The young man cursed and withdrew his head, but the girl went on smiling.
“We’ll be coming to see you,” she said.
“All right, but don’t come without an invitation,” said Don Camillo as he went on. And he added, under his breath: “What can those two savages be up to? Who knows what trouble they’re in now?”
The trouble was a sizable one, and the direct consequence of an episode in which this same pair—Mariolino della Bruciata and Gina Filotti—had already involved Don Camillo. Their courtship had been a stormy one, their families disagreed violently on political matters and it had taken all Don Camillo’s persuasiveness to get them to agree to the wedding. After some months of marriage it was Gina and Mariolino who disagreed violently.
“In my opinion it’s going to be a boy, and I’m glad of it, because I know you want a girl,” said Gina.
“I’m positive it will be a girl, in spite of the fact that you and that family of yours all want a boy,” he retorted.
“Of course. Girls take after their fathers and boys after their mothers,” she exclaimed, “and I’d hate to see a girl with a character like that of the men of your family. You Bolshevik criminal! I’m going home to my mother!”
“Then good-bye for good; I’m going back to my father. Living with a reactionary’s daughter is too much for me.”
The logical corollary to these violent propositions was that, in the absence of both of them, their baby would be left quite alone. And they made up over this discovery.
A few weeks later they were faced by another grave problem.
“We’ve got to think of a name,” Gina declared. “Boy or girl, we must have a name ready.”
The names suggested by Mariolino were all tendentious because they started with Lenina and ended with La Pasionaria. While Gina’s choice ranged from Pius to Alcide. Finally they came together on Alberto and Albertina.
“And how’s it to be baptized?” groaned Gina.
“It’s not to be baptized at all,” answered Mariolino. “But if it is, the way to do it is to take it to church and get it over with.”
“To church? But Don Camillo’s not there any longer!”
“That’s like saying you’d rather be eaten by a lion called Leo than a lion called Cleo,” Mariolino said sarcastically. “One priest’s as bad as another.”
Gina started to take up the cudgels on behalf of the clergy, but all of a sudden she grew pale and sank into a chair.
“Take it easy, Gina,” said her husband gently. “You keep calm and so will I.”
“When I think that I married a godless individual like yourself; it’s almost more than I can bear. Poor little baby boy, I’ll defend you from your father’s intemperance!”
“Poor baby girl!” sighed Mariolino. “If I weren’t here to save you from your mother’s clutches….”
They went on this way until late that night, when Gina interposed:
“After all that Don Camillo’s done for us, we can’t let anyone else baptize our baby. But babies have to be baptized immediately after they’re born. We can’t wait six or seven months for Don Camillo’s return.”
“That’s easy enough to solve,” said Mariolino. “We’ll register the baby’s birth at the Town Hall, because, after all, Peppone did just as much for us as Don Camillo, and then we’ll take it up in the mountains to that one and only priest!”
“Impossible,” said Gina. “Babies have to be baptized in the parish where they’re born. And the time’s getting short. I’m going to pack a suitcase tomorrow.”
* * *
Six days went by without anything happening. Old Tirelli hung between life and death and Don Camillo stayed home partly in order to look after him and partly because the girl he hadn’t wanted to recognize had called out: “We’ll be coming to see you.” Early in the afternoon of the seventh day, his housekeeper came excitedly into the room:
“Come quickly, Father. There’s something very unusual downstairs.”
Don Camillo hurried down and saw an extraordinary sight: Mariolino and Gina, with the village midwife between them, bearing a beribboned baby in her arms.
“Well, what’s this?” asked Don Camillo.
“The lady came here for a holiday, and proceeded to bear this very fine baby,” the midwife announced.
Don Camillo wrinkled up his nose.
“Did you come all this way for that reason?” he asked the young couple.
“I’d never have come,” said Mariolino, “but she insisted that you baptize the baby. As if all priests didn’t come out of the same pudding…. Well, if you don’t want to baptize him, so much the better.”
Don Camillo pondered the complications of the matter and made an indistinct noise. He went into the church, but the young couple did not immediately follow. Apparently, they were waiting for something. And indeed, while Don Camillo was preparing the baptismal font two groups of strangers invaded the village. One came from the mule track and was composed of members of the land-owning Filotti family; the other came up a parallel path and was, naturally enough, the Red band of dela Bruciata. From opposite sides of the square they converged upon the church door, and the young parents led them in.
