A Bell for Adano

by John Hersey

  “I’ve been wounded,” a man moaned. Of course he had not been. All of Captain Purvis’s shots went into the air.

  Within twenty seconds the entire crowd had disappeared into the streets of Adano, and there was nothing left at the head of the Molo di Ponente except the smoke from Captain Purvis’s Colt. The Captain got into his jeep and drove off.

  Tomasino was alarmed by the shots. “You have come to shoot me,” he shouted, springing to his feet. “I knew there was a trick. You want to kill me.”

  But Major Joppolo calmed him. “That was just to get rid of the crowd. I don’t want anything except to send you out fishing, Tomasino.”

  Tomasino said: “There is a trick,” but he sat down again.

  The Major said: “Tomasino, we will need about half a dozen boats. Can you help arrange this?”

  “To whom will the tribute be paid? How much will it be?”

  “You won’t have to pay any tribute to the Americans, Tomasino.”

  “No protection. No tribute. I do not believe it. And how much tax must we pay on the gross weight of our catch?”

  “There will not be any tax on your catch, Tomasino. You will only have to pay the regular taxes. It is true that your profit will be limited to fifteen per cent of what you take in. The rest you must spend in wages to your fishermen and upkeep on your boats.”

  “No protection, no tribute, no special tax. You are making fun of me, American.”

  “Why should I make fun of you, fisherman? It is my job to run this town. I consider it my job to keep the people of this town alive. They haven’t enough to eat. I want fish for them. I want you to go fishing. Why in the name of God should I make fun of you?”

  Tomasino stood up. “American,” he said, “I begin to think you are different from the others.”

  The Major ignored this concession and said: “Tomasino, I want you to be the head of the fishermen of Adano. There will no longer be a criminal like -what was his name?”

  “Enea. “

  “There will no longer be an Enea over the fishermen. I want a fisherman to be in charge of the fishermen.” Tomasino’s sad face almost broke into a smile. “There would be justice in that, and we fishermen aren’t very well acquainted with justice.” Then the morose man thought a moment. “No,” he said, “I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I would be a man of authority. I would be the thing I have hated all my life. The other fishermen would laugh at me for becoming the thing I had always hated most.”

  “But Tomasino, you’ve just admitted that I was different from other men of authority. You could be different too. It is possible to make your authority seem to spring from the very people over whom you have authority. And after a while, Tomasino, it actually does spring from them, and you are only the instrument of their will. That is the thing that the Americans want to teach you who have lived under men who imagined that they themselves were authority.”

  Tomasino thought a long time and then said: “It is too good. There is a trick.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact there is a trick, fisherman. The trick is that some men are not good enough for this thing, and that makes it fall down. Right here in this invasion we have a general who is not good enough, General Marvin. He imagines that he is something that ought to be worshipped. Also we have one who may not be good enough, I’m not sure yet, much closer to us than the General. I mean the Captain of the Navy who runs this port. He is a young man and very fond of authority. And Tomasino, we have to get permission from him before you and the others can go out fishing.”

  “Who is this young man of authority?” Tomasino said with a sullen face. “I will bash his head in with my gaffing hook.” And the fisherman’s face looked as if he meant it.

  “Let’s go and talk with him.”

  And so the Major and Tomasino went to see Lieutenant Livingston in the Port Captain’s office. The Lieutenant was feeling very grumpy after the brush-off Major Joppolo had given him because he was in a hurry. Lieutenant Livingston was in no mood to grant requests to an Army man and a meatball.

  Major Joppolo, being single-minded, not to say absentminded, was not in the least conscious of Lieutenant Livingston’s mood.

  “Hi, Captain,” he said blithely when he and Tomasino walked in. “Back again.”

  “So I see,” said Lieutenant Livingston without pleasure.

  “This is Tomasino, the head of the fishermen here.” Tomasino, hearing his name, gave the Lieutenant a Fascist salute.

  Lieutenant Livingston said: “Would the old fisherman mind taking a seat out there in the hall? I have a rule that no Italians are to come in this office.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Tomasino wouldn’t mind, but I would. What the hell kind of way is that to run an office in an Italian town?” Tomasino, hearing his name, gave the Lieutenant another Fascist salute.

