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 Nasta 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.”

What Major Joppolo did with Mayor Nasta was to take him up to his office. Everyone, even little Zito who had once worked for Mayor Nasta, even D’Arpa, the weasel-like vice mayor who had once worked with him, everyone made faces of disgust when they saw Mayor Nasta, and some made obscene remarks within his hearing.

When word passed around the Palazzo that Mayor Nasta was back, many people stuck their heads in the door at the end of the Major’s office, which had once been the Mayor’s office, to have a look at him in his disheveled condition, and to laugh at him to his face.

Major Joppolo said to Zito and Giuseppe: “I want to have a talk with Mayor Nasta alone. Go and tell the people in the other offices that I do not want to be disturbed, not even by a cracking open of that door. I do not even want to be disturbed by the brushing of ears on the keyhole.”

“Yes, Mister Major,” Zito said. “No, Mister Major,” Giuseppe said.

Major Joppolo sat at the desk and said brusquely: “Sit down.”

Mayor Nasta sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“Well, what is it that you wish?” Major Joppolo said. Mayor Nasta brushed his hand along the wood of the desk pathetically, and he said: “It seems strange to be sitting on the wrong side of this desk.”

Major Joppolo said: “It may seem stranger to sit on the wrong side of the bars of your municipal jail. What do you want?”

Mayor Nasta rearranged the pince-nez on his nose, but he did not look Major Joppolo in the eye as he said “I just want a chance, Mister Major.”

“You want a chancel” Major Joppolo spoke angrily. “To whom did you ever give a chance?”

“I have thought it over,” Mayor Nasta said. “I have been all alone for days. It was awful at night. I have thought it over, Mister Major. I want to help if I can.”

“How many years were you in office?” “Nine, Mister Major.”

“After nine years in office, you have thought it all over, have you? After nine years of graft and stealing and keeping these people down, you’ve thought it over, you want to help, do you?”

“You have other Fascists in office here. I saw the face of D’Arpa a minute ago. I saw Tagliavia who was my Maresciallo of Finance. I saw Gargano of the Carabinieri. If you could use these, why not Nasta, the Mayor?” “I have a new Mayor, and a better one.”

This hurt. “Who is this Mayor?”

“ Bellanca the Notary, an honest man, much more honest than the former Mayor.”

And the former Mayor said: “Yes, Bellanca is honest. But surely you have something for Nasta to do? I would accept something less than Mayor.” Nasta rubbed the wood of the desk wistfully. “There is not much left of the old Nasta,” he said. “I would accept something less than Mayor.”

Major Joppolo’s eyes grew angry. He stood up abruptly. “Oh, you would, would you? Yes, I have something for you to do. You are to report every morning to Sergeant Borth of the American Army. You will find him in the Fascio. That is all you have to do each day. But see that you do it, Nasta, or you will be put in jail.”

“You mean that Nasta has become a common probationer?”

“Oh, so Nasta is familiar with the practice of putting people on probation? That is very genteel of you, Nasta. I thought all your punishments were more ingenious than that.”

“Please be generous with me,” Nasta said. “Please give me some work to do.”

“Generous? In the name of God, Nasta, what do you expect? For the crimes you have committed against the people of Adano, you deserve to be shot outright, without a trial. You certainly never would give a fair trial, unless it brought you some kind of profit. I am being more than generous. I am putting you on probation. See that you behave, you Fascist.”

Mayor Nasta was obsequious now. “Yes, Mister Major,” he said. “What did you say was the name of the American officer to whom I must report?”

“His name is Borth, and he is not an officer. He is a sergeant. You are not worth an officer, Nasta.”

“Yes, Mister Major.”

This is how it happened that Mayor Nasta reported once every morning to Sergeant Borth at the Fascio. Because four or five people followed the Mayor everywhere he went out of curiosity and hatred, there was a small audience on hand the next morning when he reported to Sergeant Borth for the first time. The audience enjoyed what it saw and heard, for this kind of situation was meat for Sergeant Borth, who thought the whole war was a joke.

The tattered Nasta stepped into one of the M.P. offices, rearranged his pince-nez, and said: “Where will I find the Sergeant Borth?”

“I am Borth.”

“I am Nasta.”

“Oho,” roared Sergeant Borth. He stood up, rubbing his hands. “So you are the Mayor. I understand that you have come to Adano to repent your sins. Is that right, noble Mayor?”

“I was told that I was to report here each morning. I was to report, not be humiliated, Sergeant.”

“You will call me Mister Sergeant.”

Mayor Nasta snorted, from his long habit of snorting. Borth said sharply: “Listen, Nasta, I know more about you than you know about yourself. You be careful how you behave here. Now, answer my questions civilly. Is it correct that you came to Adano to repent your sins?” Mayor Nasta was white with anger, but he said: “I suppose you might say so.”

“Thank you,” Borth said with exaggerated politeness. “In that case you will repent one sin each morning when you report to Sergeant Borth. Would you like to choose your own sins, or would you like Sergeant Borth to choose them for you?”

Mayor Nasta couldn’t keep himself from snorting. “I see,” said Borth, with his over-politeness, “you would like Borth to choose. Very well, let’s see. This morning we will discuss the sin of your disgraceful running away from your post in the face of the American invasion. What is this sin called, Mayor Nasta?”

“What do you mean, what is it called?”

“You are at a loss for words? Very well, Borth will answer his own question. It is called the sin of cowardice.” Mayor Nasta snorted.

“No matter what side you were on, no matter if you were on the side of the crooks, it was a sin to run away, was it not, Mayor?”

Mayor Nasta rearranged his pince-nez with a trembling hand.

“Answer my question: did you or did you not give rifles to the Carabinieri and grenades to the Finance Guards, make them a beautiful speech about fighting to the last man, and then run to the hills?”

Mayor Nasta said with a trembling voice: “You tell me, clever Sergeant.”

Sergeant Borth shouted: “Answer me, probationer.” Mayor Nasta said quietly: “I did, Sergeant.” “Mister Sergeantl”

“I did, Mister Sergeant

“Are you sorry for this disgraceful sin, Nasta?” Mayor Nasta could hear the people snickering behind him.

He said meekly: “I am, Mister Sergeant.” Borth said: “All right, then, you may go.”

The small audience who heard this first repentance told their friends about it, so that the next morning there was a larger crowd in front of Sergeant Borth’s office when Mayor Nasta reported.

On the second morning, Sergeant Borth made Mayor Nasta repent for the sin of having had such a big house in this poor town, and for having hoarded money, which was hidden in a mattress in the house, and for being a grafter.

On the third morning, the Sergeant made him repent for being a Fascist, and for having been, as a young man, a member of the Segretaria Federale di Roma.

On the fourth morning, the Sergeant made him repent for the sin of having fought for Franco in Spain, not gallantly, to be sure, but for having fought at all.

On the fifth morning, the Sergeant made him repent for the sin of having taken cuts on the fish market, the bakeries, and the vegetable market, and for stealing twenty-five per cent of the city impost tax.

On the sixth morning, the Sergeant made him repent for the sin of offering to be a spy for the Americans if Sergeant Borth would just stop making him repent.

On the seventh morning, the Sergeant made him repent for having forced his will on two young girls of the town.

And so, day after day, the repentances went. And every day the crowd outside Sergeant Borth’s office in the Fascio grew, and the laughter got louder and louder.