The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [116]
“I’ve watched you for years and waited long for this day. Now that it has arrived, you fulfill every expectation.”
Guiliano said, “I am flattered.” He measured his next words, knowing what was expected of him. “I have always hoped we would be friends.”
Don Croce nodded and proceeded to explain the agreement that he had come to with Minister Trezza. That if Guiliano helped “educate” the populace of Sicily to vote properly in the next elections, then a way would be found for a pardon. Guiliano could return to his family as an ordinary citizen and no longer be a bandit. As evidence of the reality of this agreement, Minister Trezza had given the plans for the fight against Guiliano to the Don. The Don raised a hand in the air to emphasize his next point. “If you agree, these plans will be vetoed by the Minister. There would be no army expedition or extra thousand carabinieri sent to Sicily.”
Don Croce saw that Guiliano was listening attentively but did not seem surprised by all this. He went on. “Everyone in Sicily knows your concern for the poor. One might think that you would support the leftist parties. But I know of your belief in God, you are after all a Sicilian. And who does not know of your devotion to your mother? Do you really want Communists running Italy? What would happen to the Church? What would happen to the family? The young men of Italy and Sicily who fought in the war are infected by foreign beliefs, political doctrines that have no place in Sicily. Sicilians can find their own way to a better fate. And do you really want an all-powerful state that would brook no rebelliousness from its citizens? A left-wing government would surely mount a major campaign against both of us, for are we not the true rulers of Sicily? If the leftist parties win the next election, the day might come when there are Russians in the villages of Sicily deciding who might go to church. Our children would be made to go to schools that would teach them that the state comes before the sacred mother and father. What is worth that? No. Now is the time for every true Sicilian to defend his family and his honor against the state.”
There was an unexpected interruption. Pisciotta was still leaning against the wall of the archway. He said sardonically, “Maybe the Russians will give us our pardon.”
A cold wind blew through the Don’s mind. But he in no way showed the anger he felt at this insolent mustachioed little dandy. He studied the man. Why had he called attention to himself at this moment? Why had he wanted the Don to notice him? Don Croce wondered if this man might be put to some use. With his unerring instinct he smelled a rottenness in this most trusted lieutenant of Guiliano. Perhaps it was the lung disease, perhaps the cynicism of mind. Pisciotta was a man who could never trust anyone completely and was therefore a man who by definition could not be trusted by anyone completely. Don Croce turned all this over before he spoke to answer.
“When has a foreign nation ever helped Sicily?” he asked. “When has a foreigner ever given justice to a Sicilian? Young men like yourself,” he said directly to Pisciotta, “are our only hope. Cunning and brave and a pride in honor. For a thousand years such men have joined the Friends of the Friends to fight against oppressors, to seek the justice that Turi Guiliano