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Don Camillo was not a priest for very long when he was called to the bishop for the first time. Only a few weeks ago, just after Don Camillo’s ordination, the abbot of his convent had told him quite clearly that he should not under any circumstances cause trouble with the young communists again. It was something that the old abbot had had to chastise him about several times in his time as a student.
Don Camillo promised the abbot to behave and tried really hard to stay away from the political quarters by occupying himself with gardening, writing letters to his family, friends and his old parish priest, and spending hours of bible study with his friend Don Gabriele.
Of all the students of their year, Don Camillo and Don Gabrielle were the starkest opposites – both in body and mind – to be found in the convent, yet they were close friends. Where Don Camillo was strong and broad, hot-headed, strong-willed, rash and of the opinion that every person had only so many cheeks to turn, Don Gabriele was thin and wiry, calm, level-headed, peace-loving and very much convinced that agreement could be found with everyone if one just talked enough. He did not understand how Don Camillo would manage to get into trouble every other week, how he could not pass by a political conversation without giving his own opinion or how he thought rules were more like a vague guideline. They had endless discussions about this, neither understanding the other, but it never turned into a shouting match for Don Gabriele refused to raise his voice and would just excuse himself from the discussion for a few minutes whenever Don Camillo became too fired up and so, it kept them occupied and Don Camillo out of trouble.
“Did you hear?”, Don Gabriele asked just last week while they were working in the garden. He pushed his straw hat back and smiled at Don Camillo “They are considering sending the two of us north together. There’s a village there that will get a new parish soon.”
“Are you sure?”, Don Camillo answered as he straightened up as well “Last I heard they wanted to send me to a parish far down south from here, to an old frail priest who could need a young strong man like me to help him around the church and in his gardens.”
Don Gabriele shrugged.
“They will try to find something for you where there’s no boxing arena.”
Don Camillo paled.
“You didn’t tell them, did you?”, he asked.
Don Gabriele smiled and shook his head.
“I would not betray what you have confessed to me.”
Now that Don Camillo was sitting in the front room to the bishop’s office, he remembered the moment. Would the bishop decide where to send him? Did this… incident as the abbot liked to call Don Camillo’s political adventures, change anything about the decision? Would he have to stay behind in the convent and wait another year for his own parish as punishment?
Sighing, Don Camillo returned to his bible that he had opened on his lap, but he could not concentrate on the words. He had never met the bishop and he did not know what to expect of him. Sure, he knew that he was an middle-aged and already holy man, but he never heard of anyone being sent to the bishop to receive chastisement. Right now, he almost wished to have to face the abbot again and explain himself to him. With the old man he knew at least what he had to expect.
“Don Camillo”, a voice suddenly called and he almost let his bible slip from his grip as he stood quickly.
“Yes”, he answered and followed the bishop’s secretary into the office. Don Camillo looked around in awe; the room was huge. The windows reached from the top all the way to the floor, stucco and biblical scenes decorated the ceiling and the corners, a huge oil painting of the late bishop hung on one wall and dark and heavy furniture was placed all around. In a far corner, a man of maybe forty to fifty year sat at a huge and heavily decorated oak table, writing something. When Don Camillo entered, he looked up and folded his hands in front of his stomach.
Don Camillo felt his gaze resting heavily on him and pulled off his hat to drop to a knee.
“Your excellency”, he greeted obediently.
“Rise and sit my son”, the bishop answered. His voice gave nothing away and for a moment Don Camillo wondered if he even knew why this young priest was sent to him. He stood quickly and sat on the chair opposite of the bishop, but did not dare look at him.
The silence stretched.
“Well, do you want to tell me why you are here, Don Camillo ?”, the bishop asked, not unkindly. Don Camillo swallowed.
“I-I did wrong, your excellency”, he started “Two days ago, I was involved in a heated political discussion that I was not supposed to partake in.”
“Discussion?”, the bishop asked in a voice which made it clear that he knew very well that it was no discussion.
“A brawl”, Don Camillo corrected himself. The bishop knew very well what had happened, he just wanted Don Camillo to repeat it to him. Then again, of course the bishop knew, it shouldn’t surprise him. His abbot wouldn’t have sent him to the bishop without letting the holy man know why and what for.
There was a moment of silence as the bishop leaned forward to have a better look at him. Don Camillo continued to stare at his own boots, not daring to meet his gaze.
“I know that this is one of many times that you have done this, Don Camillo. While you were a student, the abbot of your convent was willing to let it go with but a light punishment”, the bishop said “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing really, your excellency”, Don Camillo mumbled “What will be my punishment?”
“First, I wish to know what happened in the brawl. Who started it? And what did you do? I know that several men were sent to the hospital.”
“I only defended myself, your excellency!”, Don Camillo answered quickly, “and I know nothing of the injured men, I was too occupied with keeping a rather mean fellow off of me.”
It was only the partial truth, because Don Camillo knew very well what had happened to the men who were sent to the hospital; he beat them up after all. And the mean fellow he mentioned was one of them. In fact, he was sure he had broken the man’s arm after he had pulled a knife on him, a very rude thing in Don Camillo’s opinion, to show up to a fist fight with a knife.
“Then who started it?”, the bishop asked again. Don Camillo shrugged and felt his cheeks heat up.
“I don’t really know. One moment I was in a deep discussion with one of the men, the next, the brawl was in full swing.”
“And so you happily joined.”
“I only defended myself!”, Don Camillo exclaimed. The bishop hummed and looked almost amused.
“You lie to your superior, my son?”, he asked lowly. Don Camillo felt his heart skip a beat.
“I-I would never!”, he whispered.
“And yet you did”, the bishop insisted “I know that you were the one to throw the first punch. My secretary was present at the incident and he told me that you struck down two men with as much as a single punch.”
Don Camillo swallowed thickly.
“I shouldn’t have done it, your excellency”, he mumbled “I see it now and I wish to repent. Whatever your excellency sees fit as punishment, I shall accept.”
There was a long pause this time and so Don Camillo peered up at the bishop who studied him intently.
“Your hands are shaking, my son”, he said “What are you afraid of?”
Don Camillo looked down in surprise at his own hands folded tightly in his lap. The bishop was right, his hands were shaking ever so slightly, yet strong enough to be noticed from the other side of the big desk.
“I am afraid that I will not be allowed to my own parish, your excellency”, Don Camillo answered truthfully “or that my priesthood might be removed.”
The bishop nodded and stood to walk around the desk. When he reached Don Camillo, he lay a hand on his shoulder.
“No such thing, my son”, he said “I want you to understand what you did and work to better yourself that you may be of services to the believers.”
Don Camillo stared up at him with round eyes, not believing his luck.
“No punishment?”, he asked. The bishop smiled.
“That is not what I said. I said better yourself. And seeing you, this is a harder lesson for you than bearing a night in the cellar.”
And the bishop should be right about this for the rest of his life.