Free The Prince by Vito Bruschini

morning, Doctor, I’m Dr. Bizzarri,” he introduced himself moments later, extending his hand with a smile. Ragusa didn’t for a moment suspect the reason for that visit. Bizzarri realized his discomfort and came to his aid.
    â€œDidn’t you receive the letter from the provincial administrator?”
    â€œIn fact, I didn’t receive any letter,” Ragusa replied, beginning to understand yet still unwilling to accept the evidence.
    â€œI know it was sent to you a month ago.”
    Ragusa glanced at his daughter, but she shook her head to confirm that no letter had come from the administration.
    Dr. Bizzarri was crestfallen. “The usual bureaucratic slipup. You didn’t receive any letter. Wonderful, what a sense of timing.”
    â€œHave you come to replace me?” Ragusa finally asked.
    â€œExactly. Only they were supposed to inform you ahead of time and give you a chance to make plans.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to his colleague. “Here is my letter of appointment. Note when it was sent to me: on that same date, they should have sent you a letter about your new destination. They are truly bungling incompetents.”
    Bizzarri went to a chair and sat down, setting his bag on the floor. Ragusa, meanwhile, quickly read the letter that assigned his medical post to Bizzarri. When he had finished, he passed it on to Ester, who hurriedly scanned the words in silence.
    â€œAfter twenty years . . .”
    â€œUnfortunately, it’s the law. You’re a Jew, aren’t you?”
    But Ragusa couldn’t hear him, because he was clinging tightly to his daughter Ester in a despairing embrace. Finally, the girl said, “Come on, Papa. Let’s go home. You’ll see, we’ll be all right.”
    They left the medical office arm in arm and headed home to break the sad news to Annachiara.

Chapter 8
    â€“ 1939 –
    T hat year too, as was the custom, Ciccio Vinciguerra had been invited by Prince Ferdinando Licata to the ceremony of the Cento Santi : the One Hundred Saints. It was like a reminder each November 1 that his impoverished condition had not changed. The destitute farm worker had no family. No one knew his origins, no one knew where he had come from, but one day he had appeared in Salemi begging for a few days’ work as a field hand. Thanks to Prince Licata, he began working and became well liked by the town’s residents. Ciccio Vinciguerra spoke very little and, when questioned, responded in monosyllables. That’s why everyone in town had nicknamed him U pisci , because he was mute as a fish. Later on, however, his submissive character, his untiring strength, his discretion, and his skill with weapons won him the trust of Rosario Losurdo, who, with the blessing of Prince Licata himself, had enlisted him among his campieri , his army of private guards.
    As in previous years, Ciccio Vinciguerra arrived at the service door of the Licata palace and walked down the long corridor leading to the large downstairs bathroom. There he met the other “hundred saints” who, like him, had been summoned to the celebration of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of the prince’s ancestral family.
    After all one hundred of the town’s poor had washed their feet in preparation, they were led, barefoot, to the Hall of Globes, which was on the main floor of the palazzo. Ciccio Vinciguerra, herded along with the other peasants, walked through the sumptuous corridors with his face upturned, admiring the designs and colors of the ceiling frescoes commemorating the triumph of Jupiter, driving a chariot.
    They entered the hall and took their places along the walls, preparing to wait patiently for the arrival of their host and his sister.
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    At that moment, Ferdinando Licata was speaking with Manfredi, Rosario Losurdo’s most trusted campiere, who had recently returned from Ethiopia.
    Now