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Table of Contents Gold Fever Don Camillo’s Revenge Don Camillo in Disguise Operation Rondella A Forced Rest The Space Cell Politics on the Road Christ’s Secret Agent The Rains Came to Stay Three Stalks of Wheat The Cell Goes to Confession In the Jaws of Hell Comrade Nadia’s Coffee The Next-to-Last Wave A Story That Has No End A Note from the Author Gold Fever The news exploded like a bomb around Monday noon, upon the arrival of the newspapers. Someone in the village had won ten million liras in the national soccer sweepstakes. The papers gave the name of the winner as Pepito Sbezzeguti, but no one in the town was known under such an exotic name. The bet collector, besieged by a curious mob, threw out his arms hopelessly. 'I sold any number of tickets to fellows from out of town at the market on Saturday,' he said. 'It must be one of them. Ten million liras! He's bound to show up.' But no one showed up, and the village continued to fret, because they felt sure there was something fishy about the name. Sbezzeguti was plausible, someone of that name might have come to the market. But Pepito was going a little too far. Nobody who dealt in wheat, corn, hay, livestock and Parmesan cheese would be called Pepito. 'It's a phony name, if you ask me,' said the proprietor of the Molinetto.'And someone using a false name isn't likely to be a stranger. It must be a villager who doesn't want it known that he played the sweeps. Maybe he doesn't want his debtors to know, or his wife.' The argument was logical enough. The villagers dropped the theory of the winner being an outsider and concentrated upon their fellow townsmen. They concentrated as intently as if they were trying to identify a common thief rather than the winner of a iegitimate pool. Don Camillo followed the affair less passionately but with a certain amount of interest. And because he felt that Christ did not altogether approve of his leanings towards the trade of a detective he offered Him an explanation. 'Lord, it's not a matter of idle curiosity; I'm doing my duty. A man who has received such a favour from Divine Providence has no right to hide it.' 'Don Camillo,' replied Christ,'Divine Providence may take an interest in the soccer sweepstakes, although personally I doubt it, but surely not in all the publicity about the winnings. The fact of the matter is all that counts and it's quite adequately known. Someone has won a considerable sum of money, but why must you beat out your brains to discover his identity? Your business is to look after those who are less fortunate.' But Don Camillo couldn't rid himself of his curiosity. The mystery of Pepito continued to occupy his mind until finally a great light dawned upon him. It was all he could do not to ring the church bells in exultation, and quite beyond his powers to resist putting on his cloak and going for a walk in the village. Tn time he arrived at the workshop of Peppone, mayor and blacksmith. Don Camillo stuck his head through the door and greeted his enemy. 'Good morning, Comrade Pepito!' Peppone stopped hammering and stared at the priest in dismay. 'What do you mean, Father?' 'Nothing at all. Pepito's a diminutive of Peppone, after all, and by some strange chance Sbezzeguti is an imperfect anagram of Giuseppe Bottazzi.' Peppone resumed his hammering. Don Camillo shook his head. 'What a shame that you're not the Pepito who won the ten millions.' 'A shame, yes. In that case I'd be able to offer you two or three millions to go back home.' 'Don't worry, Peppone. I do favours for nothing' said Don Camillo, going away. Two hours later the whole village knew what is meant by an anagram, and in every house Pepito Sbezzeguti was vivisected to find out if Comrade Giuseppe Bottazzi was lurking inside. That same evening the Reds' general staff held a special meeting at the People's Palace. 'Chief,' said Smilzo,'the reactionaries have gone back to their old tactics of smearing a good name. The whole village is in an uproar. They say you won the ten millions. There's no time to be lost; you must nail down their slander.' Peppone threw out his arms. 'To say a fellow has won ten millions in the soccer sweep stake isn't slander. Slander means accusing someone of having done something dishonest, and the sweepstakes are quite on the level.' 