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The whole village remembered the incident in shock when Beppo had been found laying out in the rain unconscious and bleeding out on the street. Somehow, Don Camillo had gotten wind of it very soon and had been there when they had picked the child up and laid him on a cart to bring him to the doctor as quickly as possible. Peppone had been there as well, obviously, staring at the puddle where rain water, mud and his son’s blood mixed to an ugly red-brownish thing. His eyes were big and round, filled with disbelieve, shock and a deep sadness that had Don Camillo instinctively follow him to the doctor’s office, where they sat down quietly and waited. And waited. And waited.
At one point, the doctor came out for about two minutes to get himself a glass of water and to explain in a few, pressed words what had happened to the child. Peppone stared in shock, unable to comprehend the cruelty. Don Camillo felt no better about it. How could the children feel so much hate for each other, how could they disregard their respect for another life like this? Rage bubbled up inside of him like molten steel, burning his insides and making it hard to think clearly. He wanted nothing more than to find who was responsible for this and make them look at the boy laying on the doctor’s table, pale, motionless, split open like a coconut, and quite probably already at death’s door.
“Don Camillo”, Peppone mumbled at one point in a voice so broken that the priest looked at him in an instant. His eyes were red-rimmed although he had not cried yet, and they were intense in a way Don Camillo hadn’t seen in years. It scared him to see this light in Peppone’s eyes, the light of the trenches.
“Go”, Peppone whispered “go and tell Maria what happened. Tell her to prepare a bed. He’ll need it, if he survives this or-”
Here his voice broke off and a sob ripped out of his chest. The fist that came up against the mouth to stifle it wasn’t fast enough, but Don Camillo couldn’t care less. Who would he be to blame a father for crying over his son? One that was coming closer with every second to be buried as a child?
Without a thought, he scooted closer to Peppone and pulled him into a decidedly awkward but no less sincere hug. He let him press his face into his cloak, let him wrap his arms around his waist as if he were a lifeline and let him sob violently into his chest.
For how long they sat like this Don Camillo didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that slowly Peppone calmed down again, his sobs subsided and his tears ran dry. When he finally leaned back and let go of Don Camillo he looked exhausted and tired, but the pain that had been brightly shining in his eyes ever since the doctor had told him about his son’s fractured skull had dulled down a bit and Don Camillo was no longer reminded of the shell shocked ghost light in many soldiers’ eyes who only returned from the war physically.
“Go and tell Maria”, Peppone whispered again in a rough voice, but Don Camillo didn’t want to leave him here like this. Only when Peppone promised him to stay exactly here and let Don Camillo return as soon as possible did the priest dare to leave him alone.
Maria was shocked to hear the news. She sank down into a chair, mouth slightly agape as if to let out a sound that never came. Instead, she shook herself, wiped at her eyes, pulled herself together and stood. Quickly she called all her children and explained to them what had happened and that they should help her prepare a bed for their brother.
What a strength she had, Don Camillo thought, to pull herself together like this, to still function and not break down crying. It was moments like there that reminded him that there were women in this world stronger than any man could be, and Maria Bottazzi was one of them.
“Don Camillo, what does fractured skull mean?”, Marco suddenly asked the priest. Don Camillo looked down at him.
“It means that your brother could be dying. That’s why you have to be a nice boy and help your mother as much as you can, alright?”
Marco nodded, hugged him around his legs shortly and then ran off after his siblings to their newly assigned tasks.
“You should go back to Peppone, Reverend”, Maria spoke “It’d be better not to leave him alone like this.”
Don Camillo looked at her in surprise.
“Wouldn’t he want you around?”, he asked “You’re his wife after all.”
At that Maria smiled a bit.
“He would only feel bad for keeping me from doing my work. As long as I’m here this household, this family is working. If I’m gone then who will take care of things? He needs me here to make sure that he has a place to come back to. And he needs you with him at the doctor’s office to make sure he doesn’t go insane from all the waiting.”
Don Camillo didn’t have any words for what he felt at that. Maria was the love of Peppone’s life, his anchor and his safe haven, and she knew it. She knew and wouldn’t want to be anything else.
“You are the best wife a man could wish for”, Don Camillo mumbled and left. At the doctor’s office, he found Peppone sitting where he left him with his eyes closed and his hands folded in prayer.