by Seth Coleman
Those in sight of the baroness turned and nodded with heightened respect.
“Your friend Nicola wants to open schools where all of your children will be welcomed, not just families who can afford to pay tuition. If you need your children to work your farms, you may keep them at home; but anyone who lives in Brancaleone, Bovalino, Melito, or any of the towns and villages of Calabria who wishes an education for their children may now have it. Every one of them will be given the opportunity to learn to read and write in Italian.”
The crowd cheered.
“This brings me to my next introduction. The abbot of Saint Benedict Monastery is here with us today and will be helping to initiate this new program. Won’t you please join me, Father?” He waited a few moments as the crowd applauded. “As abbot at the monastery, he oversees the education of many children and supervises the monks who teach them. One of the students of the monastery is here with us today. Peppino, would you please come up for a moment?”
He made his way to the stage with one eye on the pope and the other on the monsignor and the man who stood beside him. As Peppino climbed the steps, Carmine lifted his head so that Peppino would see the wide scar under his chin.
“Peppino, won’t you please tell your friends about your education.”
“Yes, Your Holiness,” he said, genuflecting and then turning to face the crowd. “I learned many things from the school at Saint Benedict.” A gust of wind blew the robe of the monsignor open a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Peppino noticed a piece of metal glisten as a ray of sun hit it. As he was speaking, part of him was distracted and trying to think what it might be. “I was taught in a way that made learning interesting, and I credit the abbot for the experience. It changed me.” He smiled to the abbot.
Many in the gathering knew Peppino while he was growing up and were already impressed by the difference they could see in him. This gave the abbot instant credibility with the peasants.
Peppino took his place next to Nicola, shaking his hand as the crowd applauded. He tried to look at the monsignor’s robe but could not see it; he then moved back a step, smiling and placing one hand on Nicola’s shoulder, pushing him forward a bit, as if it were an act of humility giving Nicola the higher place of honor. In reality it was so he could see the monsignor. A slight breeze blew again, and this time he could clearly see the blade of a knife outlined against the inside of the cloth. The monsignor would not be so stupid as to try something with the pope here, he thought, or would he? He took note that the platform was beginning to get crowded with the pope at the podium and the five men standing behind him.
The pope continued, “Thank you, Peppino. Since the Vatican has asked the abbot to oversee the work that it will take to make this happen, you will be hosting him for a while, along with several other monks from the monastery. They will be residing at the rectory in Bovalino.” He paused and turned to the monsignor. “Now that brings the question as to where your monsignor might be staying.” The pope clapped his hands together and smiled as one about to give joyful tidings. “Now I would like to give you some wonderful news about The Most Reverend Monsignor.” He motioned that the monsignor should join him on the stage. “With the abbot here as a representative of the church, I am now able to bring your friend back to the Vatican with me. There he will be in the midst of the worthy men whose challenge is to assist me in my daily activities. Although it will be a great loss for some of you, I am sure it will be an enlightening experience for the other priests who will be working with him.” Pope Leo XIII turned and made the sign of the cross in front of the monsignor. Silently he was praying that the Lord’s will be done.
The monsignor took his place at the podium. “My people, this has come as such a surprise to me.” He stammered and was clearly unhappy about the decision. “I very much wish I could stay here with my friends, as I have gotten used to the way of life here in Calabria. Perhaps if you ask him, the pope will reconsider.” The crowd remained silent, and the pope lowered his head as if praying.
The monsignor smiled warmly to the crowd, but as he turned away from them, a stricken look of humiliation came across his face. Suddenly it changed to hatred as he glared at Nicola. The monsignor then turned back to smile at the crowd and bowed a bit as he pointed to a place between Nicola and Peppino, indicating his intent to stand between the two men the pope was honoring. Those who noticed nodded approvingly as his rotund body squeezed between them. They were standing so close that Peppino could feel the monsignor’s arm as he drew it back and perceived immediately that the blade of the knife was pointing toward an unsuspecting Nicola.
Suddenly Peppino thrust his much smaller frame against the monsignor’s arm. Nicola, taken off guard, hesitated for a second to see what was happening, while a shocked murmur spread across the crowd. Carmine, dressed in his constable’s uniform, rushed onto the stage toward Peppino, hitting him squarely in the back and pushing him harder against the monsignor’s hulk. Peppino reached inside the black robe and was trying to wrestle the handle of the knife out of the grasp of his adversary.
Nicola was still not sure what was happening, as he had not seen the knife and did not understand the danger he was in. His first thought was that Peppino had gone into a rage against the monsignor, and Nicola’s intent was to calm him down. He grabbed at his friend’s hands, trying to keep him from killing someone.
The pope turned to see what was happening and was shocked and speechless. From what he could tell, his guards, Nicola, and the officer were doing their best to protect the monsignor from the son of his friend.
A look of grief came across the face of the baroness.
Elisabetta glanced at her parents and then back at Peppino. She knew how much he hated the religious leader, but her fleeting thought was in the form of a question, asking herself how she could live a life with a man who could fly into a rage such as this.
