Peppino

by Seth Coleman

  “Peppino, it is good to see you again.” The pope touched his face with the hand Peppino had kissed moments before. “I completely understand your reluctance to have the monsignor at your wedding, but I would like to ask you to allow him to come.”

  Peppino scowled at the monsignor and then smiled warmly to the baroness and the pope. “Of course, Your Holiness. I would be happy to have the monsignor attend my wedding at your request.”

  The pope furrowed his brow, considering his quick response, and started to turn back to the monsignor, then stopped, smiled broadly, and addressed Peppino directly. “My son, you are much shrewder then I thought. I think this shall be an interesting wedding.” The pope returned and gave the welcomed news to the monsignor, who immediately bowed to both the baroness and Peppino. He then promptly retreated to his carriage and waved good-bye to the entire group.

  As his coach started to pull away, Peppino yelled after it, “Thank you for stopping by.”

  Near the bottom of the hill, the monsignor reached into his robe and pulled a note out of an inner pocket and murmured to himself, “Not invited indeed.” He ripped the note into small pieces and thought about throwing it out the window, but hesitated and thought best of it, placing the pieces back into his pocket to be burned later.

  The pope followed Antonia and three of his guards, who were carrying his bags, into the home of his good friend. All the children were excitedly surrounding him, as well as Gaetana and Dominic. He would spend the evening resting in prayer and fasting and would join his friend again in the morning.

  The baroness turned to Peppino and asked, “What was that all about? What was shrewd?”

  “Why, Mother, I am surprised I have to explain it to you. He meant that he understood that I had given the monsignor an enormous insult in front of the leader of the Roman Catholic Church and then protected our family from backlash by agreeing for him to come to the wedding. Everyone in Brancaleone and Bovalino will certainly be spreading the story. And, Mother, I do not know how I was ever able to convince you to leave him off of the invitation list…after all, he is a monsignor and a friend of the family.”

  The baroness considered it for a moment. “You are learning the ways of a diplomat well, my son. Peppino,” she said, turning him toward her with both of her hands on his arms, “I am proud of you.”

  “Why, thank you. I do believe that is the first time I have ever heard you say those words.”

  She had no response and turned to talk with Gaetana.

  Peppino smiled inwardly and thought to himself, I wonder if she will think the same thing after the ceremony.

  Vincenzo quickly took her place. “What’s going on? What was that all about?”

  “The pope was just agreeing that the monsignor is a degenerate.”

  “Yeah, right! Really, what did he say?”

  “He did. Don’t look so tense.”

  “Are you crazy? Now that the monsignor is going to be here, do you still want me to make the switch with Emilio?”

  “More than ever, Vincenzo; you worry too much.”

  “Mamma mia, my brother, I must have been crazy to agree to such a scheme. I don’t think we should do it now.”

  “Vincenzo, I will not force you. I realize you will be in trouble with the baroness, but if you do it, it will make me very happy on my wedding day.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Vincenzo said quickly, making the sign of the cross. “You want me to do this in front of the pope and the monsignor and the baroness, not to mention my mother and father? Peppino, how can you ask me to do such a thing? We are all going to be in trouble.”

  Elisabetta came to Peppino’s side and interrupted. “Who belongs to the carriage coming up the path?”

  Peppino watched as a very simple carriage pulled by two older horses made its way slowly to the top of the hill. His face was beaming as he walked to grab the harness of the horse and guide it to a stop in front of the house.

  “Peppino, who is it?”

  “It’s a welcome member of the church! The abbot from Saint Benedict’s... my monastery,” he muttered as he reached to open the carriage door.

  The abbot smiled at him. “And I have brought your friend with me.”

  “Silouan!” Peppino shouted happily, “Vincenzo, Elisabetta, this is the abbot from the monastery and my good friend, Brother Silouan. Welcome, I am so glad to see the both of you. I did not know you were coming.”

  “It was a request from the Holy Father, and because of the occasion I thought you might like it if Brother Silouan accompanied me.” The abbot smiled warmly.

  “Yes, you are right. I thank you so much for coming.”

  “This must be Vincenzo,” Silouan said, grabbing for his hand and shaking it. “I have heard many good things of you from your earthly brother…And you must be Elisabetta. It is so nice to meet you.”

  “I have heard many stories about the two of you,” Elisabetta said, giving him a friendly hug and laughing.

  “And I,” said Vincenzo, joining the laughter.

  “And they must all be true, because my friend does not tell a lie.” He paused, scrunching up his face. “Well, he may twist the truth just the tiniest fraction…”

  “And I learn this now?” said the abbot. “If only I had known.” They all laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

  “Please come into my home, Father,” said Peppino, extending his hand to show the way. “The pope has retired for the evening, but you can see him in the morning. You will sleep in my room; Silouan, Vincenzo, and I can sleep in the stable. It will be fun.”

  “To be honest, I wish I could join you, but I am afraid my back won’t allow it. You young men enjoy yourselves. And, Peppino, please don’t corrupt Silouan any further. He is still working off his penance from his antics with you; any more will take him to the turn of the century.”

