapes and turn them into wine at the monastery, and then put them in bottles to be delivered to the warehouse in town, where in due course they will be put on a train or ship and then delivered all over the world for people to drink? Now I shall explain the pharisaical…ness.” Loving that word, Peppino smiled as if triumphant. “And then if the person who drinks it gets drunk, they are ridiculed by the church and their friends. Pharisical!” he hollered at the top of his lungs.

  “I cannot tell you why,” Silouan said, reaching under the cover behind him, then pulling out a bottle of wine and holding it into the air with one hand before lowering it and yanking out the cork, “but I suggest we find out!”

  “Hear! Hear!” Peppino said, grabbing it out of his hand and taking a swig. “Bring on the Pharisees! Silouan, pull out a few more bottles for the ride back to our illustrious monastery.”

  Peppino and Silouan unloaded the wine at the warehouse and then pulled off the road and sat under a tree for a while. By the time they arrived at their dorm, it was around midnight, and they knew they would be in trouble again. They led their horses as quietly as possible into their stalls before making their way through the shadows to their dormitory. Just as they were about to enter the door as noiselessly as they could, it opened, and Friar Tuck emerged in a huff.

  “Brother Peppino, Brother Silouan, where have you two been? As if I didn’t know!” Friar Tuck walked over to Peppino, grasped him forcefully by the collar, and pulled Peppino’s mouth close to his nose. He then pushed him away and did the same to Silouan. “You two, go to bed now. This will be dealt with in the morning. Brother Peppino, you are to report to the abbot directly after your morning chores.”

  “Why is it only Brother Peppino who has to report to the abbot? It is not all his fault. I am just as guilty,” Silouan said contritely with his head lowered.

  “Brother Silouan, you know the rule: an order is never to be questioned here at Saint Benedict. Now you both will do what I say.” The friar turned and walked away toward his residence in the monastery.

  They looked at each other, stunned, having expected a much lengthier tongue-lashing. “Peppino, I will go with you in the morning.”

  “No, you won’t. You would not have gotten drunk if it were not for me. I will take my punishment. The abbot is used to me being in trouble, and there is not much he can do with me anyway. I will be leaving here soon.”

  “You didn’t tell me that. What’s this all about?”

  “I will be eighteen in a few weeks, and it is time for me to leave.”

  “You are drunk, Peppino, and angry. You will think better in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”

  “Yes, I am drunk, and yes, I will be leaving. I will never become a monk, Silouan, but I hope that you will. I think you will make a good one.”

  “You will too, Peppino.”

  “No, I won’t. I have no desire to become one. Silouan, you will never sleep with a prostitute, but I hope that is exactly what I will do.”

  “Don’t say that, Peppino. What about your immortal soul?”

  “Go to bed, Silouan.”

  Peppino loved Silouan as he did Vincenzo and meant what he said. He hoped Silouan would remain to become a monk. He had learned much during the past years, and as Nicola had predicted, he matured in both mind and character. He was sure that was a subject of debate among the monks, but he knew where he had started and was inwardly pleased with himself. Getting drunk was but a trifle to him and not bothersome. Some of his friends were unable to handle it, so he never asked them to join him.

  His years here had been surprisingly good. Actually, he had rather enjoyed it. At first he hated the rules, or disciplines, as they were called. It demanded prompt, ungrudging, and absolute obedience to their superior in all things lawful, but then when he understood what it was doing to him, he began to treat them as a game. He learned to do what he was told by challenging himself to do what he did not want to do. Somehow, he came to love correction, as Nicola had taught him. Through it, he grasped a valuable lesson, one that no one had to tell him and one he might never repeat to another soul. He learned that in order to be a good leader, one must first learn to become a good follower. He had seen it between Nicola and Abramo. It was clear to all that Nicola was the unquestioned leader, but in various incidences Peppino had marveled when he would see Nicola put someone in charge and then follow his lead. Peppino knew now that Nicola was training his leaders, and that was exactly what Nicola had been doing with him.

  Tomorrow he would face the abbot and accept the rightful blame. He would then do his penance and would wait for his eighteenth birthday in a few weeks and then leave this place. Now it was time to fall into bed.

  **********************

  As beautiful and imposing as the monastery was from the outside, inside its presence was as simple as the sacred cave within it, where Saint Benedict had spent his three years. The abbot’s desk was a well-used and deeply scarred wooden table placed close to the window for light. Other than a small cross on the wall and two stools, the only other indication that it was an office were the tall piles of papers placed in various groupings around the room.

