Time passed. Then, late one evening as he was sitting in the confessional, Don Camillo recognized through the grille the face of Peppone, the leader of the extreme left.

That Peppone should come to confession at all was a sensational event, and Don Camillo was duly gratified.

“God be with you, brother; with you who, more than others, needs his Holy blessing. When did you make your last confession?”

“In 1918,” replied Peppone.

“In all those years you must have committed a lot of sins with your head so crammed with crazy ideas …”

“Quite a few, I’m afraid,” sighed Peppone.

“For example?”

“For example, two months ago I gave you a beating.”

“That is very serious,” replied Don Camillo, “since, by assaulting one of God’s priests, you have offended God Himself.”

“Oh, but I have repented,” Peppone exclaimed. “And anyway it was not as God’s priest that I beat you up but as my political adversary. Anyhow I did it in a moment of weakness.”

“Besides this and your activities in that devilish party,
have you any other sins to confess?”

Peppone spilled them out, but all in all Don Camillo found nothing very serious and let him off with twenty Our Fathers and twenty Hail Marys. While Peppone was at the altar rail saying his penance, Don Camillo went and knelt before the crucifix.

“Lord,” he said, “forgive me but I’m going to beat him up for You.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” replied Christ. “I have forgiven him and you must do the same. After all, he’s not such a bad soul.”

“Lord, you can’t trust a red! They live by lies. Just look at that face-Barabbas incarnate!”

“One face is the same as another. It’s your heart, Don Camillo, that is venomous!”

“Lord, if I have been a worthy servant to You, grant me one small favor. Let me at least hit him with this candle. After all, Lord, what is a candle?”

“No,” replied Christ. “Your hands were made for blessing.”

Don Camillo sighed wearily. He genuflected and left the altar. As he turned to make a final sign of the cross, he found himself exactly behind Peppone, who still knelt at the altar rail and appeared absorbed in prayer.

“Lord,” groaned Don Camillo, clasping his hands and looking up at the crucifix, “my hands were made for blessing, but not my feet.”

“There’s something in that,” replied Christ, “but, I warn you, just one.”

The kick landed like a thunderbolt. Peppone didn’t bat an eye. After a minute he got up and sighed.

“I’ve been expecting that for the past ten minutes,” he remarked casually. “I feelbetter now.”

“So do I,” exclaimed Don Camillo whose heart was now as light and serene as a May morning.

Christ said nothing at all, but it was easy enough to see that He too was pleased.

‘The Little World of Don Camillo’ by Giovanni Guareschi