  Quite coolly Lieutenant Livingston said: “I don’t know how you run your offices in the Army, Captain, but in the Navy we have something we call security. We can’t afford to be careless.”

  Major Joppolo was indignant. “The hell with security. I’ll vouch for Tomasino.” Tomasino saluted. He hated authority, but he knew it when he saw it.

  Lieutenant Livingston said testily: “Major, after all, this is my office. “

  The Major said: “Well, goddamit, it’s Tomasino’s town.” Tomasino saluted.

  The Lieutenant said: “What do you want, Major?” Major Joppolo said: “I want the Navy’s permission to send out six fishing boats to get fish for Adano.” Lieutenant Livingston said: “Impossible.”

  Major Joppolo said: “What’s impossible about it?” The Lieutenant said: “We’d have to get permission from ComNavIt and he’d have to refer it to ComNavNaw, and they’re both Admirals. Not a chance.”

  Major Joppolo said: “What’s all that gibberish mean?” The Lieutenant said: “Commander Navy Italy and Commander Navy North African Waters. Is that gibberish, Major?”

  The Major said: “Why do you have to go running to the Admirals? Don’t they give you any responsibility at all?”

  Lieutenant Livingston spoke very patiently. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “This is a Navy problem.” “Listen, Captain, we’re in this damn war together. What’s itching you?”

  “How do you know this man isn’t in the Italian Navy? How do you know he isn’t being paid by the German Navy? How do you know he just wants to fish?”

  Major Joppolo was too outraged to laugh. “Tomasino?„ he said. “Have you ever talked with Tomasino?” Tomasino saluted.

  The Lieutenant said: “Can he speak English?”

  Major Joppolo had had enough. He said: “Listen, Captain, this town is hungry. It needs fish. If it doesn’t get something to supplement its diet, people are going to die here of starvation. Are you going to let these men go out fishing, or aren’t you?”

  Lieutenant Livingston was surprised by the Major’s vehemence. “They might hit loose mines and be blown up,” he said defensively.

  “I don’t care. This is a war. Some people’ve got to get killed so others can live. Are you going to let these men go out fishing, or aren’t you?”

  Lieutenant Livingston said uncertainly: “I don’t think I ought to.”

  Major Joppolo said: “Captain, unless you give permission for these men to go out, I’m going to send a separate letter naming each person who dies of hunger in this town to your commanding officer, and in each letter I’m going to say it’s your fault.”

  “Maybe we could work something out,” the Lieutenant said.

  “You’re damn right we could,” Major Joppolo said. “By day after tomorrow I want you to have six charts ready showing exactly where these boats can go and not run into our minefields. They don’t have to show where the mines are, all they need show is an area where the boats can go. I’ll see that these men stick to that area. Have it ready day after tomorrow.”

  And before he could catch himself, Lieutenant Livingston of Kent and
Yale had said to Major Joppolo of the Bowery and Tammany Hall: “Yes, sir.”

  Major Joppolo left with Tomasino before the Lieutenant could catch his wits.

  Outside, Tomasino said: “I hate him. What did he say?”

  “A lot of foolishness, except for one thing,” the Major said. “If you go out fishing, Tomasino, you may get hurt. Your boat might hit an American mine.”

  “What do I care?” said Tomasino. “I am going fishing. Mister Major, if you could know how unhappy the fishermen of Adano have been. All we want in the world is to go fishing. We will go even if we have to pay graft to the men of authority. Now you say we don’t have to do that. Thank you, Mister Major.”

  “No,” the Major said, and he decided to try something. “No, Tomasino, I thank you for taking charge of the fishermen, and I kiss your hand.”

  Tomasino looked at this man of authority, and he said: “You are different.” And the old fisherman turned and ran out on the mole to the Tina, and he shouted as he ran, as if telling his boat: “We are going fishing! We are going fishingl We are going fishingl”

  Chapter 9

  THE TELEPHONE rang.

  “Hello,” Major Joppolo said.

