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Peppone exclaimed:
'Thirty-five thousand priests. After a bloody revolution and thirty-two years of sacrifice on
behalf of the people!'
'Don't get excited, Comrade,' said Don Camillo, soothingly. 'Numbers shouldn't alarm you.
These Russian priests are only government employees. They call the Pope an enemy of peace,
and their old Patriarch Alexis once referred to Stalin as having been "sent by God". But although
Communism has won over the priests it has lost the war against religion. And it has lost two other
wars: the war against the peasants and the war against the bourgeoisie. After four decades of
struggle the Soviet Union has gained atomic supremacy and conquered the moon; it has installed
science in the place of superstition and subjugated both its own people and the peoples of the
satellite nations; it has killed off ten million peasants in the process of agricultural reform and
eliminated the old middle class. Yet today, in their search for God, the Russians are spending
their hard-earned roubles to build churches. Agricultural production is below the pre-revolutionary
level and the Government has been forced to allow the peasants to have a portion of privately
owned land and to sell its produce on the free market. At the same time there is a new and
increasingly powerful bourgeoisie. Don't take offence, Comrade, but you yourself, with your well-
tailored, double-breasted dark blue suit, the two salaries which you receive as a senator and a
Party leader, your bank account and your intention of buying a high-powered car, are a budding
bourgeois. Can you deny it ?'
'What do you mean, a "high-powered car"? I'm going to buy a second-hand standard model.'
Don Camillo shook his head.
'It isn't the horsepower that counts; it's the principle of the thing.'
Peppone took a leather case out of his pocket and extracted a big Tuscan-type cigar. Don
Camillo, who for the past two days had been longing for the familiar aroma, heaved a formidable
sigh and said bitterly:
'There you are! The bourgeoisie feast while the people are famished!'
Angrily Peppone broke the cigar in two and offered half of it to Don Camillo.
'Thirty-five thousand priests weren't enough,' he muttered; 'you had to come and join them !'
At this moment they heard the ship whistle.
*
The Partisan was a light but powerful and up-to-date craft, which ploughed steadily and
speedily through the water. The first hour of the voyage left nothing to be desired. Unfortunately
the devil intervened; the sky darkened again and the wind began to blow. In order that the giant
waves should not throw the ship on to the rocky shore, the captain steered farther out to sea in
search of calmer weather. But the storm only increased in intensity and soon the ship was
dangerously drifting. A sailor came down into the saloon and hurled a pile of canvas objects on
the floor.
'The captain says to put on the life jackets and go up on deck,' said Comrade Nadia
Petrovna.
On deck all hell seemed to have broken loose. Rain poured down from the sky and waves
beat mercilessly against the sides of the ship. The sky was pitch black and the wind was howling.
The wheel rotated wildly and two lifeboats were swept away. All eyes were turned on the captain,
who stood clinging to the rail of the bridge. He knew that all those present were looking to him for
safety, but he avoided their gaze and stared helplessly out over the water. How long would the
ship hold together? A giant wave lifted the stern and it seemed as if the bow would sink into the
sea. After the wave had broken over the deck and the ship had regained its balance, the
passengers looked around and counted their numbers. They were all there: Peppone and his
group, Comrade Oregov and Comrade Petrovna, the captain and the six members of the crew.
Huddled together, holding on to whatever object came to hand, they had miraculously survived
the first inundation. But how would they manage to survive another? The ship slid along the side
of the next wave and down into the hollow. Then it came to the surface again, but one of the
portholes was shattered and the hold began to fill with water. Hopelessly Peppone turned to Don
Camillo:
'For the love of God, do something!' he shouted.
Don Camillo summoned all his self-control.
'Lord,' he said,'I am happy to die in Your service.'
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