“Who is the godfather?” asked Don Camillo.
Old Filotti and old della Bruciata both stepped forward, gritting their teeth and reaching out for the lacy robe of their reactionary-revolutionary descendant.
“Hands off!” said Don Camillo threateningly. And he signalled to a newcomer at the church door.
“Step forward, godfather!” he commanded.
And Peppone—for it was he—obeyed, although it was plain that the honour had been forced upon him. When the ceremony was over Don Camillo was called away by his housekeeper.
“The old man is asking for you,” she panted.
Don Camillo burst impetuously into the dying man’s room.
“No, Tirelli,” he said, most uncharitably; “you simply can’t throw cold water over the celebration by choosing this moment to die!”
“Father, I called you to say that I’ve decided to go on living. This mountain air has healed me. Send word to my daughter to come and move me into other quarters.”
Don Camillo was breathless over the succession of events. When he went downstairs he found waiting for him the young substitute priest and Peppone.
“I’m here merely as the driver of a public conveyance,” Peppone told him. “The priest asked me to bring him here, and after I’d left the car at the bottom of the mule track I came to see how things were going along. Unfortunately I find you bursting with good health!”
The priest, in his turn, gave Don Camillo an envelope.
“It’s a letter from the bishop,” he explained. “I’ve come to announce a change of the guard. You can go back in Peppone’s car.”
“I contracted only for a one-way trip,” Peppone objected. “I have no wish to take certain people back with me.”
“I’ll pay extra,” said Don Camillo.
“It’s a question of principle, not of money,” Peppone replied. “The later you come back the better. Don’t get big ideas from the visit of a soft-headed old man and two young rascals. We’re getting on famously without you.”
“All the more reason for me to hurry back!” said Don Camillo.
Two hours later, Don Camillo emerged from the church with the crucifix over his shoulder.
“Driver, take my suitcase,” he called out to Peppone.
He proceeded down the mule track, and this time the cross was as light as a feather. At the end of the trail stood the jeep which Peppone called a taxi. Don Camillo climbed in, holding the crucifix before him like a banner.
The della Bruciata band had come in a lorry, and now they started off after Peppone. Nearby stood the two big, shiny cars of the Filotti family, and in the first of these sat Gina with the baby in her arms and Mariolino at the wheel. Mariolino skilfully steered his car in between the jeep and the lorry, while the second one, with his fath
er-in-law driving, brought up the rear.
At this point Smilzo rode up like a demon on his motorcycle, having been worried over his chief’s delay. When he saw the little procession, he turned around and rode ahead of it, in order to clear the way. When they were within two miles of their destination he responded to a nod from Peppone by stepping on the gas and leaving the others behind him.
So it was that at the entrance to the village Don Camillo found the local band ready to greet him. And the Crucified Christ came home to the strains of the International.
“Under the rope and to victory!” rejoiced Peppone, bringing the jeep to an abrupt stop in front of the church door.
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DON CAMILLO
It is significant that this page should be headed by the name of Don Camillo, and not of Giovanni Guareschi, his creator. For the honest and hot-tempered priest of the Po Valley is today better known and more alive in the minds of readers than his author. It is difficult to pay a higher compliment to a writer.
Four of the Don Camillo books are available in Penguins, and the other three titles are:
THE LITTLE WORLD OF DON CAMILLO
“He has succeeded in finding wit, delight and, I repeat, sentiment where other writers have been able to see only unrelieved agony and horror… A moral and a reverent book”
—Marghanita Laski in the Observer
DON CAMILLO AND THE PRODIGAL SON
“More enchantment for those who already know Don Camillo—and something wonderful for any who don’t”
—Star
DON CAMILLO AND THE DEVIL
“Those who do not enjoy the Camillo books would do well to try again”
—Sunday Times
COMRADE DON CAMILLO
Don Camillo goes to Russia and becomes the life and soul of the Party, to the disgust of Peppone.
Not for sale in the U.S.A. or Canada
* * *
Scanned and Proofed by Amigo da Onça
Don Camillo’s Dilemma Page 24
