Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part three, chapter 10

Italiano

English

Matteo Lo Vecchio had returned to Palermo and had presented himself to Don Raimondo with the certainty that Blasco was dead and buried. One can therefore imagine his amazement and one can also say his sense of dismay, when he heard the ban that struck the young man, escaped from justice, as guilty, among other things, of having killed four comrades of arms.

"Killed all four of us? But if he had assured me that the last one had escaped!"

Then the thought that had tormented him during his short residence in Messina and that had accompanied him to Palermo, resumed him: the doubts, the suspicions that had attacked him from the beginning, were again more galliant.

He hastened to ask for a new permit "for matters of justice," and without even being seen by Don Raimondo he left for Cefalù. Since the four comrades of arms from whom he had been escorted belonged to that rural company, that was the source to draw the most accurate news. This time he did not resort to any disguise: His black dress of algozino, and more than it the order of which he was equipped, were the most effective means for an investigation that might seem ordered by the government.

But the news gathered in Cefalù confirmed those received in Palermo. The four comrades were really dead: two were gathered again wounded and transported to the nearest land, where one just arrived, had died; the other had lived five or six days still, then he had died too, but had had time to make his narration.

In Cefalù there were widows and mothers; Matteo Lo Vecchio visited them. Those women, fresh in mourning, dissolved their hair and began to "recite" the praises of the dead with such a dramatic accent that the dead were still at home. He asked if they had found on the companions of the folded papers, wrapped in a sheet and tied with a ribbon. But no point had been found in cards. What cards? Those poor people couldn't even read, and they never had anything to do with the written or printed stuff.

Matteo Lo Vecchio was desolated; if the cards were not found to bone to any of the comrades, it was clear that someone had taken them away and this someone could only be Blasco from Castiglione.

"The robber! He had the courage to give me the saddlebags after he emptied them! Brigant! Of course he gave them to his comrades... He stole from me!... he murdered me!..."

He really felt stolen, because with those cards in his power he was counting on throwing a big blow to the Duke of Motta who, of course, to come into possession and destroy those testimonies, would give half of his fortune. This wealth now escaped from the hands of the birro: the hope of finding them in the power of one of the comrades vanished: that of being able to take them back to the Beati Paoli, to whom they had certainly returned, or even to Blasco, was so far away that it seemed unrealizable.

"If that robber has it, he won't let it go. And then where is he? Where did he go to break his horns? As daring as he is, the bad guy won't let himself be seen... Let's see, he added a little bit later to give himself courage, - let's see, Matthew, to tidy up the ideas and find a way to put us on the road. Oh, that you may have lost your nose, your good nose?..."

He returned to Palermo defeated, no matter how much he promised to find Blasco or to know, at least, where those cards were and this goal made him forget the revenge he wanted to take on the Beati Paoli. Revenge would come later.

Entering the city from the Porta S. Agata, like the one closest to his home, passed before the house of Antonino Bucolaro, whom he had begun to follow and study, in order to draw it off.

"It is necessary," he thought "that this string. He seems to me to be one of the big shots and he needs to know a lot of things."

Antonino Bucolaro was not a court doctor, because he had never gone to the University of Catania, nor had he attended law courses in Jesuit schools, however he attended courtrooms, solicitor and sponsor of small causes of the poor people.

He did not know the Giustinian institutions, nor the siculous juror, but he was an expert in tricks and tricks and was a good friend of several judges, on whom he sometimes exercised an ascendant who amazed the most renowned lawyers.

It was certain to meet him, in the morning, at the Praetorian palace, in front of the Praetorian gate, or at the royal palace, in front of the ground-floor classrooms where the courts were gathered; and sometimes at the archbishop's palace, which also had its own court to judge certain crimes of its relevance. Because in those days there were more "holes" in Palermo, as they said, each of which boasted privileges and rights granted by the kings. In addition to the royal magistrate, who had power over all the kingdom, there was the "hole" of the Holy Office, who had the right not only to inquisite in matters of faith and customs, but also to judge his "forers," that is, those who as family members, for devotion or for offices, were enrolled or depended on that gloomy court; there was the Archbishop's forum, which had its special jurisdictions also as feudal lordship those who enjoyed the mere and mixed empire, in sign of which, on the door, held nailed that hilt, which is still there, source of legends; there was the Pretorian court, which had the right to judge the citizens of Palermo; and there was the Court of the Monarchy which had special jurisdiction over the regular things and the royal churches and in certain canonical cases.