  “What about me? It sounds like the three of you are going to have fun without me!” Elisabetta teased.

  “It will be my bachelor party, Elisabetta…And with Silouan here, you can be sure we will be well behaved.”

  “Right, that’s not what you told me,” she giggled. “You three scoundrels better stay out of trouble.”

  “Elisabetta, I am familiar with two of these hooligans, and there is very little they could do that would surprise me,” the abbot said, taking her hand in his. “I do think you have made a good choice, but, dear, I might suggest that after your wedding day that you hang on tightly to the reins.”

  They all laughed and walked into the villa. Silouan looked around. “So it appears you were telling the truth. Must I now address you as Baron Bologna?”

  “Never, Silouan. To you I will always be Brother Peppino.” Peppino reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone, tossed it into the air, and then replaced it in his pocket.

  Silouan leaned over to whisper into his friend’s ear. “It looks like you aren’t going to end up marrying a prostitute.”

  “Funny,” he teased, “and I’m still quite sure you will never be sleeping with one.”

  Vincenzo squeezed his way next to his brother and whispered, “Now that Silouan is here, do you think he could be your best man?”

  Peppino placed his arm over his younger brother’s shoulders and then playfully wrapped it around his neck in a headlock. He gave him a kiss on the top of his head, then pushed him away gently. He then placed one arm over the shoulder of Elisabetta and the other over Silouan and pulled them close.

  If only Nicola could be here, he thought to himself.

  Chapter 17

  The pope was very descriptive with his language to the monsignor letting him know that he would be transferred to the Vatican immediately and watched closely. Once there, he would be stripped of his title, and the possibility of his remaining a priest would be under review. Furthermore it was made clear that Nicola would be honored today and openly given the support and respect of the church, and the monsignor was ordered to comply graciously.

  The po
pe also made it clear that the monsignor deserved to be shamed in front of the people of Calabria, but decided to make his move to the Vatican a “transfer” in order for him to save face with his friends. The monsignor knew quite well that the only reason he was doing that was to fool the local Mafia leaders, who for the moment would be weighing their good fortune. Once he arrived in Rome, there was no doubt he would be questioned about his alliances, and if he knew that, so did the Mafia. This made the transfer a death warrant—and one that would be fulfilled before the monsignor ever reached Rome.

  Outwardly he remained calm, while inwardly he was in a rage, wanting nothing less than to kill them all: Nicola first, then the baroness and her despicable son. After leaving the residence, the monsignor quickly returned to his carriage and removed something from under his seat and then pulled on a long cape, buttoning it in six places, starting under his chin. His hands were now hidden inside where he could easily reach the inner pocket.

  The day was one befitting a visit from the pope. The sun was shining brightly, and the birds sang beautifully as they flew in circles around the villa and tiny town square located a short distance down the hill. It was such a nice day that Pope Leo XIII decided to walk the distance with Ippolita. He was dressed in his day-to-day uniform rather than ceremonial attire. Nonetheless, his white robe, red shoes, and white skullcap made him appear regal. The Swiss Guard was positioned before and after them, followed by a sullen-looking monsignor wearing his long black cape, and behind him the abbot and Silouan, both clothed in drab brown robes tied at the waist with a piece of rope.

  The monsignor’s fate was certain. This would be his last day as a church leader. The only thing that pleased him this day was his choice of attire. He smiled to himself knowing that as he walked down the hill there was nothing to restrain his cape from billowing to its fullest, guaranteeing him the people’s beloved adoration one last time. But the reality was quite different. He was completely unaware that the effect was much more dramatic than he anticipated. Leading the holy procession was the slight and demure pope dressed in white with what looked like a large black demon looming behind him. As the monsignor passed, many made the sign of the cross. The monsignor smiled graciously.

  “Luigi, thank you for what you are doing,” Ippolita said with sincere appreciation. “I am sure that this will mean a great deal to Peppino.”

  “My dear, I did not do this for Peppino. It was long overdue for the people of Calabria, and I realized that this trip was the best way to handle a very delicate situation.”

  “Why could you not have done this from Rome?”

  “I could have”—he paused thoughtfully for a moment—“but it may have caused dissention between the people and perhaps even the church since some have trust in him. The members of the Catholic Church see its leaders as infallible and identify each one as a personal representative of God himself.”

  “Well, are they not supposed to be?” she said, a bit bewildered.

  “Yes, of course, but it is not always so simple.”*

  Ippolita listened intently as he continued.

  “The Bible says of Saint Peter, Upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.* Nowhere does it say that it will not be penetrated by evil. It only says that ‘ultimately’ his church will prevail. We will win, but how can we not expect the enemy to try his best to infiltrate the holiness of the church by placing his people there? Many of those being used are unaware themselves that they are children of the Devil. They truly believe that they are followers of Almighty God.”

  “How could that be?” she asked, astonished.

  “Scripture says that many will be expecting to enter heaven claiming to have done wonderful things in his name and will plainly be told that our Lord never knew them.”**

  “That’s a scary thought.” She shuddered. “But how could he let people come into His church who influence its members in a bad way?”