Silouan knew his friend would not have done such a thing unless provoked or protecting someone; but he did not know who or why. He immediately bowed his head in prayer.
Emilio, who had been standing at the back of the crowd, pushed his way forward and onto the stage, brushing past the pope. He turned to him and quickly said, “Your Holiness, please get off of the platform.” Emilio grabbed the pope’s arm and helped him to the first step before letting go of him. All of the Swiss Guards were now rushing toward their main priority. Four of the closest grabbed the pope and removed both him and the abbot from harm’s way while the others stood with swords drawn to restrain the crowd, leaving the local polizia to enter into the melee.
Finally Peppino got a firm grip on the knife and pulled it out into the open, recognizing it immediately. It was his hunting knife and the one that cut Carmine’s throat. He could feel hands scrambling to grab it from him. Realizing that everyone believed he was assaulting the monsignor, he thought quickly and in a flash knew what he had to do. Bending his knees, he allowed his body to drop, ending up more or less in a crouched position. He was jammed against the monsignor and now blinded by a sea of legs belonging to his attackers whose faces were now above him. Suddenly, with a burst of strength driven by adrenaline and holding tightly onto the handle of the knife, he sprung up using all the muscle strength he could muster. He burst through, causing two of the Swiss Guards to knock their heads against each other, which caused one of them to recoil, whacking Nicola squarely on his chin.
At the same moment, the monsignor tripped over someone’s foot, lost his balance, and started falling. He hit the wall smack on his stomach, his face looking over its outer edge, directly down the twenty-foot drop; the pressure of the crushing blow and his body weight caused his breath to be expelled, followed by a very loud discharge of gas. Everyone within earshot turned to watch as he appeared to bounce awkwardly and then, driven by his momentum, disappeared over the edge.
At that same moment, Peppino, trying to control the knife so that no one would be hurt, entered the now vacant space that moments before had been occupied b
y the monsignor. Unhindered, the blade shot upward, directly into Carmine’s chest. A look of horror and then hatred came across the constable’s face as he fell backward onto the platform.
The Swiss Guards were trying to subdue Peppino, while Emilio and Nicola were fighting to protect their friend. Emilio caught Peppino’s eye and in a split second communicated what they needed to do. It was a prank they had practiced as children that had scared every adult in the village when they witnessed it for the first time. The two of them, almost simultaneously, flung themselves into the air toward the wall, grabbing the inner edge with their hands and allowing their forward motion to turn them in midair so they were facing entirely in the other direction, their bodies now extended over the brink. They then let go at the precise moment that allowed their hands to slide across the top face of the wall, then gripped the outer edge with their fingers as their bodies dropped out of sight. Holding on for a moment until they came to a standstill, they let go again, falling the rest of the twenty feet to the base of the hill below. As they landed on the steep embankment that led up to the wall, they bent their knees, bringing themselves into a tucked position, wrapped their arms tightly around their heads for protection, and continued to descend until they were rolling down the hill in backward somersaults. When they came to a stop, they both stood and looked at one another and then at the still body of the monsignor, whose neck was twisted in an odd position.
“Peppino, are you OK? Can you run?
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Follow me,” Emilio said.
The two young men started running down the road, past the church and then the cemetery, until they reached a farm where several horses were grazing in the field. They each pilfered one and galloped off, not stopping until they reached the water’s edge.
Back on the platform, the town doctor was leaning over Carmine, whose breathing was labored. Blood was coming out of his mouth, but he managed to mutter, “Peppino tried to kill the monsignor but ended up sticking me again. Catch him; kill him, please, for my family’s sake.”
The Swiss Guard was leading the pope and the abbot to the home of the baroness, who had been observing the entire incident. She was in shock.
All of Peppino’s brothers and sisters watched the altercation and ran to the wall. They could see the monsignor lying on the ground and their brother and Emilio running down the hill.
Elisabetta’s parents both came to her side and guided her away from the scene. She too was in shock, having never experienced something like this in her life. They followed closely behind the Swiss Guard with the baroness beside them. No one said a word. The crowd watched but remained eerily silent as they made an opening through which the sad group walked slowly toward the villa, all with their heads down.
Nicola sat on the wall looking below at the man who had tried for so long to have him killed and shook his head. He knew it would have done no good for him to chase after the boys. He would catch up with them later; he was certain.
Silouan looked over the wall just as the polizia arrived at the body of the monsignor and then walked to Nicola. “I do not know what happened, but I know Peppino is not a murderer...
Nicola smiled at him and nodded.
“...But to every soul here he sure looks like one.”
“Yes.”
Notes
* Matthew16:18
** Mathew 7: 22–23
Chapter 18
“Are you crazy?” Emilio yelled. “What do you think you were doing? With the pope there and in front of all those people! We were getting everything we wanted, and you’ve gotta go and screw it up!” He pushed Peppino, who landed on his butt in the sand.
“Emilio!” he screamed back. “It wasn’t me! The monsignor had a knife, and he was about to stab Nicola. I saw it under his robe while he was standing in the crowd, and then when he came to stand between the two of us, I felt his arm pull back like he was going to stab Nicola.”