  “Come in, my boy, and have a seat,” the abbot said, gesturing toward the stool.

  “Yes, Father Francisco,” Peppino said humbly as he took his place on the stool. “I have sinned, Father, and humbly ask forgiveness. Not only have I used alcohol myself, but I forced Silouan to join me.”

  The abbot turned away for a moment, facing the window so he could indulge in a slight smile.

  “Further, I understand that by taking it from the wagon, it was stealing from the abbey, and I am willing to make amends.”

  The abbot turned back to him and gestured the sign of the cross with his hand while mumbling a prayer in Latin and then said, “Thank you, Peppino, you are forgiven.”

  “Is that it?” Peppino was shocked. “There is no penance?”

  “We will get to that in a minute. I have summoned you here today for a differen
t reason.” The abbot walked across the room, removed a letter from the top of one of the piles, and opened it as he returned, revealing a bright purple seal. Peppino recognized it immediately. He had delivered messages with this insignia previously, and they were the only ones that required being placed atop a small red pillow with gold tassels hanging from each corner. It was a message from the Pope. “I see you recognize the seal, Peppino.”

  “Yes, Father, I do.”

  “Then you know it is a message from Pope Leo XIII.”

  “Yes, Father, I do.”

  “It is in regard to you.”

  “Me?” Peppino stumbled with words a few seconds before being able to answer, “Yes, Father.”

  “He addresses you as the future Baron Bologna, and truth be told, I did not know of this myself. Do you have any idea why the pope has summoned you to meet with him? He has requested your presence at Villa Aldobrandini. None of us have known of this heritage of yours, and I would like to know if you yourself are aware of it.”

  “Yes, I am Father. I am the son of the baroness of Bologna, although the truth is that I was adopted.”

  “You say that with a sour twinge to your voice.” The abbot stopped for a moment to consider those words. “Adoption is just as sacred as being born to her, Peppino. As children of our Savior and having received the Spirit of our most high God, are we all not adopted into his family and given the right to call him Father? If you were adopted by the baroness, it was not of a decision she made, but one that the Lord made on her behalf.”

  “Yes, Father. We have been taught that in class, but I never thought of it before as it would apply to a human.”

  The abbot smiled. “Your records show that your father is Nicola Bagnara, and he is the one who has been paying your tuition. Is Signore Bagnara your real father then?”

  “No, he is not. He is a friend.” Thinking quickly, Peppino added, “By using his name I was able to keep my identity confidential.”

  “I see. I must say that I am surprised at your humility. I am sure that if you had made it known to your classmates, you would have been treated differently by the other boys.”

  “Yes. That is why I told no one.”

  “For a young man of your age, you have displayed great wisdom and humility. I am sure you shall be richly rewarded spiritually.”

  “I appreciate your kind words, Father, but I am afraid that is not the reason. It was simply a lie,” Peppino said bluntly.

  Thrown off center for a moment, the abbot cleared his throat and fiddled with his glasses before responding. “Then what is this reason, my son?”

  “I would prefer not to disclose that right now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Come now, my boy. Confession is good for your soul, and you can trust my confidence, as I am sure you can any of the monks.”

  “As I said, Father, I would prefer not to discuss it right now. I do believe that I could trust your confidence, but if I am honest, I do not know about the other monks.”

  “I see.” The abbot considered all this for a moment before responding. “You have always spoken quite frankly, and I will submit to your request. So do you know of any reason that you would be summoned by the pope?”

  “Not really. I would guess that it has something to do with the baroness being a generous supporter of the church in Calabria. I did not know she even knew the pope, although I did hear some of my friends mention that they’d heard she had friends in the Vatican. I thought it was just gossip and never asked her about it.”

  “Well then, under the circumstances, I think your penance shall be to spend the rest of this day in seclusion and deep prayer to prepare your heart to meet His Eminence, the Most Holy Father. I will have transportation arranged for you by morning. I expect that your meeting will last only a few hours, so I will instruct the two monks I send with you to wait.”

  “With all due respect, Father, I will not be returning.”

  “You will not be returning? Nonsense!”

  “I have decided that becoming a monk is not to be my vocation, and since I will be eighteen in only a few weeks, I would think now is a good time to say my good-byes.”

  Peppino watched silently as the abbot prayerfully considered this quietly for a minute before responding. “The Lord’s will be done, my son. I wish you go in peace. May the Lord God of the universe bless you and use you mightily in this life.”

  “Thank you, Father. If I may speak freely before I leave?”

  “Yes, Brother Peppino, of course.”