  “I can only try to understand the mind of the Lord. There are times He has allowed evil to penetrate the church all the way to the office of the pontiff. Your ancestor, Pope Leo X, was a Medici and convinced the people that if they paid money to the priests they would be granted forgiveness for their sins and welcomed with the righteous into heaven.”

  The baroness was visibly shaken by his remarks.

  “It was an atrocious insult and attack on the church of God. Our Lord could easily have stopped it, but He did not. One can only derive that there was even a divine purpose in that. Those believers who truly searched for God understood that it was blasphemy and rejected it. Those members of the church who accepted it happily thinking they could continue a life of sin, got swindled, which is exactly what they deserved. Just think what that pope will experience on his judgment day! Ippolita, I fear God with the divine responsibility that was bestowed upon me. Every day I make decisions for his church and in his name, and I know that if they are incorrect I must someday be accountable to him just like everyone else. The responsibility is immense.” He shook his head back and forth slightly as he considered his own words.

  “How do you do it then?”

  “Prayerfully and carefully, my dear,” he said with a serious tone in his voice, “and by confronting evil as wisely as I can.”

  As they reached the bottom of the path, crowds began applauding and crushing together, vying for his attention. Pope Leo XIII blessed them with the sign of the cross as he moved forward, stopping every so often to touch people’s hands as they were extended to him.

  A podium had been placed in front of the low wall that bordered the section of the town square facing the Ionian Sea. The view behind it was lovely, with only a few puffy clouds dotting the sky. As children scrambled to find seats on the wall, their parents were just as quick to grab and scold them for getting too close to the edge, reminding them that it was a sheer drop and they could be killed if they fell.

  The pope took his place on the raised platform, while two of the guards stood behind him. The other six positioned themselves throughout the crowd along with the local polizia. Everyone clapped as loudly as they could to express their welcome.

  The bishop of Rome raised his hands toward heaven and then slowly lowered them. The applause was replaced with a hush. “Greetings, my brothers and sisters; thank you for such a warm welcome.” He paused and smiled as he searched the crowd with his eyes. “Yesterday, as my carriage made its way up the hill to Brancaleone Superior, the first thing that stood out to me was your church. From my vantage point it appeared as a sentry, guarding the road that climbed behind it to the very town square where we stand now. As my carriage moved forward, I gazed at the steeple and to the cross, and although it was I who was moving, it seemed to travel through your village from one end of it to the other. It was awe-inspiring, and I am blessed to be here with all of you, the baroness, her family, and the monsignor.”

  When the engaged couple arrived, those around them nodded respectfully and quickly returned their focus to the pope. Peppino’s eyes were drawn to the monsignor, who was leering at him. Standing to his right was Carmine, the policeman he and Emilio stabbed in the throat several years before.

  “I have a few announcements that I would like to make, since tomorrow will be a day of festivities as the future Baron of Bologna is wed to Elisabetta”—he dramatically placed one hand next to his mouth and leaned forward a bit as if telling a secret to a friend—“who, I might add, is my grandniece.” He said this while giving her a loving look that appeared more from an uncle than the pope. “That’s why I thought today might be the best time to take care of church business.”

  The pope turned to smile at the monsignor, indicating that the news included him. “But before that, I would like to summon a compatriot of yours to join me on the podium. You will all recognize him, as he is a friend to many in Calabria and one who I now am pleased to call mine as well. Some of you may think him a rebel, and I must admit that his ways are sometimes a bit unorthodox,
but so was our Lord at times. If you recall in Scripture, when he saw people buying and selling in the temple, he turned over tables.” The pope stopped for a moment and cleared his throat, expecting laughter as he added, “In fact, he somewhat reminds me of Peppino as well!” The crowd laughed, and those around Peppino patted him on the back.

  The monsignor turned to the man standing at his right and whispered a few words and then looked pleasantly to his flock.

  The pope searched the faces of the men in the audience, not finding the one he was looking for. He did see an older gentleman making his way toward him who removed his hat and then a false beard as he got closer. “There you are, Nicola. Please join me, won’t you?”

  Nicola walked onto the podium as the crowd screamed their approval, teasing him that the pope called him a friend. To each and every one of them it was unheard of that a peasant would be referred to as friend to the pontiff. Some of the women, and the men too, had tears in their eyes as they made the sign of the cross.

  “I can see that I am right. You do like this gentleman, don’t you?” The pope placed his arm around Nicola’s shoulders, and the crowd screamed its approval even louder. As the cheers subsided, he added, “You may wonder how this young upstart made it all the way to the Vatican and to an audience with me. Does anyone have a guess how he did that?”

  The crowd started to chant in unison, “Baroness…Baroness…Baroness.”

  “Yes, yes, that is right. She told me that he was a champion of the people and the church, a friend of her son Peppino, and a friend to all of you. What could I say with a recommendation from such an auspicious woman?” He shrugged. At that moment in addition to the respect that was given him as leader of the Roman Catholic Church, he won a more personal approval from those in the crowd.