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squarely before the champion aimed a terrific blow at him. The champion dodged it and danced
round the man who simply revolved slowly. Then the champion launched a formidable blow. The
other barely moved but parried with his left while his right shot forward like a thunderbolt; the
champion was unconscious when he hit the center of the ring.
The crowd went crazy.
It was the bellringer who brought the news to the rectory, and Don Camillo had to leave his
bed to open the door because the bellringer seemed to be insane, and if he hadn't been allowed
to pour out the whole story from A to Z, there seemed every reason to fear that he would blow up.
Don Camillo went downstairs to report.
"Well?" Christ asked. "How did it go?"
"A very disgraceful brawl; such a spectacle of disorder and immorality as You can't imagine!"
"Anything like that time when they wanted to lynch your referee?" asked Christ casually.
Don Camillo laughed. "'Referee, my foot! In the second round Peppone's champion slumped
like a sack of potatoes. Then Peppone himself jumped into the ring and went for the victor.
Naturally, although he is as strong as an ox, he's such a hothead that he slugs like a Zulu or a
Russian, and the champion gave him one on the jaw that laid him out cold."
"And so this is the second defeat his section has suffered."
"Two for the section and one for the federation," chuckled Don Camillo. "Because that was
not the end! No sooner had Peppone gone down than another man jumped into the ring and fell
upon the victor. Must have been somebody from one of the neighboring villages, a fellow with a
beard and a mustache who put up his fists and struck out at the federal champion."
"And I suppose the champion dodged and struck back and the bearded man went down too
and added to the brutal exhibition," Christ remarked.
"No! The man was as impregnable as an iron safe. So the champion began dodging round
trying to catch him off guard and finally, zac! he puts in a straight one with his right. Then I feinted
with the left and caught him square with the right and left the ring!"
"And what had you to do with it?"
"I don't understand ..."
"You said:'I feinted with the left and caught him square with the right.' "
"I can't imagine how I came to say such a thing."
Christ shook His head. "Could it possibly be because you were the man who struck down the
champion?"
"It wouldn't seem so," said Don Camillo gravely, "I have neither beard nor mustache."
"But those of course could be acquired so that the crowd wouldn't suspect that the parish
priest is interested in the spectacle of two men fighting in public with their fists !"
Don Camillo shrugged. "All things are possible, Lord, and we must also bear in mind that
even parish priests are made of flesh and blood."
Christ sighed. "We are not forgetting it, but if parish priests are made of flesh and blood they
themselves should never forget that they are also made of brains. Because if the flesh and blood
parish priest wishes to disguise himself in order to attend a boxing match, the priest made of
brains prevents him from giving an exhibition of violence."
Don Camillo shook his head. "Very true. But You should also bear in mind that parish priests,
in addition to flesh and blood and brains, are also made of another thing. And when that other
thing sees a Mayor sent flat before all his own people by a swine from the town who has won by
hitting below the belt - which is a sin that cries to Heaven for vengeance - that other thing takes
the priest of flesh and blood and the priest of brains and sends the lot of them into the ring."
Christ nodded. "You mean to say that I should bear in mind that pariah priests are also made
of heart?"
"For the love of Heaven," exclaimed Don Camillo. "I never presume to advise You. But I
would point out that nobody knows the identity of the man with the beard."
"Nor do I then," replied Christ with a sigh, "but I wonder if you have any idea of the meaning
of 'punching bag'?"
"My knowledge of the English language has not improved, Lord," replied Don Camillo.
"Well, then we must be content without knowing even that," said Christ smiling. "After all,
culture in the long run often seems to do more harm than good. Sleep well, champ."
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Nocturne with Bells
For some time Don Camillo had felt that he was being watched. On turning round suddenly
when he was walking along the street or in the fields, he saw no one, but was convinced that if he
had looked behind a hedge or in the bushes he would have found a pair of eyes and everything
that goes with them. When he left the rectory on a couple of evenings, he not only heard a sound
from behind the door but he caught a glimpse of a shadow.
"Never mind," Christ advised him. "Eyes never did anyone any harm."
"But it would be nice to know whether those two eyes are going about alone or accompanied
by a third, for instance one of 9 caliber," sighed Don Camillo. "That is a detail not without its own
importance."
"Nothing can defeat a good conscience, Don Camillo."
"I know, Lord," sighed Don Camillo once more, "but the trouble is that people don't usually fire
at a conscience but between the shoulders."
However, Don Camillo did nothing about the matter and a little time elapsed, and then late
one evening when he was sitting alone in the rectory reading, he "felt" the eyes upon him. There
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