Often the rights of one contradicted or bumped the rights of the other in conflict, which very often ended up stealing the culprit from justice, and which the same viceroyal authority did not compose. Sometimes they followed excommunications, interdicts, sieges and really funny episodes.

Antonino Bucolaro, therefore, used to hang all these holes, where there was always some client to be bald to which, if nothing else, there was to be caught a couple of chickens, or a half barrel of Partinico wine and where human miseries and injustices were revealed in all their nakedness. If not for those classrooms, you were sure to meet him at the tavern of the "Perciata," at the end of the piazza Ballarò: a tavern frequented by all these causaids of... low court, like the Bucolaro.

Matteo Lo Vecchio was quite known throughout the Albergheria district, to pretend to need the assistance and legal lights of Antonino Bucolaro and this time he could not resort to his abbot trick, which, he was sure, would attract the revenge of Antonino Bucolaro and, perhaps, would give it to the Beati Paoli. We had to deal with it in a different way. Which one?

He began to investigate if ever the Bucolaro had any old accounts to liquidate with justice, which was not difficult in those times, and meanwhile put on him a rigorous and assiduous surveillance, to see to seize him in pain, as a contravening of the bans. There was a ban on carrying weapons, there was the king's drama against the games...

But it seemed that Antonino Bucolaro was the model of subjects. Beyond the sword, he was never brought any more weapons: The sword was allowed him by his condition, for he was not a plebian, who was also forbidden to carry the sword; and of games, he was never seen with cards or with dice in his hand in a public place... Yet in the tavern of the Perciata was played with zecchinetta or at the beginning, in a secluded room that had an exit in the alley that takes its name from the famous Count Cagliostro; exit, so to speak, secret, that had given the name to the tavern.

Antonino Bucolaro sometimes also played: a game and no longer; but more often he stopped to watch the game, almost always coming to judge in disputes between the players.

One morning, when he had a great deal to do and was in a good mood, he entered the tavern to drink, as usual, his glass of wine and gave a little visit to the room. There were five or six men gathered around the table, and they seemed heated up in the game. Another, seated, holding on the left a deck of cards, with his right was puffing. On the table there were three cards, disappearing under the bets.

"To you, Don Antonino!" exclaimed who kept the bench, seeing him, Here is a horse... Aren't you betting? Woman, horse and king, you were aiming for what's... Ace... five... kings... five... two... seven... horse... Toh! you escaped her; you would have lost her."

Antonino Bucolaro put on one of the two cards and lost; he stung a second time and lost. He was indignant, and in spite he was infuriated in the game.

"You," he said, "wouldn't be good to win me in the first place..."

"I'll take your word for it..."

They started the game: Antonino Bucolaro won and the satisfaction was so great, that he seemed to have brought back an amazing victory on a field day. The opponent said to him:

"You owe me revenge..."

"Now not; it's late and I have to go to the Consistory Court for some information, but, if you like, tonight or tomorrow..."

"Go for tonight..."

Although they write, Antonino Bucolaro's opponent was a spy, who was the companion of Matteo Lo Vecchio; the birro knew of the new game set for the evening and took his measurements. He visited the head of the district of the Albergheria and warned him, but with an ambiguous and full of subtleties, which the excellent corporal perfectly understood.

"You, I mean," concluded Matteo Lo Vecchio, "know what you have to do. Strictness, inflexibleness, etc., etc."

"But... who?" asked the corporal, rubbing his thumb against the index finger and the middle finger and holding the other two fingers; an expressive gesture that meant "and the money?"

"Don't think about it. I'll get it."

"All right."

At one hour in the night, in fact, the round came into the tavern of Perciata, entering the room, to surprise the players; there was a little parapiglia. The caperonda shouted:

"I feel sorry for you... Real pragmatism counts clearly!..."

Players protested: Someone offered money, but the leader was inflexible against habits; to the cries and noise he entered, deus ex machina, Matteo Lo Vecchio, and with a new and almost amazed face, he asked what it was; pretended to hear the head of the ring; he looked at Antonino Bucolaro and the scribe, holding his lips and scorching his head as to say that the thing was serious, and pretended to meddle.

"Let's see a little;" he said, "it's about people in a way: they're from my neighborhood. It can be fixed... Let's throw out some water and don't talk about it anymore..."

"But the violation... The men of the patrol are entitled..."

