The Sect of Angels

by Andrea Camilleri

  “There is no other explanation, Stefanù, believe me.”

  “But that’s not possible, Zio! So, in your opinion, Paolina, the Marquis Cammarata’s eldest daughter, is also pregnant, like Antonietta?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “And don Filadelfo, thinking that his daughter’s lover was that relative of his wife, and knowing that the kid was coming to see them, sent for ’u zù Carmineddru and had him beat him within an inch of his life?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Do you have any other way to explain what happened?”

  “Well, it’s exactly like what happened to me, except that the baron wanted to shoot me.”

  “I agree with you there.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “For the moment, nothing. If the kid confirms what I’ve been thinking—and let’s hope he recovers soon—then I’ll see to finishing off the marquis myself!”

  One of the three women that Salamone the brigand had enjoyed in the grotto was a pretty, firm-fleshed girl by the name of Rosalia Pampina. The orphaned daughter of a peasant couple, she worked as a maid at the home of Giallonardo the notary. Since the notary was a parishioner of Don Filiberto Cusa’s church, the girl had obtained permission to attend her employer’s church, the church of San Cono.

  On the afternoon of the same day she was freed by the carabinieri, she went back to work at the notary’s house. But she said nothing to him about what the brigand had done to her. She merely told him she’d run off to the country to flee from the threat of cholera. At vespers, however, she asked Signura Romilda Giallonardo for permission to go to church to thank the Lord for delivering her from danger. Rosalia was a very devout girl and an avid churchgoer, so much so that Signura Romilda often told her she should become a nun.

  She would recite all the decades of the rosary upon awaking each morning and in the evening when she went to bed, and she never missed the day’s first Mass. Oftentimes Patre Cusa, who had noticed her great religious devotion, would call her into the sacristy to explain the catechism to her. For this reason Signura Romilda saw no reason not to allow her to go out now.

  “I would like to confess,” Rosalia said to Don Filiberto, calling him aside as he was closing the great door of the church.

  “It’s late now. Come back tomorrow morning.”

  “No, sir. You need to hear my confession right away.”

  The priest looked at her and saw that she was crying.

  “All right,” he said, leading her to the confessional.

  He sat down inside, made the sign of the cross, put on his stole, said a prayer, and opened the little door over the grate.

  “What happened to you, my child?”

  “I lost my virginity.”

  And she started weeping audibly. Luckily there was nobody else in the church.

  “How did that happen? So first you go out and have a good time, then you come in hear and start crying, you wretch?” the priest said in indignation.

  “No, no! I didn’t have a good time at all! Salamone the brigand did it to me!”

  And she started telling him what had happened to her. The priest, as was his duty, interrupted her every so often, asking her for more details.

  “Twice from the front and twice from behind?! The horror! The horror!”

  “So he really hurt you?”

  “And you, did you enjoy it when he was . . . ”

  In the end, Rosalia started shouting.

  “My soul is damned! Damned for eternity! Even though you had me drink holy water to protect me, I’ve damned myself just the same!”

  “No, Rosalia, don’t say that. The holy water springing from my body was to protect you from yourself, from the temptations you might have. But this is another matter! You were forced. You did not do it of your own free will! You are not to blame!”

  “Is that really true?”

  “Yes, it’s true. Your soul is unblemished, but your body has been gravely contaminated. Sullied. We must make it pure and clean again.”

  “But how, Father?”

  “Through the penance I will have you do.”

  CHAPTER VI

  THINGS GET COMPLICATED

  Four days after the famous day of cholera, at eight o’clock in the morning, don Anselmo Buttafava and his wife got in their carriage to head back to Palizzolo from La Forcaiola. Lieutenant Villasevaglios, who would escort them back to town along with the two mounted carabinieri, had managed to convince him that there had never been any cholera. He also told him that Captain Montagnet wanted urgently to talk to him, but despite all of don Anselmo’s questions, he never explained why.

  Since to return to Palizzolo they had no choice but to pass by San Giusippuzzo, don Anselmo was granted permission to stop at his villa for a moment to fetch a pair of eyeglasses he’d left there the night they’d fled to La Forcaiola. When he entered the compound, he noticed that the front door of farm overseer ’Ngilino’s house was closed, as were all the shutters on the windows. ’Ngilino must surely have been making the rounds of the estate, but how could Catarina and Totina still be sick? Don Anselmo went into the villa, retrieved his glasses, and just as he was climbing back into the carriage, saw a wisp of smoke rising from the overseer’s house. So there was indeed someone inside!

  “Just one minute,” he said to the lieutenant.

  And he went and knocked on the overseer’s door. Catarina, who’d been watching him from behind the shutters, remained absolutely silent and didn’t move.

  “Ma, you can’t not open the door for him,” said Totina, who was standing beside her.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s with the carabinieri.”

  Catarina came downstairs and opened the door.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Catarì. Why wouldn’t you open the door?”

