Free The Secret of Santa Vittoria by Robert Crichton Page B

Angela preparing food for him with her own hands; Angela meeting him by error and design and chance in all those personal and private ways that can only occur when two people are alone in a house.
    â€œI don’t know,” Fabio said. He could barely bring himself to talk.
    â€œEverything will be upset in Montefalcone. You said the Germans were taking over the town.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen I can put you down,” Bombolini said. He took out a soiled card from his pocket and at the bottom added Fabio’s name to the list of names. The card was old and the names on it were old and only Fabio’s looked freshly placed on the card, and he realized with a start almost as strong as the one he had felt before that this man, whom they called the Sicilian boob, the least likely man in all of Santa Vittoria to ever become a leader, had for months and perhaps years been walking about with a fully formed government in his pocket.
    Bombolini closed the shutters and it was dark in the room once more.
    â€œYou should sleep,” he said. “But before you do I want you to think about this so you can think about it while you sleep. The Master says it is necessary to rule by fear or rule by love. One way or the other. I want you to think about the course I should follow.”
    When Fabio awoke the sun was fully up and the old blankets were hot against his skin. He thought about the night, the wine, the dancing—which he hadn’t done, although he had looked at others dance with her—the strange star in the sky, an omen for good or evil, and about the new thing, Angela and himself in this house and about something Bombolini had asked him to think about and which he had forgotten.
    He lay on the floor and became conscious of a strange sound coming from the piazza, a tinkling of glass, as if a river of glass were running across the piazza stones. When he looked out of the window he could see a group of old men and women with long-handled brush brooms sweeping the streets and the piazzas, sweeping up the broken glass of the night before. Such a thing had never happened before in Santa Vittoria; God’s winds swept and God’s rare rains washed. He was still watching the work with admiration when Bombolini came into the room, clean now and refreshed, although he could not have slept.
    â€œThe Public Works Corps,” he said. “I stole the idea from the Fascists.”
    â€œBut how do you pay them?”
    Bombolini smiled broadly and handed Fabio a square piece of paper.
    3  THREE  3
    SANTA VITTORIA LIRE
    This paper redeemable for
    legal currency at the
    end of the emergency
    Italo Bombolini
    Mayor
    The Free City of Santa Vittoria
    â€œDo you really intend to honor it?” Fabio asked. Bombolini was shocked by the suggestion.
    â€œYou can fool the people about many things, but only a fool would be foolish enough to fool the people about money.”
    â€œThe Master,” Fabio said. “I’m getting to recognize him.”
    It was clear that the mayor was very flattered. “In truth, Fabio, it was myself,” he said.
    Fabio was impressed. “You should write those down,” he said.
    â€œIn truth, Fabio, I don’t write that well. If someone else could write them down…”
    It was in this manner that The Discourses of Italo Bombolini came into being. There are still several copies in Fabio’s hand somewhere in the city.
    â€œThe people are saying we were born under a lucky star. A good omen, a good sign. I hope they are right.”
    â€œI hope they are right,” Fabio said. But all he could think about was when Angela would come with some broth or pasta. Bombolini leaned down toward him.
    â€œDo you remember I asked you to think about whether I should rule by fear or rule by love?”
    Fabio told him that he did, but that he had had no thoughts.
    â€œWell rest your brain then, Fabio,” Bombolini said, “because I