'Chief, in politics to accuse someone of a good deed is a smear. And an accusation that hurts the Party is definitely slanderous.' 'People are laughing behind our backs,' put in Brusco. 'We've got to shut them up.' 'We must print a poster!' Bigio exclaimed.'We must come up with a statement that makes everything clear.' Peppone shrugged his shoulders. 'We'll put our minds to it tomorrow,' he said. Whereupon Smilzo pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. 'We've something ready, Chief, in order to save you the trouble. If you approve we'll print it right away and paste up the posters tomorrow morning.' And he proceeded to read aloud: The undersigned, Giuseppe Bottazzi, declares that he has no connexion with the Pepito Sbezzeguti who won ten million liras in the soccer sweepstakes. It is useless for the reactionaries to accuse him of being a millionaire. All it proves is that they are a gang of neo-Fascists. Giuseppe Bottazzi. Peppone shook his head. 'It's all right,' he said, 'but until I see something in print I'm not going to rush into print myself with an answer.' But Smilzo stuck to his argument. 'Why wait to shoot until someone has shot at you? Good strategy calls for beating the opponent to the draw.' 'Good strategy calls for a kick in the pants to anyone who sticks his nose into my private affairs. I can defend myself without help.' Smilzo shrugged his shoulders. 'If you take it like that, there's nothing more to say.' 'That's how I do take it!' shouted Peppone, bringing his fist down on the table.'Every man for himself, and the Party for the lot of us!' The general staff went away grumbling. 'To let himself be accused of having won ten million is a sign of weakness,' observed Smilzo. 'And besides, there's the complication of the anagram.' 'Let's hope for the best,' sighed Bigio. Soon enough the rumour appeared in print. The landowner's paper published an insert that said: 'Scratch a Peppone and you'll find a Pepito,' and everyone in the village found this exceedingly clever and funny. The general staff held another meeting in the People's Palace and declared unanimously that something had to be done. 'Very good,' said Peppone.'Go ahead and print the poster and paste it up.' Smilzo made a bee-line for the printer's. Little more than an hour later the printer, Barchini, brought Don Camillo a copy of the proofs. 'This is bad business for the newspaper,' said Don Camillo sadly.'If Peppone really did win the money I don't think he would put out such a statement. That is, unless he's already gone to the city to collect it or sent someone else to collect it for him.' 'He hasn't made a move,' Barchini assured him.'Everyone in the village is on the alert.' It was late, and Don Camilio went to bed. But at three o'clock in the morning he was awakened by the news of a visit from Peppone. Peppone sneaked in from the garden, and when he was in the hall he peered out anxiously through the halfclosed door. 'Here's hoping no one has seen me,' he said.'I feel as if I were being followed.' Don Camillo glanced at him anxiously. 'You haven't gone crazy, have you?' he asked. 'No, no fear of that.' Peppone sat down and wiped the perspiration from his brow. 'Am I talking to the parish priest or to the village gossip?' 'That depends on wjlat you came to say.' 'I came to see the priest.' 'The priest is listening,' said Don Camillo gravely. Peppone twirled his hat between his fingers and then confessed: 'Father, I told a big lie. I am Pepito Sbezzeguti.' For a moment Don Camillo was speechless. 'So you did win the millions, did you?' he said when he had recovered his aplomb.'Why didn't you say so?' 'I'm not saying so. I was speaking to you as a priest, and you should have no concern with anything but the fact that I told a lie.' But Don Camillo was concerned with the ten millions. He shot a withering look at Peppone and moved to the attack. 'Shame on you! A proletarian, a Party member winning ten million liras in a soccer sweepstake! Leave such shenanigans to the bourgeoisie! Communists earn their living by the sweat of their brow.' 'I'm in no mood for joking,' gasped Peppone. 'Is it a crime to place a bet in the soccer sweepstake?' 'It's no joke,' said Don Camillo.'I didn't say it was a crime, I said that a good Communist wouldn't do it.' 'Nonsense! Everyone does.' 'That's very bad. And all the worse for you because you're a leader of the class struggle.