  “I have the flu, sir, and had to get out of bed.”

  “What about Totina?”

  “She’s also in bed.”

  “I’ll go and comfort her,” said don Anselmo, putting his handkerchief over his face to avoid catching germs and advancing towards the entrance.

  Catarina blocked his path.

  “No, sir, you can’t come in!”

  Don Anselmo got incensed. How dare this peasant woman talk to him like that? He shoved her aside and went in. Totina was standing next to the window in her bedroom.

  There are women who can be pregnant even up to eight months without anyone noticing, and there are others who already at two months have a belly so big that they look like they might give birth at any moment. Totina belonged to the latter category.

  Don Anselmo, having entered on the run, froze in his tracks. Behind him he heard Catarina weeping. Then he took two steps forward and dealt the girl a hard slap in the face. But she didn’t budge, didn’t raise her arm to protect herself, and only stood there, immobile, staring at him.

  “Who was it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Who was it?” he repeated, raising his hand again.

  “It was the Holy Spirit.”

  So the slut wanted to joke around, did she? Don Anselmo could barely restrain the urge to start kicking her in the belly.

  “Strumpet!”

  Then, to Catarina:

  “Tomorrow morning I want to see ’Ngilino!”

  He turned his back, went down the stairs, and got back in the carriage.

  *

  “Where am I?

  These were the first words that came out of the young man’s mouth as he opened his eyes and saw someone he thought he recognized sitting in the chair beside the bed.

  “At the home of friends.”

  “How long have I been sick?”

  Sick? D
idn’t he remember any of what had happened to him?

  “Just a minute,” said Stefano. Then he called loudly: “Zio, come upstairs! The kid is awake!”

  Teresi climbed the stairs two at a time.

  “How long have I been sick?” the lad asked the new arrival.

  “A few days,” Teresi answered vaguely.

  “Has my mother been informed?”

  “Young man,” said the lawyer, “we found you in the street.”

  He decided it was best to spare the lad the detail about the sack. And he continued:

  “And we didn’t find anything in your pockets: no papers, no money. So how could we have informed your mother?”

  “My name is Luigino Chiarapane, and I live in Salsetto, in the palazzo next to town hall.”

  “I’ll get on it at once,” said Teresi.

  “But what happened to me?”

  “I really don’t know,” said Teresi. “But don’t strain yourself trying to remember. You’ve talked enough. For now you should just go back to sleep.”

  They shut his window and went down to the study.

  “I’ll go and get the horse. I’ll be back in an hour,” said Stefano.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Salsetto, what do you think?”

  “To do what?”

  “What do you mean, ‘to do what’? To go and tell his mother . . . ”

  “You’re not going to tell anyone.”

  “But, Zio, the poor woman must be worried to death!”

  “Stefanù, until the kid begins to remember everything, nobody must know he’s here! I smell something fishy in this whole affair. Something very fishy. This is a card to play against the marquis, and I don’t want to waste it!”

  “Could someone please tell me why I’ve been summoned here?” don Anselmo asked at once, still in a rage from the sight of the pregnant Totina.

  They were in Mayor Calandro’s office in City Hall. The captain had taken an armchair for himself and placed it next to the mayor’s. Don Anselmo was sitting opposite them, across the desk.

  “I can tell you straightaway,” said Montagnet. “Everyone I questioned named you as the person who first spread the false information that there was a cholera outbreak in town. It is my duty to ascertain whether you did so intentionally or by mistake. That’s all.”

  “The only person I told was my wife. And in private. In our home. As you see, I didn’t spread a goddamn thing!”

  The mayor squirmed in his chair. From the morning sky you can tell what kind of day it’s going to be, and in this case the sky was already full of dark storm clouds.

  “I beg you please to temper your language,” the captain said frostily.

  “May I explain what actually happened, so we can clear things up and stop wasting my time?” said don Anselmo.

  “Do you think this is a waste of your time?” asked Montagnet.

  “I don’t think it’s a waste of my time, it is a waste of my time.”

  Without saying a word, the captain got up and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked the mayor in alarm. This guy was liable to have even don Anselmo put up against the wall to “pay the consequences.”

  “I’m going to call the lieutenant and turn him over.”

  “Turn me over?” said don Anselmo, springing to his feet. “And how would like me cooked? Rare? Well done?”

  The mayor ran over to the captain and practically knelt down in front of him.

  “Oh, please, for God’s sake, don’t do that! I will take it upon myself personally, as mayor, to vouch for don Anselmo Buttafava’s good behavior! And you, don Anselmo, what are you doing? Trying to ruin us all?”

  “I apologize,” said don Anselmo.

  They all sat back down.

  “Please tell me your version of events,” Montagnet said to don Anselmo. “But I’m warning you: if I’m not convinced by what you say, I will arrest you for willful disturbance of the public order!”

  Don Anselmo turned red in the face and opened his mouth to answer in kind, but a powerful kick from the mayor under the table persuaded him to sit tight.