"What right? I'll answer... Let it go: For once you can turn a blind eye. Don Antonino is not a man not to be able to disobey..."

The headman pretended to resist, finally gave in, promised not to take into account anything, threatened for the future, and went away. The scribe then said:

"If it wasn't for you, Don Matteo, that beast would take us to the prisons of the Court..."

"Oh! I didn't do it for you," exclaimed the birro "which is not the first time, but out of respect for Don Antonino who deserves even more than this..."

"Thank you and I will be grateful," said the Bucolaro, marveled at the courtesy of the birro, "and I hope you will accept me a glass."

He ordered wine, which they drank.

"You'll tell me what to give to the round..."

"At the patrol? But nothing, not even a grain!..."

"Damn it! They lost the fine that was theirs..."

"It doesn't matter... I'll think... Don't worry about it. What the hell are therefenders and violators, and you have to have a good nose. If they want, they can do it again."

He lowered his voice and in confidence added:

"The lords don't care about the royal drama..." and he made an indecent gesture. "If the boss wants to pay for the night, do the mail to the first baron or count it is, and look at his carriage and his clothes... You'll see what a violation... and what a tip to keep him quiet!... I know how things are!"

"In the meantime you have taken us off!" said Antonino Bucolaro, still amazed at the "part of a friend" made by the birro.

"And it saves us some onza!" added the scribe...

"I would have gladly made you pay; you must thank St. Anthony."

He was alluding to the Bucolaro. They came out of the tavern and took their leave, but as soon as they took a step, Matteo Lo Vecchio turned around and called:

"Don Antonino, excuse me: a word..."

The scribe then said:

"Do with your comfort: I have a deal and I'm leaving."

When they were alone, Matteo Lo Vecchio looked around suspiciously and said in a low voice:

"Don Antonino, be careful... there's someone who knows where you're going some nights..."

The Bucolaro made a face like an idiot.

"I don't understand..."

"If you need to pretend you don't understand, go ahead. But I'm telling you... I mean, for my office, I shouldn't warn you, they'd catch you off guard, you couldn't run away... I'll tell you..."

"But what is it?..."

"When I tell you two names, you'll understand: Girolamo Ammirata and Andrea Lo Bianco."

Antonino Bucolaro remained impassive, but in his eyes flashed a flash that did not escape the birro.

"I don't know them," he said coldly.

"It may be, but there are those who have seen you with them in a certain tavern at the crossroads of Brancaccio... In short, I warned you; do what you believe. I could have kept quiet, because finally, with my warning, I prevent justice from taking its course... But we're from the neighborhood, and I've always had respect for you. You realize I didn't tell you anything... but if you want to listen to me... don't go out at night..."

"At night, me? But at night I sleep..."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I, you see it well, I don't ask you what you do and where you go... All I'm saying is: Look at you. I'd hate to have to arrest you... Good night!"

He left him hesitant and shaken. Antonino Bucolaro did not know if he should believe the sincerity of the birro; he certainly confessed that Matteo Lo Vecchio had to know more than he said, and that he could use silence, having no obligation towards him. And then, even if he had, when has a birro ever felt obligations of gratitude or respect for anyone? Was she cunning to pull some secrets out of his mouth? Matteo Lo Vecchio was capable of anything.

"I will be on guard, - he thought - but also against you; you are not for nothing the emperor of the cops!..."

So he thought, but meanwhile the suspicion, the curiosity, the interest had entered the soul of Antonino Bucolaro, and for a very natural impulse he felt from that time on pushed towards the birro, a bit to try to find something, a bit to keep an eye on it. Matteo Lo Vecchio saw, laughed under his nose, and when he was alone, he would give himself a handshake and say:

"All right! All right, dear Don Antonino, I'll make you happy."

One morning, at last, Matthew quickly said to him:

"If you have anything to hide or make disappear, do it now... Later the algozini will come to search your house. I knew it now, and I rushed to warn you."

"Thank you, thank you!..." answered Antonino Bucolaro, moved, "but I have nothing to hide..."

Nevertheless he ran home; after an hour an algozino with some birri went and searched and put the house over him; he thought:

"Matthew the Old Man was right! Absolutely, you have to keep him friend, because deep down he's a good man who says it!... At least as far as I'm concerned."