“Peppino, that is ridiculous. Why in the world would the monsignor do something like that with the pope there?” he said angrily, ready to kick his friend for lying to him.
“Emilio, stop it, you idiot. The monsignor had a knife under that black cape he was wearing. When I got it in the open, I recognized that it was my old hunting knife—the one Carmine got stabbed with! I don’t know what he was doing with it, but I am sure it was something to do with you and me!”
Emilio stopped and turned for a few moments and kicked the sand. “OK…understood. We got to get out of here. We can talk about this later.” He looked toward the homes facing the beach. “No one yet; they probably figure we took the road or are hiding out in one of the houses.” He looked around and saw a fishing boat pulled on shore about fifty yards away next to a shack on the beach. “Look, let’s grab the fishing boat and row out into the shipping lane. Maybe we can get picked up.”
Nodding in agreement, Peppino stood and took off toward it in a run, not bothering to brush the sand off of his clothes. The two reached the boat and quickly accessed it. It was an old one scarred from years of fishing but looked sturdy enough. It was about twenty feet long, with high sides, a flat bottom, and a sharp bow with no cabin. The inside was cluttered with a well-used fishing net, buckets, and two oars, and smelled like years of rotting fish.
They pushed it into the surf, and Peppino stopped. “Hold on, I’ll be right back. Stay here.” He ran to the shack and looked into the window. It was partially open. He could see an old man on the cot and a few bottles of wine on the counter close to the window. He reached in and as quickly and quietly as he could, grabbed the wine bottles, ran back to the dory, and threw the bottles onto the net.
The two pushed the boat through the surf and hopped in. Emilio took the seat, grabbed the oars, and started rowing over the cresting wave. “Lay down on the floor right now,” he ordered.
Peppino lay down on the smelly fishing net and looked up at his friend. “Are you getting even with me for getting us into trouble again?”
Emilio was still tense, as he knew they were not yet out of danger, and he was not ready to joke with Peppino. “No. Eventually someone might get the idea we took off in a boat. If they look out from a distance, they will probably think I am Lazio. He’s the old guy who owns the boat; he fishes alone. You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”
“Of course; he’s the old drunk. He was in the shack sleeping when I grabbed the bottles.”
“Let’s hope he was sleeping off a bender and remains knocked out for a while. You need to stay down until we get far enough out that they won’t be able to tell who is in the boat. And take that shirt off. That prissy, white frilly thing you’re wearing will be like a beacon with them looking for us.” Realizing he had just insulted his friend, he changed the subject with a more serious tone. “You think the monsignor was really going to stab Nicola?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. I saw the knife, and he pulled back his arm, ready to stab him. That’s why I slammed into his arm.”
“So you saved Nicola’s life then?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he knows it. He was trying to keep me from hurting the monsignor.”
“We both were! I thought you had finally lost it with the monsignor, and so did Nicola.” Emilio was putting as much power into his strokes as his strength would allow, and soon they were moving at a good pace over the moderately calm sea. “Peppino, we are all in deeper trouble now. When they figure out that it was your knife that stabbed Carmine…I, I just can’t think of it all right now. Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know how he could have lived. I was pushing my way up through everyone, and when I hit an open space, the knife went like a missile into his stomach. You should have seen the look on his face. I don’t know. I’m really not sure where I stuck him; everything happened so fast. I just felt it go into him.”
“It’s hard to believe we got the same guy twice,” Emilio said superstitiously. “Peppino, I don’t think there was anyone there who would believe y
ou were protecting Nicola. Even the pope was shocked when he looked at you. I saw his face.”
“I know. I don’t know what to do. I would join you and Nicola, but it sounds like all of you will be living out in the open now.”
“Not me. Remember, I just helped you escape.”
Peppino looked at his friend, realizing how the situation affected him. “Yeah, that’s true, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Emilio.”
“It’s OK; it’s not your fault. Besides, you just really screwed up your own life. I can’t even imagine what Elisabetta is thinking.”
“No kidding, and in front of her parents.”
“Funny…”
“Emilio, there is nothing funny about it.”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant I thought it funny that I had not thought till now that the wedding will be off.”
Peppino was scratching a bit of scum off of the side rail of the boat with his fingernail, not yet able to fathom all that just happened and its consequences. “Yeah, I guess you are right. I hadn’t either.” He paused thinking. “Emilio, I really screwed up my life now.”
Emilio silently agreed with him but wanted to make an effort to change the mood. “Do you think it is possible to find something funny in a tragedy?”
“Emilio, I’m not in the mood right now.”
“I was just going to ask you if you heard the fart the monsignor made right before he went over the edge.”
“Come on, don’t make me laugh.”
“I don’t think I ever heard one so loud. And the smell! I am surprised the blade of the knife didn’t shrivel.”
Peppino smiled but couldn’t get himself to laugh. “Yeah, I will remember that fart for the rest of my life.”
“And did you see him bounce?”
“Yeah I did, but the man is dead. No matter how much we hated him, I don’t think I ever thought of killing him.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”