  “Go on, speak,” the captain urged him.

  Don Anselmo, who on his way to City Hall had stopped at home to change his clothes and learned the maid Giseffa’s side of the story, told the captain how he’d become convinced that there was cholera about and had said so to his wife, who then repeated it to their aged housekeeper Suntina, who then confided this news to the young maid, Giseffa. The girl had then run home to her father’s house and spilled the beans, the rumor began to spread, and, in the end, all hell broke loose.

  “There’s still one point that needs to be cleared up,” said the captain. “Which is: What made you think there was an outbreak of cholera?”

  With saintly patience, don Anselmo explained how it had been Dr. Bellanca who had first raised his suspicions. Seeing the doctor running between Palazzo Lo Mascolo and Palazzo Cammarata, he’d asked him what was going on, and Bellanca had replied in such a way that he could only conclude . . .

  “All right,” the captain said when don Anselmo had finished, “you’re dismissed.”

  Don Anselmo stood up, held out his hand to the mayor, and Montagnet suddenly tensed up.

  “You’re not free to go yet, you know,” he said icily. “I merely meant you’re dismissed to go and wait in the room next door.”

  “Of all the goddamn . . . ” don Ansemo began.

  But the mayor put a hand over his mouth and pushed him into the next room. The captain hadn’t noticed anything, because he’d stood up and gone out of the office. He returned a moment later with Dr. Bellanca, sat him down in don Anselmo’s place, and said:

  “Doctor, Signor Buttafava just now told us that you were the cause of his misunderstanding, because when he saw you making house calls at both Palazzo Lo Mascolo and Palazzo Cammarata, you told him that the baron and his entire family, as well as the marquis and his entire family, were sick, but you didn’t specify what the illness was. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, I confirm in full.”

  “It seems to me that at this point there’s no further need . . . ” said the mayor.

  But the captain seemed not to have heard him.

  “Why didn’t you explicitly tell Signor Buttafava that it was a simple case of influenza, however serious? If you had, Signor Buttafava would not have misconstrued the situation.”

  “Well, he was irritating me with his insistent curiosity. And anyway, professional ethics don’t—”

  “I see. So was it really a grave form of flu?”

  “Of course!”

  “Do you remember what Marquis Cammarata’s temperature was on Sunday morning?”

  “Not really . . . but it was at least 101 or 102 . . . ”

  “So then why did the marquis go to the club that morning?”

  “He’s a stubborn man, you know. They were voting on whether to admit the lawyer Teresi for membership . . . I’d told him not to get out of bed, but . . . In fact, when he got back home, his condition worsened.”

  “Whereas Baron Lo Mascolo took your advice and stayed in bed.”

  What the hell was the guy getting at? the mayor wondered. Luckily, however, Dr. Bellanca didn’t crack.

  “He couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to. He was the sickest of them all!”

  “He had a high fever?”

  “Very high. A hundred and four.”

  “On Monday morning too?”

  The question caught the doctor by surprise.

  “I . . . really don’t know . . . I don’t remember . . . ”

  “Please try to remember.”

  “Let me think . . . Monday morning, you say? Well, if it wasn’t a hundred and four, it was around a hundred and three, I’d
say.”

  “And how do you explain that around seven o’clock on Monday morning, or shortly thereafter, he was stopped by one of Marshal Sciabarrà’s carabinieri on the walkway behind Teresi’s residence?”

  Bellanca looked at him with his mouth agape. The mayor turned pale.

  “They . . . arrested him?”

  “No. When the marshal learned that a number of ruffians being led by a priest were laying siege to the lawyer’s house, he sent two of his men. One of them saw a peasant having some trouble descending a narrow alley, and so he followed him and then stopped him. But then he recognized the baron and let him go.”

  “I’m sorry, but why did you say the carabiniere had seen a peasant?”

  “Because the baron was disguised as a peasant.”

  Now the mayor’s jaw dropped in surprise. He no longer understood anything. What on earth was happening in that accursèd town?

  “And what did the baron say to the carabiniere?” asked the doctor.

  “He said he’d gone out for a breath of air.”

  “And why was he disguised?”

  “He didn’t want to be bothered by any acquaintances during his walk.”

  “Maybe he’d gone to see Teresi.”

  “That’s his business,” the captain said by way of conclusion. “But the upshot of all this, doctor, is that you’re clearly lying. I’ll give you five minutes’ time to make up your mind; if, by then, you haven’t told me the truth, I will have you arrested.”

  And so it was that, as don Anselmo was on his way home, cursing out loud like a madman, Dr. Bellanca emerged from City Hall in handcuffs, flanked by two carabinieri.

  The captain had charged and released on bail don Anselmo, and imprisoned the doctor, for “working together on a criminal project the purpose of which is not yet clear.” They had “created a grave public disturbance, artfully spreading alarming rumors designed to sow panic among the local population.”