A few days later, the birro stopped him at night by a patrol, set up with an end of strategy. He was sure that the Bucolaro had firearms against the ban and that they would take him in pain. That's how it happened. Antonino Bucolaro tried to bribe the boss to get released: ordinary and usual thing; but this time the caperonda held on. Luckily, as they crossed the new road to lead the culprit to the prisons of the Praetorius, they met Matteo Lo Vecchio. Antonino Bucolaro, enlightened by a sudden hope, called him:

"Don Matteo!"

The birro, who pretended not to have noticed before, turned suddenly, simulating a certain amazement:

"Don Antonino? You? What happened?..."

He informed himself, intruded, spoke in the ear of the head of the ring, had his weapons delivered, and everything ended with a good glass of wine, drunk fraternally, in a tavern in the alley of the Moors, which opened the door already closed for the late hour under the voice of Matteo Lo Vecchio.

When they came out of the tavern, before separating, Matteo Lo Vecchio whispered in Antonino Bucolaro's ear:

"Beware, I've already told you. You have strong suspicions over you, and you're being watched and watched... And I can't always intervene..."

This other test of friendship ended with the breaking of the last doubts; between Matthew the Elder and Antoninus the Bucolaro began a certain friendly correspondence, which apparently had no intimacy at the birro's will, which said:

"Don Antonino, you know if I love you, but don't show that we are good friends, because they would suspect you... You know, my profession... And your friends don't see me with a good eye..."

"What friends are you talking about?..."

"Eh, do you think I'm a fool?... Let it go: rather, beware of it."

Antonino Bucolaro actually looked at himself from justice and became suspicious, but he did not look at the Beati Paoli, to whom he had given him in the eye to have seen him sometimes with Matteo Lo Vecchio, and more to know him out of some embarrassment for the intervention of the birro. They began to guard him, without him knowing it, and to treat him with a certain reverberation.

Don Girolamo Admirata, to whom, as one of the leaders, came those notizie, returned immediately to the first suspect conceived for the disappearance of the famous documents. Andrea took part in that suspicion: Coriolano, with whom he communicated only Don Girolamo under the abbey of the Park, was impressed. He delighted to entrust to some of the most skilled brothers, not known as Beato Paolo of Antoninus Bucolaro, the task of overseeing him and of ascertaining whether he had flew those documents and to whom he had delivered them.

Thus, on two opposite roads, Antonino Bucolaro was the subject of investigation and espionage. Matteo Lo Vecchio was trying to find out if the documents had returned to the possession of the Beati Paoli; Instead, they wanted to make sure of the road taken from the documents themselves, and if their partner was a traitor. Antonino Bucolaro, without knowing any of this, fell gradually into the pania.

One morning Matteo Lo Vecchio, passing through the house of Antonino Bucolaro, saw on the door a large crowd of people; he approached to find out and learned that there were algozini to foreclose the stuff of the Bucolaro, who had not paid a census that weighed on his house. Then he entered, taking advantage of that opportunity, to render him some other service and could persuade his colleagues to suspend the acts because a way of accommodation would be found.

The Bucolaro was saddened by shame and stood in a song. Something like that never happened to him! A series of economic disasters had happened to him, which had forced him to miss all his commitments, and also, why deny it? to suffer poverty. Now that invasion of algozini seemed to him to be a public declaration of misery, which made him blush.

"Come on, soul!" said Matteo Lo Vecchio. "These things can happen to a baron of the kingdom!"

And after a little silence, he murmured, like talking to himself:

"And yet wealth is within reach!... I just want to!..."

Antonino Bucolaro collected himself and looked at Matteo Lo Vecchio, but he didn't say anything anymore and for that time the speech ended there: But those words penetrated the brain and began to suck: How was wealth within reach of his hand? And what was he supposed to want? He thought about it all day. The next morning the birro arranged for him to meet; he asked him how things were going, he sighed with regret and made a distant allusion to that wealth that was easy to buy. Antonino Bucolaro was engulfed by curiosity, and at the same time he felt the desire grow. He said:

"Eh! If I knew how to become rich, I wouldn't be so dim as to refuse!..."

But for that time the birro didn't say anything.

A few more days later, Matteo Lo Vecchio went to the tavern of Perciata and waited for Antonino Bucolaro.

"I thought about you, he said, "and I'd like to talk to you..."

"No, this doesn't seem like the right place... I'll be waiting for you in an hour at the Annunziata church in Porta Montalto... In the cloister we can speak more freely."

When they found themselves under the porch surrounding the little garden of the Annunziata, Matteo Lo Vecchio said:

"Don Antonino, I know everything..."

"What?"