  “Joppolo, Amgot.”

  “Joppolo, this is Sartorius, up at Vicinamare.”

  “Oh, hello, Colonel.”

  “About that bell.”

  “Yeah, any luck?”

  “I’ll say. I found the records on it in about fifteen minutes. By the grace of God the Fascists kept their records about things like this by towns, so all I had to do was look in their files under Adano. But boy, those Eyeties sure did a lot of paper work. They had to report to the province every time they took a leak, practically.”

  Major Joppolo said: “So what about the bell?’

  “Well, I found three entries. “

  “Can we get the bell back? That’s what I want to know.”

  Colonel Richard N. Sartorius was a methodical man. “The first entry,” he said, “is dated June fifteenth. It says the bell arrived from Adano by mule cart. It says the bell was very crudely crated, and had to be crated all over again. That took three days.”

  “Where’s the bell now? Did you find it?”

  “The second entry is dated June twenty-second. It says the bell was put aboard the motor ship Alcuri for Milan via Genoa. It was addressed to the Fecoratta Artillery Foundry, Forty-three Via Edda Mussolini, Milan.”

  “Oh, hell, they shipped it off.”

  “Not only that, but the third entry says the Fecoratta Artillery Foundry at Forty-three Via Edda Mussolini in Milan - can you imagine naming a street for that flewsie? - it says that the Foundry acknowledged receipt of the bell. That entry was on July the second. I’m afraid your bell is just a hunk of cannon now, Joppolo.”

  “Damn.”

  “Well, at least I found the records for you.”

  “That’s awful disappointing.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. But I’m glad I could set you straight on it.” All Colonel Sartorius wanted was one word of thanks.

  “These people down here’ll be heartbroken,” the single-minded Major said.

  “Is that a fact?” said Colonel Sartorius. “Well, you’re welcome,” and he hung up hard.

  Chapter 10

  THE DAY that Mayor Nasta came down from the hills Major Joppolo got his first idea that perhaps the people of Adano really were glad to have the Americans around.

  Major Joppolo was having lunch with Captain Purvis at the Albergo dei Pescatori. Joppolo and Purvis had almost nothing in common, but they were beginning to like each other pretty well. It was probably just that they were both officers and Americans, and no matter whether they would have been worlds apart back in the States, here they were blood brothers, and they could talk over their reactions and laugh together and understand each other. Brother Purvis still wanted to get Brother Joppolo drunk, but even that issue, which began bitterly, was now becoming a joke and a promise of some fun.

  The Albergo dei Pescatori had the best food in Adano, and the Major and the Captain ate there regularly now. The food was nothing to write home about, but it was better than C Rations. Lunch and dinner were exactly alike and never varied: pasta with tomato sauce, a little fried eggplant and cheese, an omelet, bread, fruit and red wine. The place owned just nine regular customers. Besides the Major and the Captain, there were the owner, his wife, and his son, two prostitutes of the town, and their two men, who were never the same at any two successive meals. At each meal Major Joppolo used to say as he sat down, “I’ll have to run them out of town one of these days,” but soon the remark became just a habit, like saying a blessing, and there was little chance of its fulfillment.

  At each meal there were also some idlers in the place, but they just came in to listen to the noon and six-thirty broadcasts from Rome.

  On the day that Mayor Nasta came down from the hills, Major Joppolo and Captain Purvis had just finished their pasta and were talking about the stuffy Navy fellow, Livingston, when they heard an unusual noise out in the street. There were shouts of anger, and whistles.

  The Rome broadcast was on at the moment, and some rather outrageous things were being said, so Major Joppolo guessed: “That’s the mob down at one of the Dopo Lavoro clubs jeering the radio. I heard they did that a couple days ago. This is the first time I ever actually heard them.”

  Captain Purvis said: “Why aren’t these bums jeering here? What the hell do they think they are, anyhow? Tell them to jeer, pal.”

  But the noise outside grew, and seemed to be coming up the street. And soon several of the idlers who had been listening to the radio in the restaurant ran out. As the noise grew still louder the two prostitutes picked up handfuls of fruit and ran out, pursued by their paying guests. Then the owner of the place and his wife and son ran out with their mouths full of pasta and eggplant.