  “I have always had a question about Saint Benedict that I did not want to ask the monks.”

  In an effort to let Peppino know that he was interested and wanting to physically lower himself in humility, the abbot pulled the other stool next to him and took a seat. “Continue. I may not have the answer, but I will do as best as I can.”

  “One of the stories about Saint Benedict tells of him having times of discouragement and sexual temptations that he overcame by throwing himself naked into bushes of thorns and nettles.” Peppino furrowed his brow and looked at the abbot with an inquisitive expression. “Why would he do such a thing? How could that possibly help?”

  “That is a difficult thing to answer.” The abbot closed his eyes again for a few seconds before beginning. “Saint Benedict was from a wealthy family, quite like yours. When he entered a Roman institute similar to what today we would call a university, he was horrified at all the corruption in the church and the sexual escapades of his classmates. He left there after a short time, having broken off a love relationship. He entered the cave when he was just about your age now, seeking God for the meaning of life and his own identity. Peppino, I think you could draw some parallels between his life and yours.” He reached over and lightly touched Peppino’s knee as a loving father might do while encouraging his son. “Evidently he was well acquainted with strong sexual urges, as we all are, I might add.”

  “‘We all’? Have you struggled with them?” Peppino was genuinely taken aback.

  “Of course I have. I was not always an abbot,” he said with a look of understanding. “I have transgressed in my own indiscretions, Brother Peppino. I grew to understand that it is not the hideous acts that we do that define us, but rather our acts of repentance. The Bible says we all have sinned, every last one of us.* That means you, me, Saint Benedict, all of us. If you are not pleased with yourself, Peppino, you are in good company, because it is written that even our Lord was not pleased with himself.** He was just as human as you or me; the difference is that he never acted on his urges. To answer your question, I think Saint Benedict did the only thing he could think to get his mind off the sexual temptation he was feeling. To you and me it sounds drastic and even absurd. Perhaps he could have handled it in another way, but the fact that he did what he did remains an example to all of us. Not that he threw himself into a thorny bush, but that a man who is so great and used of the Lord in such a great way, would have experienced the baser troubles and temptations of life that many of us have with the flesh. Yet he overcame them all to obtain the promise of God.”

  “How so?”

  “It is written that whoever overcomes, the Lord will make a pillar in his church.*** I would say that he became a pillar in the church, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. He had a monastery named after him.”

  The abbot smiled, then stood and ushered Peppino to the door. “Now go, Brother Peppino. Live your life, and live it well. You have not been brought to us to become a monk, but that does not mean that God did not have a purpose. Remain honest and seek the Lord always, and you will fulfill your purpose here on this earth.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Peppino spent the day in seclusion, but not in prayer. He made plans. He decided it would be interesting to meet the pope and would go through with that. When he returned to his room, he found a new set of clothes and a worn traveling valise on his cot. He packed them away with a few other pieces of tattered clothing, deciding he would
put on the good things when he arrived at the villa. He had read stories about Villa Aldobrandini in school and was looking forward to seeing it. Truth be told, it was more exciting to him than meeting the pope.

  As soon as his meeting with the pope was over, he would leave from the train station in Rome and head back to Calabria and directly to Nicola’s hide-out. He would save his friend the trip to the monastery to pick him up on his eighteenth birthday. It was going to be good to see him and Emilio again, he thought.

  Before he left, and in typical fashion, Silouan bowed his head a bit and promised to pray for him. He had stooped to the ground, picked up a stone, and handed it to him. “I have no worldly tokens to give to you, my brother,” he said, “but I give you this stone as a sign of hope and friendship. Keep it in your pocket, and at the times your faith runs thin, remember that the Lord God Most High is your rock, and remember that Brother Silouan shall be praying for you.”

  Unbeknownst to Silouan, when no one was looking, Peppino cried.

  Notes

  * Romans 3:23

  ** Romans 15:3

  *** Revelations 3:12

  Chapter 13

  From the road leading into the town of Frascati, the Villa Aldobrandini was an imposing structure. Originally it was built for Pope Clement VII’s nephew* in 1550 and then expanded into a splendid residence around 1600. Dramatically situated on the side of a hill, it was positioned in such a way that it overlooked the whole valley leading to central Rome, the visual axis of which was aligned with the dome of Saint Peter. The villa itself was the centerpiece of a magnificent garden theatrically set into a wooded hill. Statues of Atlas, supporting the heavens on his shoulders, and Polyphemus, the son of Poseidon, playing his pipes, were highlighted throughout the expanse by cascading water, pools, and grottos.