"I know everything the Beati Paoli have collected against the Duke of Motta..."

Antonino Bucolaro went and could not dominate a movement of amazement and fear. He tried to pretend:

"I don't understand what you're talking about..."

"Fingering with me is a waste of time; you know the proverb that says: between Greeks and Greeks is not sold albegio; I know what Giuseppico, Peppa la Sarda, Andrea Lo Bianco and Don Girolamo have deposed, and I know who Emanuele is, the believed nephew of Don Girolamo.... I also know the part you guys had... And if you want more, I'll tell you that I also know that the documents collected by the company or tribunal, as you want to call it, were flying..."

Antonino Bucolaro became white, red, yellow; he looked at the birro with an ever increasing amazement and did not know what to answer, because he did not understand, nor did he know how Matteo Lo Vecchio was aware of everything. The birro continued:

"As you can see, I have so much evidence in my hand that I can, now or later, arrest and send you to the gallows, like Zi' Rosario and the sacristan of St. Matthew. I didn't do it because I had a lot of sympathy for you, and I won't... But in exchange for my silence and generosity towards you, I ask you to associate with me..."

Antonino Bucolaro made a gesture of indignation.

"Oh, don't be offended so early;" the birro continued, "I do not propose that you be a spy and denounce your companions, whom I know. Only I offer you to become rich; we will become rich... behind the Duke of Motta... I'll explain. You have to take those cards and sell them to the duke, who will pay them with half a fortune... you can imagine it!..."

Antonino Bucolaro had become murky with indignation and repressed anger.

"Don Matteo," he replied, "if I didn't have any obligation to you, I wouldn't let you out of this convent... Do you dare to propose to me, to Nino Bucolaro, such a thing?..."

"Toh! and that I have invited you to come to the captain of justice, to denounce your companions?..."

"I don't have any comrades and I don't know who you want to talk about..."

The birro made a gesture of spite.

"Give me the pleasure of leaving these fictions!..."

"And if I had any, do you think I am capable of treason?..."

"Treason? Excuse me. Where is the betrayal?... This is all about pieces of paper... What these cards contain in the bottom you know, Don Girolamo knows, Andrea Lo Bianco knows, others will know and certainly we cannot erase it from their heads... Having these cards or not is one; what they want to do, no one can prevent it... but with those pieces of paper We can get rich. Do you understand that word? Enrich! To have money, to have servants, to have carriages, to be many Dukes of Motta, to have this gentleman in your hands... What are you looking for more?... Other than fear of the algozini who come to get your stuff and throw you in the middle of the street!..."

Antonino Bucolaro kept quiet: That wealth that flashed before his eyes made his head spin; repeating the reasoning of the birro it was fitting that he didn't say something weird. In fact, the Beati Paoli could "work" against the Duke even without cards. Besides, weren't they stolen? They owned them more, perhaps?...

A great sorrow shook his chest; yet he tried to resist:

"Let's end it with these speeches!..."

"As you wish. But I wanted you to understand that I didn't want you to commit a betrayal. Do you realize that the company no longer owns those cards... What scruples would you use if you found them?... Answer..."

Of course, what scrupulousness could he have had? But where were the cards? Who had them?... I wish he could find them!...

"Do you see, then, that I am right? Come on, Don Antonino, let's talk serious! Some scruples are silly, I'm not a man like you..."

"But who has those cards?" said Antonino.

"How, who has them?..."

"You know they were stolen... you said so..."

"Yes, I know, as you know... But you didn't film them?"

"No, no."

"And then I know who has them: or rather I suppose so."

"You?"

"I do, yes. You see, I know more than you guys do."

"Do you know who has them?"

"He's got one of your..."

"One of our own?"

"Yes... But since you refuse the business that I propose to you, it's useless to tell you the name of it..."

Antonino Bucolaro was silent; dragged, evoked by the birro had responded so that he implicitly confessed as soon as he had denied it, and he saw it now, too late for repentance of having denied, repented of letting himself be caught, regretted everything, but above all of not knowing who possessed those documents. Matteo Lo Vecchio, who studied him, sighed and concluded:

"Forgive me the trouble; realize that we haven't met. I greet you, I go up to visit the guardian father, so we will go out separately... Goodbye..."

He took a few steps to the ladder, to leave. Antonino Bucolaro shook: something went into his brain quickly.

"Don Matteo," he said, "wait a while, don't leave so soon... Damn it... Come here, let's argue."