  Finally Major Joppolo said: “Let’s go see what it is.” So he and Captain Purvis ran out too, with their napkins in their hands.

  This is what they saw:

  Up the center of the street a forlorn looking man walked. He was very short, and rather heavy-set. His clothes were dirty and torn. His shoes were covered with dust. His face was very sad, and he walked slowly, hanging his head. There was only one proud touch to his whole figure, and that was a pair of pince-nez spectacles balanced on his big nose.

  Behind the man, keeping a safe distance as if there still might be some dynamite in him, a large crowd walked, shouting and whistling its derision. The derision was ten times louder than it would otherwise have been because this was the first time the people of Adano had ever been able to express their feelings toward this man. Even behind their own closed doors they had held their tongues about Mayor Nasta in the past, because he seemed to have ears in every house, and his eyes peeked in every window, and his punishments were sadistic.

  But now they shouted what they thought.

  “Fascist Pig,” they shouted. This was what they shouted most.

  But they also shouted: “The murderer always goes back to the scene of his crime!”

  They also shouted: “Where is Mayor Nasta’s whip now?”

  Curiously the two prostitutes shouted, and there was a kind of pride in the way they shouted it: “Son of a whore!”

  There was a priest in the crowd, and he shouted: “Blasphemer!”

  There were some children in the crowd, and they ran along shouting: “Pig! Pig! Pig!”

  The anger of the mob bordered on violence. When the unhappy Mayor got opposite the Albergo dei Pescatori one of the prostitutes raised her arm and threw a plum at him. It missed him and splashed in the street.

  A boy of twelve threw a stone. Then several brickbats flew, and the shouts of long repressed hatred became shrieks of revenge.

  Captain Purvis looked at Major Joppolo and Major Joppolo said: “We’ve got to put a stop to this.” Captain Purvis was not a subtle American, but he was a brave one. He ran out in the street between Mayor Na
sta and the crowd. He held up his hand and shouted: “Stop! Stop, you ignorant bastards.”

  The crowd kept coming. A stone flew past Captain Purvis toward Mayor Nasta.

  Captain Purvis pulled his pistol out of his pocket. That was enough. The ones in front held back the others, and the mob halted in the street. Captain Purvis went back to the sidewalk.

  Mayor Nasta, seeing that he was saved, ran over to his deliverers, and he stood in the gutter blubbering his thanks. “Americans! Oh God, my friends. Thank you for saving me from these ungrateful people. I have served them for years and see how they behave. I am all alone, Americans. I have been in the hills all alone for days. No one would stay with me. All the others gave themselves up. I have thought everything over. I wish to help you if I can...” And he rattled on, his voice going higher and higher.

  Someone in the mob shouted: “Mister Major, if you help that man you are not our friend.”

  Major Joppolo acted quickly to save the situation. He walked into the street and held up his hand for silence; he was careful to make it his left hand, so that it would not be mistaken for a Fascist salute.

  “Go home, people. I will take care of this man as he deserves. He is under arrest.”

  And the Major said quickly to Captain Purvis in English. “Arrest him, Purvis, show this gang that you’re arresting him.”

  This was the kind of thing Captain Purvis enjoyed, and as he clapped his hand heavily on Mayor Nasta’s shoulder he shouted: “Goddam, I wish I understood Eyetalian. This is wonderful.”

  The crowd broke up slowly, mumbling its protests at being deprived of revenge.

  Purvis said: “Who the hell is this little squirt, any- way? Jesus, they sure hate him, don’t they?”

  Major Joppolo said: “He’s the one who used to be Mayor.”

  “Oh he is, is he? Well according to what Borth says, they’ve got plenty of reason to hate him.” And the Captain kicked Mayor Nasta in the seat of the pants simply because he didn’t know the Italian for: “You’re a little bastard.”

  Mayor Nasta whimpered in Italian: “What are you going to do with me? If you are going to kill me, please tell me first. Don’t shoot me from behind.”